Terra Nova ~ prosery


Terra Nova

With little more than the clothes on my back, I approach a building found by following the directions in a note meant only for true believers. An otherwise empty wall holds one nondescript door. As I enter, it closes behind me. I feel a rush of air and realize I am in an airlock. Glancing back, I see that the entrance is gone. There is only one door before me. Above it is a sign that reads, “If you are a dreamer, come in.” Without hesitation, I open it to see a wondrous vista before me and realize that gone are the technologies that would deny Terra the expression of her true self. I step through with no regrets, for who could deny this unspoiled beauty is worth more than all I leave behind. Forward lies the future mankind once thought out of reach.


This is my response to Meet me where the sidewalk ends…,
the prosery prompt form Lillian at dVerse ~ Poets Pub.

With Prosery, the challenge is to write a piece of flash fiction with a 144-word limit. Included in the bit of prose is to be a complete line from a poem. For this prompt, the line to be included is from “Invitation,” a poem from Shel Silverstein’s Where the Sidewalk Ends.

“If you are a dreamer, come in.”
                                  – Shel Silverstein

This prosery started out as a poem for Day 12 at napowrimo.net, which challenges us to use words from Lempriere’s Classical Dictionary and the Historical Dictionary of Science Fiction.” I used “airlock” and “Terra.” When I saw Lillian’s prompt at dVerse I realized I could revise it to be a prosery. I’ve met the additional challenge of hitting the 144-word mark, exactly.

Image source: Wikipedia (edited here)span>

The Sweetest Wine ~ quadrille

The Sweetest Wine_2

The Sweetest Wine

Together, our horizon knows no bounds.

The nearest rose and the most distant star
could not be closer to this truth.

Yet the scent of a rose,
the beauty in a star, cannot compare.

One kiss from you, and I know the sweetest wine.

The Sweetest Wine_1

This poem (off-prompt for Day 5 of napowrimo.net) is my response to Quadrille #125 – In Praise of the Grape, the prompt from Linda Lee Lyberg at dVerse ~ Poets Pub, which is to use a form of the word wine in a 44-word poem, with no required meter or rhyme.

NaPoWriMo 2021

~ Day 5 ~

Wikimedia Commons – Rosette Nebula surrounding star cluster NGC2244
Astronomy Picture of the Day – “cluster galaxies and cluster dark matter, analogous to the many points of light one would see while looking through a wine glass at a street light”

Broken Cycle, Whole Heart

Broken Cycle, Whole Heart

Broken Cycle, Whole HeartWrinkled, tossed, unused,
this heart had grown
a stranger to affection
until your heart took it
for a spin, rinsed away
any trace of despair,
and broke the cycle
that held it captive
with a love that is
permanent, pressed
into the pages of both
my heart and mind.

This poem is my response to Poetics: Put Your Words on Spin Cycle, the prompt from De Jackson at dVerse ~ Poets Pub, which is to write a laundry poem. She offered the option to use a list of laundry words and to include three or more words or phrases from the list.

fluff & fold
spin cycle
permanent press
wash & wear
dryer fuzz
machine wash warm
tumble dry
dry flat
front load
fine delicates
clothes pins

Image source: Pinterest

Parting Clouds ~ haibun

Parting Clouds

Parting Clouds


It’s been a year-long winter, this period of isolation for many, with seasons blending as one while the world’s population held its collective breath waiting for the passing of the coronavirus. But shelter, by definition, is confining, and cabin fever soon set in. Guidelines to prevent the spread of the disease were ignored, with many gathering, crowded and unmasked.

Those in the know gained their pleasure from the outdoors while maintaining social distancing, fearful, still, that those less wise, the many they encountered as they shopped for necessities, those who were unmasked while ignoring distancing, would bring them into contact with the scourge that had taken millions of lives around the world.

But at last vaccines have been developed, and infection rates are falling as more people obtain them. The storm has not completely passed, but there is hope that this long winter is finally over.

parting clouds
sunlight on pink and white
cherry blossoms

This is my response to Haibun Monday: Cherry Blossoms,
the prompt from Frank Tassone at dVerse ~ Poets Pub.

pebble sinks ~ tanka

pebble sinkspebble sinks
as water rises
spring rain continues
another pebble
falls from my fingers

This tanka is my response to Eugi’s Weekly Prompt – Swirling – March 25th, 2021 which asks that we respond with any variation of the the prompt and/or image (above)
– and –
to MTB: Coming full circle, the prompt from Peter Frankis at dVerse ~ Poets Pub,
which asks that we write a poem that circles around
with a repeat or variation of the opening line.

Image source: Arek Socha (qumono) at Pixabay

A Painter Without a Brush

A Painter Without a Brush

No canvas could hold the thoughts that race through my mind,
the scenes that never play out as I consider alternativ
after alternative. While a poet might take pen in hand,
write the words to express the confusion and mayhem
that fills his mind, do I dare take brush to canvas
when even my finished thoughts are never really complete?

