dVerse — Prosery — Morning Muse

What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow out of this stony rubbish?— by T.S. Eliot, from The Waste Land   Morning Muse She lay in a heap at the bottom of the back steps. Cold from the October morning’s hard-packed dirt crept into the arm, her right, that crumpled askew under her large…

dVerse — Prosery — Calling All Humans

“So if all do their duty, they need not fear harm.” by William Blake, from, SONGS OF INNOCENCE (1789) “Mars Attacks!,” images of glittery spheres encompassing Earth’s atmosphere arrayed themselves on every screen. Suddenly the petty grievances between individuals and nations disintegrated. A thrum of voices registered on the Richter scale. Fear rippled through most,…

dVerse — Prosery — To the Mountains!

But these clouds are clearly foreign, such an exotic clutterAgainst the blue cloth of the sky–from “Clouds” by Constance Urdang She’d played LOTTO Club for twenty-plus years. It was probably a waste of money. If she was meant to win, she would; yet she couldn’t win if she didn’t play, and so it continued –…

dVerse — Prosery — Ama

  No, I do not weep at the world –I am too busy sharpening my oyster knife.–Zora Neale Hurston,from “How Does it Feel to be Colored Me”in, World Tomorrow (1928) Daddy was known in our backwoods holler as Deacon. When he got up on his stump near Heron River’s shady cool banks, folks gathered; no…

dVerse — Prosery — The Sound of Water

“Crucial to finding the way is this: there is no beginning or end.”–from Jo Harjo’s “A Map to the Next World.”   Gil woke curled in a dark place, lying on her side, hearing the sound of trickling water. Opening her eyes, she felt dried crusted tears breaking loose. Her wrists were bound behind her….

dVerse — Prosery — Mother’s Embrace

taken by my older son on 050921 “Only mouths are we. Who sings the distant heart which safely exists in the center of all things? – from Rainer Maria Rilke, “Heartbeat.” “Clear!” It’s the last thing I hear before everything goes blank. I don’t know how much time has passed, but I’m conscious again; yet…

dVerse — Prosery — Portal

If you are a dreamer, come in. –Shel Silverstein, from Invitation At ten, it was screamed epithets and the rhythmic crack of dad’s belt on her back as she curled on the filthy floor. At twenty, it was the sound of her drunken boyfriend’s fist crunching fine bones in her face. At thirty, it was…