Tag: dVerse
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Tai Chi Mind
I. yielding before the onslaught of high tide bearing yin this bow II. grasping fresh soil after the thaw holding yang this lunge III. being atop the peak in the wind beyond bearing and holding this oneness for dVerse Poets MTB: Three Way Split The Pub is open! Come join us!
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Jedi Games
I remember the darkened aisle of the UA theater filled to capacity. Dad and I found our seats just as C3PO raised his golden hand over his head, crying, “Help! Please”–and then R2D2 rolled down a rocky trail between canyon walls, and into a jawa ambush. Not yet 7-years-old, I watched “Star Wars” for the…
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A Desolate Heart
“Welcome to the desert of the real.” –Morpheaus, from the movie, The Matrix An ever-drying aridity. Step after step across a desert stretching to the horizon. Only the memory of water. Such an exhaustion that the expression “dead on my feet” is a declaration of enthusiasm. Here, in the heart of the desert, words come…
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Pestilent Encounters: A Traditional-Mongol-Meter #haibun
A sudden turn in the weather, and noses begin to run… rushing toward the nearest tissue roaming the halls full of snot remember a sneeze is no issue recall a time without rot While not an apocalyptic sign, new Covid cases arise… Still we press on Stunted in our recovery Stalling for time, again and…
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Manifesting Presence
Could it be any different? emerging night stretching through the last light of day twisted intestines unknotting after this day recuperating these temperature shifts taking their toll gentle trembling as this body gets on track this silence It could be only what it is. for dVerse Poets’ Quadrille #161 (pubtended by Merril)
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Under Pressure
The omega. Always the last to feed, despite my part in the hunt. Always the butt of snickers, warning growls, scuffles—and the bites and flesh tearings that drive me apart. Always the omega. All because I run to my own heartbeat. Because my howl is my own. Because the pack would rule me when I…
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Solstice Sorrow
First light arrives before five in the morning. The birdsongs arrive with it. A cacophony of twittering, and avian arias, shatter my sleep, and any hopes of returning to it. By afternoon, however, a scattering of songs—at well-spaced intervals—may arise. This abundance of radiance—so close to the end of the academic year. This longest day—followed…
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Bird song sonata
Before sunrise. Before even the break of day. The first robin begins the overture. Others soon carry the melody. Soon, the sound of their choral arrangement shakes away the last hope of sleeping in. Before sunset. Before even the hint of twilight. The last robin refrains the coda. The harmonies have ended. Only the last…
