Tag Archives: dVerse

a handful of herstory

This is an expanded and edited version of Bee sting, for the dVerse prompt “The body & Poetry“.

I have since given away my beehive, so no revisits after this. 

 

My hand swells as the venom spreads,
until it is smooth and puffed;
an inflated glove
or a giant toddler’s hand.

As the skin stretches the wrinkles disappear
and the tiny hidden scars stand out clear.
My stories written on my hands:

White crescents each side of my thumb,
carved by a bird, trapped and crazed,
madly flapping, flailing,
biting when freed.

The fine line across my palm,
from my grandmother,
years gone now,
resting a baby cousin on my hand
as it lay on a sharp edge.
I never told her – why hurt her?

A motley patch on my wrist
records a moment of carelessness:
a slick mud road,
a moment of helplessness
before the airbag left that burn.
(And I turned in terror
to the back seat.)

Pale ridges across two knuckles,
these also self-inflicted,
but in a moment of fury
and despair –
no accident these, but a statement.
(I turn my hand to face these ones away.)

And so many small mishaps,
so much daily clumsiness,
forgotten,
but still inscribed here.

The venom slowly dissolves and disperses.
My hand shrinks, and wrinkles,
aging years in each hour.
And all the scars are hidden,
and forgotten again.

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flood moon; toad; morning commute, still

The Tuesday dVerse prompt this week was “flipping meanings“:

Flood moon

The round orb,
washed white by rain,
floats high in the stream.
It is a record
of what has been.
It asks a question
about what was lost.

Original:
Bushfire Moon (April 2020)

A thin crescent,
bloodied by smoke,
hangs low above the ridge.
This is not a portent
of things to come.
It is a statement,
of what is here. Continue reading

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a glass of sweet autumn gloaming

For the dVerse Monday prompt “In praise of the grape“, a quadrille using the word wine:

 

The autumn-sweet air is eucalypt clean,
light, yellow as late-harvest wine, gilds the trees,
insect hum deepens the stillness,
stirred by currawong’s mournful goodnight.

The trees blush rose,
then dissolve
into the darkness rising from valley
to meet an apricot sky,
ripening to indigo.

 

 

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what’ll we do?

What’ll we do
when the dam is dry
and the sheep stand by
and they look at me,
and they look at you?
What’ll we do? Continue reading

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B-ark-ing mad and chasing our tails

Back on the B-ark yesterday, for strategic planning! So the dVerse prompt: “put your words on spin cycle” felt very apt when I read it this morning.

I hate tidying, sweeping, mopping the floor,
and washing dishes even more,
and there are few things I wouldn’t rather be
doing, than a load of laundry –
but sitting here and taking notes
in this bloody meeting, gets some votes.
There’s no action-items, no decisions made,
my patience is becoming increasingly frayed… Continue reading

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hatsu hana, sakura and osozakura

For the dVerse Haibun Monday prompt: Cherry Blossoms

Every day I drive past a field on the edge of the village. A view of it opens suddenly between rows of tall trees, and I have to look quickly to catch a glimpse of it as I turn onto the bridge into the village. Today this field is darkened by the autumn rains to mud-brown, and even the sheep, knee-deep in mud, are mucky grey-brown.
But in my mind, it is emerald green with fresh spring growth, dotted with white sheep. It is sweet summer deep-gold with ripe grain and pale-gold with dry straw. It is drought-dry hard summer ochre, with willy-willies swirling columns of dust among the thirsty sheep. It is autumn grey. It is glittering white with winter frost. In a single glimpse it is all of these, all at once, each a vivid transparency overlaid on today’s precious glimpse.
I blink, and the field is behind me and I am slowing to enter the village, where the houses and a line of decorative street-trees begins, the last yellowed leaves falling from their bare branches…

I see blossoms foam,
leaf buds forming, un-furling,
on bare black branches.

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calling the sun to the sky (pantoum)

I wanted to write a pantoum yesterday for the dVerse prompt “coming full circle“, but between work and kids I just didn’t have the head space for something that long or structured. But with a whole have-to-free day I’ve indulged myself this morning with a second coffee and some writing time. Here is this morning’s attempt, inspired by Laverton’s 0600 reveille: 

The old cock crows.
Stretching his neck up
to start the new day,
he calls the sun to the sky. Continue reading

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The flags are at half-mast today

For the D’Verse MTB prompt “coming full circle“. 

The flags are at half-mast today.
Small white clouds dapple the blue sky,
and the sun shines quietly down onto
the green, green grass of the parade ground, where
the flags are at half-mast today.

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flat on my assonance (no volta)

For the dVerse prompt poetry form: Seguidilla“:

My attempts at assonance
fail right at the start,
all I get is dissonance
no matter the path. Continue reading

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365 f.p.y

For the dVerse Monday Quadrille prompt: “swift”.
A quadrille is a poem of exactly 44 words, and it must include the prompt word or a variation – otherwise, no constraints.

The days flicker past.

No longer discrete,
they blur together
into an illusion of continuity. Continue reading

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