This poem is my response to Poetics: The Poet as Painter, the prompt from Laura Bloomsbury at dVerse ~ Poets Pub, which is to use one of five suggested painting titles as inspiration for a poem, without looking at the artwork. An added challenge is to write a second part to the poem as an ekphrastic after viewing the artwork. I have chosen “A Painter Without a Brush,” by Gerhard Richter, which actually is a link to “ABSTRAKTES BILD, 1987,” an abstract by Richter using his signature squeegee technique that is a diptych (two panels meant to be side-by-side) of immense size. The short film about Richter and his technique can be found here: Gerhard Richter: The Painter Without a Brush.

Today has been a day of disjointed thoughts for me – from looking for misplaced items (I just had that a minute ago!) to arriving at the grocery store with my shopping list still sitting on the kitchen table, to realizing my tea had been steeping for a half-hour, to stopping mid-thought to retrieve the item I’d misplaced earlier. All with a little procrastination thrown in. Although not my typical day, it’s held a bumper crop of typical ADD moments. Thus, this poem. I admit that I was aware of Richter as an abstract artist before reading this prompt, so that may have played into the writing of this. After viewing the painting, I don’t know how I could add to the poem.

To make matters worse, my first three attempts to link this went back to the dVerse prompt. I had to close my browser to clear my clipboard cache. It’s just been one of those days!

wrestlution ~ quadrille


I walk these paths
life’s threads
never simple, often tangled
beyond recognition

finding what matters
most, resolution
no simple matter

getting here filled with vexations
complications, estimations
taking stock of situations
convoluted permutations
constant need of calibration
causing me consternation

I wrestle with knots

This poem is my response to Quadrille #124, the prompt from Mish at dVerse ~ Poets Pub, which is to use a form of the word knot in a 44-word poem, with no required meter or rhyme.

Image source: clipground.com



This human being is a vessel unlike any other,
for no two vessels are the same. Some hold
shame, and others flow with pride
unstopped. Some know a joy that overflows,
while others hold only sadness. This vessel
holds each, balanced in a way that defines it.

This poem is my response to Poetics: The Art of Being Human, the prompt
from Kim at dVerse ~ Poets Pub, with the prompt to write a poem that opens with
This being human is…” and explores what it is to be human.

Image source: depositphotos (amphora)

Fair Niagara – verse epistle

Fair Niagara

Think not that I have forsaken you.
These thousand miles that separate us
cannot deny that you still flow
through my veins like a lifeblood.

There can be no denying our intimacy.
You cradling me while I swam your depths
beside muskellunge and sturgeon
or holding me afloat as I paddled
your waters in the company of herons.
You as my quiet companion,
the many hours I sat by your shore
marveling at your beauty, contemplating life.

I have known the majesty of your cataracts,
you with a rainbow as a crown
while singing of the splendors of nature.
I have seen your power and fury on display
below those falls, rushing through a canyon
that could not contain you, till you broke free
to flow calmly, steadily, to complete your course,
connecting one inland sea with another.
I have watched the sun set over you,
enhancing your beauty and glory.

Yet, while my heart still beats for you,
it has answered the call of one most dear.
And while she shares my heart with you,
this distance lies between us. I seek
what comfort I can from the rivers and streams
of my new home. They do not run as clear.
Nor do they provide the solace
I find in your blue waters, Niagara.

This poem is my response to Exploring the poetic genre: Verse Epistle, the prompt from Sanaa at dVerse ~ Poets Pub. An epistle is a letter in verse, usually addressed to a person close to the writer. Its themes may be moral and philosophical, or intimate and sentimental.

Aside from family, what I miss most about western New York is the Niagara River, having lived within two miles of it for 59 years of my life – and within ¼ mile for 34 of those years. From scuba diving to boating, to kayaking, to hiking the gorge of the lower river I’ve spent thousands of hours on, under, or beside the river. I’ve been in Missouri for nine years, and every visit back to New York includes walking along the river’s shore and visiting Niagara Falls.

Sunset on the Niagara River, with the skyline of the city of Niagara Falls on the horizon
(click image for larger view in new tab)

Mistaken Freedom ~ quadrille

Mistaken Freedom

Swift, this death
sweeping across the globe
catching unawares
those most susceptible,
the frail and compromised,
the aged with defenses down.

Just as swift, the defiance
by those mistaking freedom
from regulation to be
the right to subject others
to the risk of death.

This is my response to Quadrille: swift,
the prompt from Sarah at dVerse ~ Poets Pub, which is to use
a form of the word swift in a 44-word poem, with no required meter or rhyme.

Image source: Johns Hopkins University & Medicine Coronavirus Resource Center
(click image for larger view in new tab)