On this day without a date,On a back street, dusky— Charles Simic, from My Friend Someone On this day without a date, on a back street, dusky, sounds the wail of an infant. Old Ginny, still half-soused from the night before, thinks she’s dreaming. Lula, the bloodhound, licks Ginny’s face as the baby wails through…
Category: prosery
dVerse — Prosery — Playing to Win
image link The seed of a poem lay dormant in my heart. by Valsa George, from “Winged Words“ Trauma rattles like bingo balls in a metal cage, trapped, praying for caller’s graced hand to reach in and release them in correct alignment. It’s almost six. Players shuffle in. Most sit horseshoed with their charms and…
dVerse Prosery — Immersed
cdnb.artstation.com In space in time I sit thousands of feet above the sea From May Sarton, “Meditation in Sunlight” We live under the waves. Flood and fire made us choose. Would we focus our last gasps to breaking free of the sky; or would we submerge and return to our mammalian predecessors’ domain? A few…
dVerse — Prosery — Empty Promise
This year’s a different thing, – I’ll not think of you. — Charlotte Mew, from “I so liked spring” Five years ago: “I swear, they wait until I fall asleep to come in and do their pusher, scavenger, and vampire duties,” you whisper from the rumpled bed. The dark circles under your eyes match the…
dVerse — Prosery — Stitched
Everything I do is stitched with its color. – W.S. Merwin, from “Separation” Epithets were part of my family’s lexicon. My paternal side used gentler terms; the maternal side hurled vicious ones with glee. How my family, who lived in shacks, toiled in non-unionized factories, and were blessed to have a rabbit for dinner; and…
dVerse — Prosery — The Tender Gray
In the tender gray, I swim undisturbed.by Celia Dropkin, from, “In Sullivan County” I was a first grandchild who basked in the attention of grandparents, aunts, uncles, and the warm light of my parents. The war had ended a few years before my birth. It was a time when food, supplies, and gasoline were rationed….
dVerse — Prosery Monday — Night Mares
In the street of the sky night walks scattering poems — by e.e. cummings, from “IX- Impressions” “In the street of the sky night walks scattering poems. Dawn will write a new one soon,” she said that night as we walked, arm in arm, our necks craned, looking up, bare feet scuffling the uneven gravel…
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