Frank J. Tassone

Tag: photo

  • PSA (6/16/20): on Lost Days

    Some days are busier than others. Today was one of them. I will be back tomorrow with more haikai. Look for me at dVerse Poets Pub too, starting at 3:00 PM EST. I’m hosting MTB, where we will explore the Imagists! Until then! night somewhere a sky full of stars

  • #SilentSunday (6/14/20)

    A rest from #haiku See you tomorrow!

  • That Black Trench Coat: an .@ImageCurve #haibun

    The late 1910s. Grandpa Vuolo wore it on those cold days when he looked for work. It was black wool, fine as camel hair, with a raised collar and large button; the coat easily reached his knees. It also had a curious angle pocket near the left collar. Many days he would brush the falling…

  • “a speaker’s eyes…” a #tanka (6/11/20)

    6/11/20: 45 PROMPT solidarity a speaker’s eyes tearing as she addresses a park-filled protest eight minutes, forty-six seconds still changing the world #tanka #kyoka #micropoetry #poetry #BlackLivesMatter #GeorgeLloydProtests

  • #SilentSaturday (6/6/20)

    As if you haven’t already guessed, a rest from haiku See you tomorrow!

  • Off the Leash: A #Quadrille #TankaProse

    Cry ‘Havoc,’ and let slip the dogs of war Marc Antony, “Julius Caesar,” Act 3, Scene 1, line 273 Officer Derek Chauvin Kills George Floyd. Why? When will Black Lives matter? kneeling unleashs a nation eight minutes to snuff out a life, then six days demanding justice for dVerse Poets’ Quadrille #105: Cry Havoc and…

  • Lawnwork Aftermath: a #tankaprose

    The new weed-wacker hums with the efficiencey of a new instrument. The overgrown weeds, along the edges of the cinder blocks bordering the garden, fall before it’s spinning plastic tabs. I squeeze the trigger and slowly step side-to-side. The weed-wacker slices more weeds effortlessly. The backyard, side, and front yard soon look trimmed. Next, it’s…

  • Stanza del Silenzio: a #haibun

    “But you, when you pray, go into your inner room…” Mt 6:6 “Silence is the first language of God”, Saint John of the Cross once said. Perhaps that’s why sitting in silence always attraced me. From a pre-school age boy, spinning the wheels of his upside-down tricycle, to a pubescent boy, sitting cross-legged on a…