I wandered lonely as a cloud. –by William Wordsworth, from his eponymous poem Seeing a cumulus puff amongst cirrocumulus sheets made the mountain dragon laugh. “You’re an anachronism!” Try as I might to slough off the words, his throaty grumbles clung like heavy ice crystals. They turned my cushiony cotton into spiked crackles which shredded…
Category: prosery
dVerse — Prosery — Visitor
It is a moon wrapped in brown paper from, “Valentine,” by Carol Ann Duffy The small, square window’s bars are iron grey. Much of the time I’m a thin lump hunkered on a concrete slab, sandwiched between straw mattress and cotton feather tick. Only my capped head, bright eyes, and red nose are visible. Even…
dVerse — Prosery — Honey Sun Honeymoon
And bring no book, for this one day We’ll give to idleness. –from William Wordsworth’s, ‘Lines Written at a small distance from my House… Day 2: A drapery whoosh woke me from a flying dream. Bathed in burnished gold light, I stretched, cat-like. Inhaling deeply, my nostrils quivered with the aroma of fresh coffee from…
dVerse — Prosery — Bad Girls
I dress in their stories patterned and purple as night–from “When We Sing of Might,” by Kimberly Blaeser I pick one up at the runaway shelter. Another from her granny’s house. One from court-approved fictive kin’s house. The one picked up from the detention center is pale, with dark circles under her eyes. Wednesday is…
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 –…
Tao Talk 