Category Archives: dVerse poems

Hold her carefully, in quiet hands

.. This poem is made of cardboard, clouds and clay. She only has a tiny thing ……………….(or two) to say, but she might shout it. She’s all about it – this sunslant, that breeze. She breathes in syllables and sighs; … Continue reading

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Pocket Storms

… I have decided ……………(she thunders) that these last cold drops are mine, …..saved for a sunny day when arched and angry eyebrows know the sky shines quite too bright and I need just one little plop of …………….rain to … Continue reading

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Profile of a Serial Killer

… She gets her kix ……..(turns trix) down on Route 66; picks off the low-lying fruit, loops her fingers through their hair and stares into their ……(life flashes before) eyes before surprising them with the flash of her 38 special … Continue reading

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Sometimes You Feel Like a Nut

..  Moon snickers. She’s got a secret, a milky way of char- stone chewing up this dark sky. She’s all butter -fingers and mounds of moonbeam …….chuckles twix(t) the 3 musketeers sneers of Orion’s belt notch trio. It’s pay day … Continue reading

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muddling puddles

.. gosh, my galoshes are sloshed. i’m gonna need a bum -bershoot to keep my willy-nilly birthday suit(e) saved unscathed from all this mud -(d)led muck. yuck, the sun’s come out again. i miss the stuck-struck spill of my jelly-belly … Continue reading

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Utter a Muddle

.. S(p)ring a silly song, be-fuddle me a muddy-muse, so we can s(t)ring along. Cuddleme a cloud-phrase, huddleup in hiccup-daze; hunkerdown in puddle-praise, zipcrunchleap a poem. Fa-La-La a lullaby(e), fall into a murmured sky. Ink. Don’t think. And don’t ask why. … Continue reading

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After You Have Called Upon That One Last Wishing Star

.. , won’t you hold for me a petaled breeze between your teeth, speak some quiet sigh -lence into my hungry ear? will you save for me a song or two ………(a day, a year) from this crushed dawn; a … Continue reading

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Some Nights Hold Teeth

.. , when the wind blows it all loose and mean around your shoulders and the iron cloak of darkness closes in. More questions than you have punctuation for; more clouds than this ebony scrim deserves. The stars mock sharp, … Continue reading

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Let’s Get Ourselves a Phone Booth

.. (circa 1984), and become something we’re not, or wish we were. Let’s ditch the glasses and the classes and all that harasses us deep. Let’s keep ourselves sane with super -lative breeze, and capes of daisy chains. Masks of … Continue reading

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Because she has grown from this turquoise scrim,

  She braids her roots into the stars, a triumph of chimneys at her crown. She ponders petals and sparrows, casts the moon, and pins it down.   .. Image by artist Catrin Welz-Stein Inspiring prompt from over at dVerse Poetics today, … Continue reading

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