A Quadrille in the form of a Haibun The ancient Sages of the Talmud taught: Fire is one-sixtieth of hellfire; honey, one-sixtieth of manna; the Sabbath, one-sixtieth of the 'World to Come'; sleep, one-sixtieth of death; and a dream, one-sixtieth of prophecy. sunlight hours lengthen evenings aglow with shimmers twilight eyelids droop d’Verse Quadrille #152… Continue reading Evening shimmers, or: Twilight eyelids
A quadrille (in descort form) Static thinking falls short when writing a descort; it is deliberately awkward, as every single line must differ from every other line in length, meter, and rhyme too, thereby forcing poets to be flexible, or at least write more irregularly than they might prefer. Descort poem The descort differentiates itself… Continue reading Delib, or: ately awkward
My 2nd Cyrch A Chwta A quadrille Her room was completely chock- full of stuff no longer stocked. She'd abandoned wearing socks, for they were lost under blocks. Visitors would softly knock, rather than deal with deep shock at panes blocked off from the dawn and murals drawn in bright chalk. Cyrch A Chwta? (kirch… Continue reading Trove, or: Troubled
A quadrille (44 words) Having sprung past spring in the course of but one too-brief week, Israel once again puts winter radiators back into seasonal storage; opens windows wide; embraces summer's heat with open arms, sweat dripping down the small of its back, straight into its ass crack. d’Verse Quadrille #149 The above poem is… Continue reading Spring, or: Sprung
A quadrille (44 words) Torn up streets; thick weeds; heavy smell of musk; Long covered for ages by toxic vapor. Survivors? They're living in benighted dusk; None alive have known a sheet of paper. A child in deerskins spurts towards shaman’s tent, Clutching timeworn bottle, fearing dark portent. d’Verse Quadrille #148 The above poem is… Continue reading Dark portent, or: Timeworn bottle
Sevenling (Every day) A quadrille Every day ('cept Shabbat, cuz) I'm at my 'puter late; sleep schedule off; strugglin' to get up. Las' night, my eye itches, blurry; wake up this mornin', blurry; later, itchy an' still - blurry. Thought: am I at the screen too much? ... Nah, s'jus' allergies. Sevenling Lines one to… Continue reading Text, or: Vexed
A quadrille In the form of a Double Nonet poem born naked; heart beating; anxie- ty; wailing loudly, absent salt- y tears despite harsh, harrow- ing experience; for- eign, chilly air flow- ing into ti- ny lungs; glar- ing lu- mi- nes- cence that pierces thin eyelids, tightly shut; cacophony reverberating on small eardrums; lying… Continue reading Born naked, or: Affectionate kiss
A quadrille In the form of a Diminishing Verse poem Fingers crossed, he'd intended to cheat... Soft cookies cooling from the oven's heat... She'd made him promise that he wouldn't eat any of them... But perhaps he'd just nibble a bit at one... Retching on salt, he realized she knew him to a 't'. Diminishing… Continue reading Sugar, or: Spice
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