dVerse — 10-year anniversary week — Quadrille 131 — jukin on down the line

When Mama had parties to whirl, she left us at Auntie’s.Didn’t she know Auntie had her own house jukes then?Where were their steady, hard-working, non-drinking men?Gramma and Grampa raised that platter way back when;self-serving dances that taint through the generations.   top image:  Wurlitzer Model 700 We are celebrating the 10-year anniversary of dVerse, aka…

dVerse — Quadrille 130 — Smudged

It was this time of year, when evenings warm and tadpoles crawl ashore, when your green eyes,unholy lit, tethered me. Searing me everywhereyour touch lingered, grinning,your gaze never left mine. You wanted everything then, as you smudged me in your filth.   image:  “Skin on Skin Love and Burning Passion,” by CORinAZONe Mish is today’s…

dVerse — Quadrille 129 — Dragon Lover

What is this curiosity we have for winged, scaled worms called dragons? Proof that subterranean vole-bait may transform to soar at-will? Is it their new capriciousness to choose “scorched earth” that attracts? They still sleep in dark wet, for godsakes! Then I spied one… It’s not easily seen in the picture, but the shadow of…

dVerse — Quadrille Monday — Scuffed

Wound silky thread, row upon row, maker’s bark woven // yet fatefully scuffed; existential shorthand all understand. There remain no untroubled bits. If perchance you see none, know the pulp beneath. Mycellic intraveni creep up from roots; we’re nourished as we return to dust. Yesterday, older son and I took another walk out along The…

dVerse — Quadrille 127 — Seed Bank

I’ve invested seed money,believing in the ABC’s:asters yield deep purple;balloon flowers top charts;cosmos caps capture interest. Incented, content, I sniff,blessed by return kindness.My shareholder butterfly strawglugs from milkweed constellations. Wreaths, bouquets, cinnamon fieldsof carnations — priceless wealth.   Today when I dropped off borrowed materials and picked up the new batch, I decided to take…

dVerse — Quadrille 126 — One

I roll morning blinds and see a vista of life ashimmer with Sol’s panoptic egalitarianism. I don’t bother with socks and shoes. Swooping up a cup of hot coffee, I step outside and join the scenery. Soft sighs, one with all, welcomed, refreshed, refashioned. Image:  “Landscape,” by Jean Charlot (1898-1979) De Jackson (aka WhimsyGizmo) is…

dVerse — Quadrille 124 — The Art of Dying

When you’re born, your life (past Karma) is like a piece of stringwith knots in it and you’ve got to try, before you die, to undo all the knots: but you tie another twenty trying to get one undone.–George Harrison, from “I, Me, Mine,” pages 180-181, talking about his song, “The Art of Dying.”  …