we say: cast out the man with lantern eyes & brows spelling thunder who slows the deathly flooding in your child blood of blood, sweet woman count not the broken phials and strewn violence! banish him Ausländische Prinzessin! A mother's love is but hysteria. Written for the Sanaa's dVerse Quadrille prompt "Casting a Poetic Spell"
Working Title: Mind Doodles (i) pulsing white heart above the pine prehistory snares the raucous breeze cockies landing (ii) and she wonders (nose to the sky) if perhaps it’s the blue that scuds, carrying satellites above stationary puffs Earth a ball bearing in the spin of a wheel (iii) in the east a graphite smudge … Continue reading June 13
Patti, you know who you are with your voice smoooth as bacon. I met you on the train that day - we flipped stories like burgers and what a great smell... you and I, just met and so saucy. Eyes like two green pickles Your picture’s stored under my lids and when I blink you’re … Continue reading Let Us Meet!
when the day falls in sodden strips, snags toes on pavement edge spills to mirrored ladders, the wetly twirling leaves double their ponderous flight up and down, into and deeper resting on meniscus the middle is a space of floating // parts might kiss or turn away, boundaries and meetings all in reflection
Artwork by Vincent Romero fragrant slumber scarfed in shadows and a Tuscan breeze the grass will bear her pretty dent into the night bathed in dew - the unmet tears of stars Written for K Hartless' Petite Pen (30 words or less)
Artwork by Bronwyn Tracey pearl sky day in arched flight curve of a galah’s wing beneath trees so slow to undress, puddles of gold reflect scraps of lingerie grey silk robe long naked fingers pry surfaces ripple
Artwork by Vincente Romero Written for Petite Pen at Yardsale of Thoughts (no more than 30 words)
it’s at this time when autumn's flame gets blown out snuffed to a wax and under the highway bridge the glide and glaze of pigeons shadow snuffing and car roar cooing fumes like death’s seepage an urban home’s grey and splatter, here the pigeons live indefinite // anonymous frail & glooming they're the gerunds of … Continue reading the role of pigeons
(There are) many stories which are not on paper, they are written in the bodies and minds of women. (Amrita Pritam) like winter trees: wick bare & bearing weight of wind. slick silver sticks tick & thicken year on year bent for benediction... just so we’ve stood as gazelles under gaze of lions revering & … Continue reading like winter trees
Written for Yardsale of Thoughts' Petite Pen (no more than 25 words inspired by Tony Hinchcliff's Painting)
pumpernickel sky, low cut & dense grinding its heels in the carpark lights are on browsed by white teeth; the sleety rain splintering your hood, umbrella tick & charcoal puddles find traces of dry humour breathe hah hah! your hands are bloodless and burning Written for dVerse quadrille with Linda Lee Lyberg "browse"
a rush of light between buildings and everything is white or black or singed with silver like a knife’s flash or a fish’s leap and there I am age 8 and the river is weeping while trout heave and thrash on death lines under a quiet sun Written for Twiglet # 281 "quiet sun"
The last fingers of autumn prostrate themselves before the winter breeze. A small woman coming the other way starts in the middle of a conversation, something about seven degrees. I put my thoughts down on the footpath, shake them free of my ears, and straighten my eyes for her. “I beg your pardon?” I say … Continue reading Something about Seven
I rake leaves and contemplate the selling of beauty as a capitalist ideal: boxed and essenced, smelling sweet. Meanwhile, the western sky rips apricot horizons from blue. Another day ends in brutal waxing. No, hun. That's just a sunset. I read Misky's lovely Sevenling and thought... that's a form I could try! I hope you … Continue reading Sevenling (I rake leaves..)
