She ripped open seams . . .
slit through emotions,
shed the niceties.
Cruelty unmasked.
Avoid at all costs.
I’m hosting Tuesday Poetics at dVerse today, the virtual pub for poets. Prompt today is to write a poem using the word “shed” – or a form of the word. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us!
He tied her in knots with a string of tales.
Flew her like a kite, jerking the lead,
back and forth in tormenting winds.
Strung her along, tethered to rocky shoals,
until his nots became a strangle hold.
Every Tuesday, Misky posts a Twiglet: a short phrase, a word; to prompt a thought, a flow, a memory. Twiglet #11 is the phrase “with a string.” Art from Wikiart: Nude Young Woman by Giorgione, 1508.
They arrived in droves, valuable cargo.
Used for the well being of others
to plant and sow, shod our horses,
tend our fields and homes.
In their visibility they were anonymous.
They were bid upon and owned.
Free will shackled in irons,
inhumanity by humanity.
This is our history. Not sepia toned
nor romantically blurred by antiquity.
Not smudged as charcoal blends,
disappears into fine threads of vellum.
This is our history,
and I am ashamed.
Posted to dVerse where Bjorn is hosting OLN; opens at 3 PM Boston time.
No photo posted with this poem. Racism still lives and appears on nightly news. I crave the dream of Martin Luther King and pray for all our children, for a better, kinder, more just world.
Ice cube pressed to lips,
nostrils flare at exhales
as shoulders heave.
Ignore the oppressive humidity.
Ignore salt tears and warm blood.
Let ice cold droplets dilute the red,
drip to chin, to chest
stain rug.
He seemed different,
until he did not.
Walt is tending bar today, this third day of dVerse’s fifth anniversary. He asks us to write a poem that reacts to this quotation by Sebastian Barry from his novel A Long, Long Way: “I am cold, even though the heat of early summer is adequate. I am cold becasue I cannot find my heart.”
you loved me
as I was you said
then dismembered me
your hands, your will
debased my sense of self
erased my core
left me sightless
looking for me
Hosting dVerse for Tuesday Poetics — a virtual pub for those who enjoy working with words and creating poetry. Today, I’m asking folks to find a sculpture that inspires them — and then to write in the voice of that sculpture — become either the artist who created the piece, or the subject of the sculpture. Don’t tell us about the sculpture, rather take on its voice. Come on over and see what others do — or how about joining us and lending your voice too?
lillian the home poet 