Snow would be the easy way out –Rita Dove, from “November for Beginners” Miranda’s rippled cleavage was pasted across banners of the e-zines that mattered. Just like the paparazzi to zoom in on a digital image and draw a red circle around it, with the headline, “Curdled Milk?” And why didn’t Mirage Photoshop her into…
Category: prosery
dVerse — Prosery — The Answer (warning: disturbing content)
You cannot pluck moonlight to bring in your pocket!Helen Hoyt – October Letter “C’mon, be adventurous for a change,” said Tommy, his voice an edged plaintive whine. Again, I was inadequate in Tommy’s estimation. Like when Tommy handed me a pink pill and said it would be a thrill. Or when he begged…
dVerse Prosery — Night of the Solstice
To be pretty for you I have dropped two seeds of turnsole in the dark of both eyes. — by Isabel Duarte-Gray, from the poem, Garden I remember the date my soul left my body. It was the night before the winter solstice of my seventeenth year. Mother had been down with the grip for…
dVerse — Prosery — Crone Power
Traffic holding its breath, Sky a tense diaphragm –Seamus Heaney, from Twice Shy Madge returned to her cubicle after a carb-rich lunch with co-workers. She plopped into the ergonomic chair that often made things too comfortable – like today. The rhythmic movement of her head swiveling between hard copy and digital data on the twenty-inch…
dVerse — Prosery — Controlling Interest (warning: disturbing content)
image link For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror. from “The First Elegy”, Duinos Elegies by Rainer Maria Rilke Why do so many stop short, Edward queried his alter ego, Harry. For beauty is nothing but the beginning. Of terror, not the feeling of, but the inducing and witnessing of, Edward was an…
dVerse — Prosery — Abandoned
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…
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…
Tao Talk 