boundaries are boundaries are where we meet two skins' soft encounter warm shower soap fingers grasp at your effortless love & tarried jam the hope of sleep Malcolm T Liepke “A Mother’s Kiss” Written for "Petite Pen" hosted by K. Hartless at Yard Sale of Thoughts
tug and away they go 1400 stadium seats like a snail shell unspiraling down a plug hole it’s just a binary whirr, green and grey moving shapes tickling my eyelids the next day as we hurtle toward that silver car which ran a red light I wait for new dreams the dividing of shin bones … Continue reading dream dremel
We stand by the school gate, pasted around with framed faces. She is talkative. He is European. And the other one is mostly silent, somewhat of a black sheep. I feel like a black sheep too, not even daring to hope for happiness. I lean against the fence, my aching hips and the how-to-vote cards … Continue reading Election Day
this wind kicks pieces of autumn through a slatted fence and my stratospheric eye chases neon in cerulean blue - orange pekoe stars from plane tree toss. this day is poised before a seasonal hand shakes down winter shutters, the rattle of bare wood and trigger breezes, sunken sky and the whip-snap of frost in … Continue reading Transition
Emma Femi P. A necklace of goldfish wrappedlike cord - my pillowed chin -hang me in the streammy bubblesannounce my sentenceto the stars written in response to K Hartless' Petite Pen (image found by K. Hartless)
Le Sommell by Salvador Dali Lately she finds sleep propped on fragile sticks // vinegar nights their pale heat blanching the sky. Closed eyes reveal nothing but absence // unbalanced retreat of shadows into thought. It's all a constant toppling, reaching for Earth but thrashing on... this cursed flight Written for dVerse Quadrille Monday "In … Continue reading Insomnia
yes, you hang untainted by the rusting of trees or their bare-fingered poking all these days of rain fall, falling, fall full moon round as possibility a vast, bright musical note in your stave of power lines washed clean in the black glass sky star choirs mute and brittle the thickness of a cloud its … Continue reading full fall moon
Or Rejecting Trajectory Let the night leak in, and distant fog from lamp’s yellow gaze... chemical smoke, and history, green the dark. Maybe cold can save me from drowning among blood-warmed black drapes, whisperless and listing. Far-off, like wishes, my bones walk in moon grit and the echoed twittering of disturbed birds. I’m still wondering … Continue reading Disbelief
Black Mountain Tower raises its hand, claiming clear air from low cloud smudge left by yesterday's rain. but the sun is distracted long flamboyant arm chooses a flock of birds, their timeless endeavour - sky-tiny and intrinsic - refugees from light to light. perhaps this is how the world will end - a triumphant sparkle … Continue reading Beauty
from Misky's photo in black and white the sky is blank and our strings pull heavily on air reflections sit deep in black paranoia and the road blows to nowhere
A flower of bread brown rolls risen against each other, wooden petals of the deodar And on the stove four glistening pots huddle winter soup's quiet breath Wedges of cheese, yellow and thick the talk over sticky date pudding clustered verbs and violets
cloud, the doctor says implies humidity sometimes, the doctor says it’s not cloud, just colour she sees now her brain in a dry tank perhaps like printer cartridges she sees now fine powder ink without moisture what colour is thinking? chemically descended it’s a coloured bottle and out there, a shaded distorted world what colour … Continue reading Thought Haze
Captain Morning have you always been? Holding the tiller, prow skewed in among cloud layers Imagine one enormous star baked into sky’s dark bread infinity’s rising yeast and can you hear the breaking? Brittle crack // a toffee eye sheets down, permanent raining Captain Morning skipper of waking your yellow fuzz warms my neck, bids … Continue reading Captain Morning
this woman measured in tears stands oblique to the drumming when she bends her head those ears like waterfalls and shoulders calculating ache if ache could nestle, or if ache was some thing between blades chopped onion, or the stretched cord you don’t want cut, letting go the crying. Written for msjadeli's dVerse poetics prompt … Continue reading letting go
From Visual Verse Anthology At the wall, Ruano found peace. Ruano found peace in the way lines met and intersected: bricks and pallets the darkness after matter... and that water pipe fending off the sky. "Shelter is a feeling," Ruano knew, and felt himself hugged by the wet smell and the shuffing of somebody’s plastic … Continue reading Ruano’s Matter
In the Carpark in the carpark long puddles my wheels splinter a church steeple and wobble autumnal trees later, feeling daring I plant my boot in the wide grey sky and watch it rattle like wind juice Written for Twiglet #277 "wind rattles"
Out of the Cave 