Tag Archives: dVerse poems

Holding Only Breath

.. Ah, silence. The greatest violence the morning alarm, the storm of only her own unquiet skin. A single-serve sun also rises, and she swallows it whole just to sing its shine. The melting moon her only concern, …….caller, companion. … Continue reading

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Crying Over Boys

I’m down to just one thing, and I’m starting to scare myself… – Something I Can Never Have, Nine Inch Nails   … We’re on our way to Mexico. No, I’m not kidding. And yes, we’re a cliché. And there’s … Continue reading

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Hidden Hearts

.. Hear the breeze? She articulates her whim. Her will’s another story altogether. Hear the beat? The art we are (our center) doesn’t have a color, ……..creed, …………….or size. Oh, we’ve had it. We’re going out to make some (progress) … Continue reading

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Keeping the Dawn

… The day bullies us bid goodbye to the midnight spark -led blanket of hope, rope ourselves into some small semblance. Sky cracks open, broken. We bow and cow to clock, the tock of ticks until it dawns on us … Continue reading

Posted in dVerse poems, Quadrille | Tagged , , , , , | 19 Comments

Scrabbling the Sun

… We scar it with our own lettered shine, crescent it with moon fingers. Stairway it in stars. A it. B it. See it through new eyes. Vowel it deep; steep it into some semblance of silence. We tornado our … Continue reading

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Talking to Myself Again

.. Shhhhh…see? The world’s an okay place; the world’s got quiet grace and open sky. The world’s my (okay, not oyster, but per -haps) my seashell, echoed ocean. The world is full of good, and good people, and good books … Continue reading

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tree skins and silence

… shhhhh, i am inky-quiet and strange to my own touch. I am lo(o)sing my muchness to some mad-and-moonly sky. try and find me here, among these forest fallings; i dare you. i swear, somewhere between there and the whisper … Continue reading

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The Inevitable Pull of Coinless Fountains

If I’m made in Your image, why is it I see so little of You, and so much of me? – Question from the Girl in the Mirror, De Jackson 2010   .. As if hope were an echo or … Continue reading

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Summer Salt

  .. Had I told the sea of my longing, my wanting, the quiet haunting of my heart for wave and salt, it might have prepared itself for these feet. It might have treated my tumbled edges less like seaglass … Continue reading

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What Remains

(a Golden Shovel after the first line of The Cremation of Sam McGee, by Robert Service)   … Look there: because we are ghosts digging the strange small and savage broken things the forgotten world has ever done, we all invest our … Continue reading

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