Untitled (You say that trees bring their art to the world)

Delirious, dauntless and dissolute – this Autumn breeze, brilliant petals
of pink and gold that serve as a backdrop to tousled hair and reddening
contour; reading what I have just written, I now believe that the season
is synonymous, the growing cycle gifts with both ripeness and maturity;
it’s no less than a step towards realizing, recognizing and reclaiming
true self.

I am what I have always been – fiery, determined with a purpose of
fulfilling my life’s direction. You say that trees bring their art to the world,
their branches
taking root in the sky— but tell me for I understand not, I
have lived so long with rough-barked beauties, so long that I’d hug them
had there not been people flitting around. Do they feel the way we do?
And when the season wraps them in scarlet, do they carry on with hope?




Photo credits: “Traces,” by Mara Light, Pinterest

Lillian hosts at dVerse and asks to write inspired by a line from
“Afterword” by Louise Gluck. Come join us! 💝

Posted for Prosery Monday @ dVerse Poets Pub

As darkness surrenders

The darkest hour of dawn and its hum, November clouds drifting
ever so slowly despite everything that surrounds; can I wake and
keep my dreams with me?

As darkness surrenders, every colour, every shade changes from
sable to a vibrancy; there are days when I wonder about the way
the universe runs, would we be the same if limbs impassioned
lost their magic, if they felt otherwise? The lake-side air is pungent
with the fragrance of jasmine, its surface as smooth as glass –
radiating ripples which, if one is lucky, are caught by twilight; can
you hear the gulls overhead?

What I can do, you can do, you don’t see it yet but believe me when
I say it’s true; we need only have conviction, the heart understands
truths dark, unintelligible—there is nothing behind the wall except
a space where the wind whistles.




Photo credits: Pinterest

Merril hosts at dVerse and asks to write inspired by a line from
“Drawings by Children” by Lisel Mueller. Come join us! 💝

Posted for Prosery Monday @ dVerse Poets Pub

The strangeness of it all

Do you remember? Remember, the time we went to the
moor? Barefoot round a turning in the path— in the 
darkness an unexpected scent touched us, of honey,
heather and gorse bush which seems to be embroidered
into the very landscape.

Tell me how do you feel?  Sleeplessness unveiling itself from
the bitter blue sky; if only we could paint choices on its walls
wouldn’t need to then endure all that follows. I am slightly
damp,  for romance of melancholy found within the classics
refuse to leave me; is this what it means to be an old soul?

We look at him through the wrong end of the long telescope
of time, mortality, my dear, is a flavor long attached with the
moors. And I wonder if expansiveness, if mere concept that
tugs needs to be explored more often? Do we cry or rest?




Photo credits: Mira Nedyalkova, Stockholm Syndrome

Kim hosts at dVerse and asks to write inspired by a line from “Hummingbird,” by D.H. Lawrence 💝

Posted for Prosery Monday: Telescope of Time @ dVerse Poets Pub

October beckons

Watery-white, the moon casts its glow onto the city, the sycamore
maple silhouetted, in the distance, against the obsidian sky. Have you
ever wondered how the moon could be bringing heightened emotions
to surface? Like the sudden blooming of colour that sears through
one’s cheeks, the tide with its waves rolling in and out, its rhythm
as steady as our own— have you noticed how similar the magnetic

I am lonesome, the light from my iPhone much like absent rain not
beating down; slender fingers scrolling through and replying to
misunderstood syllables. Honestly speaking, I find that the moon
senses a tinge of sweetness behind my eyes and in turn lends to fiery
spirit. I am hardly one to pout while seated upon plush furniture; it’s
too much work in my opinion. I’d rather smile my way through the
floodwaters of relating myself to the world.

 Sanguine moon observes,
the rush of blood during a full phase—
heron calls.




Photo credits: Green Bedroom by Richard Tuschman

Frank hosts at dVerse tonight and the word is ‘Moon.’
Come join us! ❤️

Posted for Haibun Monday: To the Moon @ dVerse Poets Pub

A Soft, Silent September Night

“Swans should never despair over ducks not liking them.” ― C. JoyBell C.

Slipping subtly through to lift the blackness is want; its brazen
light shimmers across dark waters, just outside, and streams in
through the space between my curtains. “Sometimes, all that a
heart needs is a push.”

In their dreams they sleep with the moon; freed of gravity, flail up
to dimensions of realms unknown. Herons, unlike us, fret not over
gulls not accepting them. I am a soft, silent September night sewn
by the sense of you. I tell myself misgiving is first and foremost an
external force, stating that one isn’t capable of handling situations;
are we seriously going to allow it to stand in our way?

I hold a perfect salt-bleached shell to my ear, listen to the voices
reaching out from all sides. Sweet, succulent, savory, the sting
that rises
within erases all remains. I prefer stewing in dreams wide




Photo credits: Edward Hopper, “Night Windows,” 1928

Merril hosts at dVerse and asks to write inspired by a
line from
“Death at Wind River,” by Mary Oliver 💝

Posted for Prosery Monday: Moonbeams and Moon Dreams @ dVerse Poets Pub

On the corner of 26th Street

Whatever happens, happens once.  It’s ephemeral like passing mist.
Somewhat like the taste of dark chocolate, the night less than nocturnal;
life is brutal that way, the moments that touch us are also those we can
never hold onto for long.

I write them down every chance I get. The exquisite blend of hot and
cold; that is life. When I found him, I learned things I never knew about
myself. How I long to kiss his lips, shapely as a rosebud, sometimes I
still my thoughts in hopes of hearing his heartbeat. We are many miles
apart at the moment. We will remember once when it is over, said and
done – it was a time and there was never enough of it.

By day the café is the colour of bergamot orange. I hold on to knowledge  
that it’s disposition alone that determines affinity.



Photo credits: Edward Hopper, “Automat,” 1927

Today we are asked to write inspired by a line from
“A Time,” by Allison Adelle Hedge Coke 💝

Posted for Prosery Monday: A Time @ dVerse Poets Pub