follow image link to fascinating, true story of man trapped by time What does it matter That the stars we see are already dead. By Amy Woolard, from her poem, “Laura Palmer Graduates” Time Trapped I admit Subject 2789 from Planet 23764’s soft form and sincere questions touch and amuse me. The warm, dark pools…
Category: prosery
dVerse — Prosery — Jumped
all of the names swallowed up by the cold — from Tomas Tranströmer’s poem, “After Someone’s death” She is Freud’s example of what happens when the first step is jumped. From daddy and mummy, then uncles and cousins, to neighbors and strangers, to lovers and spouses, her unprotected vulnerability is an opportunity to be exploited…
dVerse — Prosery — From Abraham’s Journal
Edward “Eddy” Baker Lincoln …city lilacs release their sweet, wild perfume then bow down, heavy with rain. –by Helen Dunmore, from ‘City Lilacs’, From Abraham’s Journal February,1850 Dreaming three-year-old Eddy’s cough wakes me. My feet can never find their slippers. Padding quickly to his room I notice again it is drafty, no matter how high…
dVerse — Prosery — Burning Questions
I was where I am When the snow began —from “The Dead of Winter” by Samuel Menashe December is when planning is needed to find daylight for important conversations. There is no grave to visit. The tall chimney never sleeps. I was where I am when the snow began, standing outside of the crematorium. No…
dVerse — Prosery — Botched?
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…
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…
Tao-Talk 