BuffettOur first date:you, egg foo yung;I, bang bang shrimp.Our palates different,yet we merried well.We bathed in bananasplits; yet can lifebe one big dessert?We buffeted until best used by; nothingleft but the tumsand some toothpicks. Punam is today’s host of dVerse’ Quadrille Monday. Punam would like us to write a 44-word poem using the word, bang.
Category: relationships
dVerse — Poetics — Traversing the Hexagrams
Traversing the HexagramsHis grizzled, stooped form wheezesfrom the back porch, pleading.The small girl looks, still in sandbox,from across the yard, refusing.She nods, beaten, in the kitchen.Uncle, brother, and a game friend goto pound him and his mouthy brother;her stuff in the bed of rusty truck.Pale, weak, she signs the waiversthat will excise cursed rotten pear,symbol…
dVerse — MTB — The Turning of the Worm (Palinode)
The Turning Of The Worm,Painting by Christian Michael Original poem: Your Faithful Hound Catch your scent upon the wind, it stirs my heat;Burning bright, a dog turned wolf, I range night sky,Sniff you out, star drunk, to where we always meet. Mystery. There is no sense. Do not ask whyComes this urge to go and…
dVerse — Q190 — Now Ashes
image link Chalk outline-sketchedYellow tape-festoonedRelationship crime sceneFebruary’s dead Valentines Grabbed, slabbed, toe-taggedEvidence room desertForensics team stymiedCold case mystery No bodies claimedMorgue now overflowingHearts in limbo Convoy of hearsesCruise Crematory LanePurge in flame Ashes in the wind. Mish is today’s host for dVerse’ Quadrille Monday. Mish says:write a quadrille (exactly 44 words, minus title) using the…
#FF — Long Lost (but now found)– part 3 of 3
PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot George remembers the last time he was more than fifty miles from his cabin. Helena invited him to ballet in Lansing. Her fragrance distracted him through the performance. He’d invited her in when they got back, when body hunger overruled taut reason. At summer’s end, reason returned; there was no…
dVerse — Q189 (2) — Lost in the Mist
Yellowed film spins reel, buoy’s roulette, blinking green, then red, in wind- rattled notes, silent sound through fish-dense mist’s shroud of moonlessness. I, upturned, paste-faced, full starkers, wet-footed, numb red fingertipped, & windbreaker whipped, am waiting. Are “we” flotsam, jetsam, lagan, or finally derelict? [44 words] top image link Note: I have a general idea…
#FF — Mother
PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook Don and I met two years ago, at Pinky’s, where I work. He’d come in for a massage and paid extra for the happy ending. He’s been a regular since then. After a year, Don began bringing me gifts. After two, I began to look forward to his kind smile….
