Petrichor cloud balloons bob as the band tunes up; it’s time to celebrate heaven’s newest angel. She’s been orienting for a few weeks and just passed the fit-for-duty quiz. She’s test-flying her wings; landing is expected in five. God always gets the first dance. My mom passed away on June 21. This is what…
Category: quadrille
dVerse — Monday Quadrille 154 — however it’s spelled
Does exuberant green panorama speak Spring or Summer? Mid-June paper flutters in ninety-degree heat. Rhubarb roars. Dandelions smoke cigarettes, bees hmmm carnal at rainbows. Lilacs’ brown sugar memory; mitigated with gingered peonies. Life cycles’ motors rumble. Six letters may spell what they wish. This poem is also a nod to Sanaa’s included quote (thanks Sanaa!)…
dVerse — Quadrille 153 — Greed’s Covet
Dawn blushes horizon’s lip as deer, mist-soaked, hooves to coats, browse. Drowsy after night’s day, they, dainty, step through stone testaments of dust. The grass is greenest here, over bones, where ghosts’ collective groans lament our kind’s terminal folly; our greed’s covet .……………………………………………over love. top image link Linda is today’s host of dVerse’ Quadrille Monday. …
dVerse — Quadrille 152 — A Contest Rests
A-drowse I muse, who is cuter asleep, baby fauna or Popeye. Sure, tiny heaving feathered, furred, or terried chests attest affection-stirred endearing as they engine-putter guileless nest; yet knowing benevolent, bell-bottoms-exchanged, in a nightshirted Miss Oyl’s Bluto savior’s dreamland bub bub bubs a contest rests. image link Sarah is today’s host for dVerse’ Quadrille Monday….
dVerse — Quadrille 150 — Final Farewell
image link Her living lingered, her funeral brief; children scattered, peers long gone home. Ghosts’ welcomes await her release from the bronze urn. She’s sprinkled along Spring thunderstorm’s wake, towards the lake. April sun’s comfort warms as it dries; her chalky residue remains, her final farewell. De Jackson, aka whimsygizmo, is today’s host for dVerse’…
dVerse — Quadrille 149 — cloudfish speaks
It matters not the season, awake or asleep, please know me and understand, from grain of sand shifting with water, to morning’s crystals on a blade of grass, to your hands along warm scented skin, my swimming infinity; tender breadcrumbs offered as holy gifts. [44 words] I wanted to use one of my collages to…
dVerse — Quadrille 148 — The Struck Match
She wasn’t sure whether it was the exhibition or watching the application of brush strokes of each work that obsessed her so. Was it knowing the painter’s paper trail body? Or the way his body moved… Origamic muse prismatic omnipotence imbued by each eye. top image link I decided to write a second quadrille…
Tao-Talk 