Tag: dVerse
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A Novel Thanksgiving
This year of change continues. Having sold our home of nineteen years, we announced to the family that we’re not celebrating Thanksgiving this year. While our 1500 square-foot apartment is spacious enough, it’s not structurally accomodating for hosting the thirty or so we expect for the holiday. Our niece, who lives ten minutes drive across…
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“It’s beginning to look…”
The Hacienda calls for a different variety. Can’t haul a Frasier up the steps without a cascade of needles for the Landlord to complain about. & the sauna-adjacent heat would dry such a tree out before Christmas. Clearly, an artificial is in order. Mira always wanted one that looked frosted. When she found it, she…
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Incendiary Transcendence
Avocado How that hard, green vegetable forms the mushy medium of a dip so iconic. mashed up to its consistency in the first month with sleet a dour chill running through this November air Jalapeño Such a fierce and fiery red pepper to “kick it up a notch…” Diced up and poured out like a…
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La Notte Scorsa
I dance with the blushing bride at the corner of the backyard. The Sturgeon Moon shines through the gap between old pines and gnarly maples. It’s our last night at our old house. The movers come tomorrow. savoring the luminescence our shadows It’s Quadrille Monday over at dVerse, and pubtender De Jacksons serves up Moon!…
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Samuel
lame males use a mesa mules emu slam Over at dVerse, It’s MTB with Anagrammatic poetry (pubtended by Bjorn). We’re writing anagrammatic poetry, featuring recombinations of a one-word title with a max of 3 vowels and 4 consonants. The Pub is still open! Come join us!
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To Experience the Dawn of Taoing
To emerge from the mists of time in ancient China. To stand by the Western gates, as the guard states down Laoxi himself. To watch the old master follow him into the gatehouse. To place my hands over a brazier warming the drafty abode, as the former Imperial Librarian seats himself at a desk. To…
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A Winter’s Dance
I fall to one knee. The omnipresent snow saturates my jeans in moments. It keeps falling. I pant. The bitter cold seeps in anyway. Snow dragon smiles. Scarlet-haired, a red line across his pale face, he savors a quick victory. His front stance lightens. Bravado. A mistake. “Why not embrace the inevitable, Golden Dragon?” He…
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Muted Mourning
We never met, but spoke only a few times on the phone. Three gifts you sent me: a headshot photo of you from your theater days, a volume of Billy Collins poetry, another I’ve forgotten. How I discovered you passed an inadvertant admission via email my throat clenching on what might-have-been Oh, but do I…
