She smiled tenderly

"Honey, you could use some witchcraft, and I could use a light," she twittered flippantly. On cue, an enormous crow landed on her forearm and lit her cigarette. "Fancy one?" she asked, staring the shaken youngster directly in the eyes. Quaking, the teenager backed up towards the door. "Ohโ€ฆ n-n-no th-thank you, Ma'am!" Suddenly, impossibly,… Continue reading She smiled tenderly

Mirthful hoots, or: Bobbing heads

A serious limerick Having never before experienced the seas, The tykes feared going in past their knees; Leery of foamy waves, They waded, trying to be brave, T'wards their folks' mirthful hoots in the breeze. A silly limerick Seeing only the adults' bobbing heads, The tykes took their parents for dead; 'Oh, gosh golly!' they… Continue reading Mirthful hoots, or: Bobbing heads

Abstractions, or: Future records

A sijo forever's an abstraction, wherefore I wonder what words yield; full of faults, failures, and fatal flaws; frail coward; worthless weakling; at a whiff of war, I'd fold my works up for future records. 'Ronovan Writes' poetry challenge Sijo Wednesday #5 Ronovan encourages poets to write sijos that include the word 'yield' today. Sijo?… Continue reading Abstractions, or: Future records

Knelt down, or: Stood red tulips

My 2nd Copla Real EPIGRAPH: All has become quiet in Moscow.-Count L. N. Tolstoy (1828 โ€“ 1910), 'The Cossacks', 1878 Their fearful faces told him more than what they were too scared to say; he looked from them towards the door, from where she'd been taken away for the crime of uttering, "War." Across the way,… Continue reading Knelt down, or: Stood red tulips

Descend into the catacomb

Cowed into silence, those sitting around the circular table observed as the sorcerer raised the enchanted wine glass over the sleek surface and slowly turned it sideways. Water miraculously began pouring from the empty vessel, as the wizard inverted it fully and placed it at the center of the table. The crystalline liquid continued spreading,… Continue reading Descend into the catacomb

Sore muscles, or: Sore losers

A haibun I, like much of the world, cannot get my mind off of Vladimir Putin's recent and most hubristic of follies: attacking Russia's neighbor Ukraine. The new, emerging global realignment portends a dreadful reality for all of humanity, but especially for Putin's own country; and I cringe inwardly as I write this, for my… Continue reading Sore muscles, or: Sore losers

Glowing, or Toasted

Poetry Partners #42 'Daylight at night', a poem by kittysverses of 'Kitty's Verses' Haunted by dreams, Keeping me awake at night, I seek answers, Those luminescent stars crossing paths though light years far, Have I always known it all along? Of times to come, Awhile wishing otherwise. Haunted by dreams, That take me to lands… Continue reading Glowing, or Toasted