Frank J. Tassone

Tag: dVerse

  • Among a Murder

      You stare at me. The rest of your murder caws, shattering an afternoon’s silence with pure cacaphony. You do not join them. Your black eyes meet my blue ones. Why do you not join the others in their mayhem? What do you want?   Something passes between us. What, I cannot say.   Perched on…

  • Our Immigrant Story

    A view of New York Harbor from Governor’s Island     “A ship in harbor is safe, but that is not what ships are built for.” –John A. Shedd   storm-tossed seas ambitious ancestors brave steerage   the fading memories of Italy left behind   Lady Liberty passangers crowding above to glimpse their new home…

  • Seen and Unseen Apple Trees: A #TBT #haibun featuring my latest from .@ImageCurve

    I see the apple tree. It’s dark-gray and brown, ridged bark, with Y-shaped branches splitting upward like outstretched arms from its knotted trunk. Its leaves fill every branch. The 2 x 4 Dad and I nailed onto the trunk below the split, so Frankie could plant his foot to climb it. I see him in…

  • Declination of the Circus

      The spotlights shattered the darkness inside Madison Square Garden. The center ring bathed in sudden light illuminated the cacaphony of clowns, trapize artists, animals and all of the fascination that Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey Circus could offer a child in the late seventies. I marveled at every act, spellbound by spectacle.  …

  • Quick Paradigm Shifts

    Quickly, quickly, ever so quickly! Speeds up to 60 MPH. An entire jump in 20 seconds. I, still and rooted atop the Ski Jump, have a new, profound respect for them! But I will not follow them, thank you! echoes of miracles Lake Placid for dVerse Poets Pub– Quadrille #64 — Quick! Write Something (pubtended…

  • First Memory of Mom: A #TBT #haibun featuring my latest from .@ImageCurve

    I don’t know my first memory of Mom. I recall the photo and home movies: beehive hair, white mini. Was it when I cut my hand on that protruding stone at the daycare center? Was it the fleeting images of her cooking in our 52 Holland Avenue basement apartment? I can’t remember. Or won’t. her…

  • September Morning: A #Haibun for #LaborDay

      Labor Day. A rare chance this summer to sleep in, since Frank had only an optional practice. Still, morning comes, and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee stirs me from sleep. Eigh hours is enough, even after a night of incessant dreams.   The sweltering heat belies the change to Autumn that will come.…

  • Going Somewhere? A #sonnet #haibun

      The woosh of passing wind as I move on, the bam!bam!bam! of hammers fall away. These wheels that crunch on gravel just beyond, a highway exit ramp to the blue way, where life slows down with every town I pass; and burdens born from crow-caws to day’s rind yeild to a precious peace I…