(re) corded

weaving light
waves that cross over
in curved lines,
waves that land
inside the pause of the edge,
waves that linger cusped–

a small piece
of time, and yet it
fills me up–
I balance,
holding on to tides synapsed
between spells and signs

Punu Ngura (Country with trees) 4, 2019 by Peter Mungkuri ...

Peter Mungkuri’s “Country with Trees”, above, is the current Kick-About prompt. The layering of the different elements got me thinking about an idea from Claudia McGill that I had copied and saved which I recently found when sorting out files.

She took a magazine and tore pages partially out to create a new layered collage-like image. I did not have any magazines with trees, but I have lots of surfing magazines I bought on eBay because they are full of images of sea and sky to use in collage. So I layered the ocean.

My poem is a shadorma quadrille for dVerse, using the word provided by Linda, linger.

somehow the blank piece of paper becomes something else

my hands drawn
into lines—tensely
furtively from fear, riddled
with hesitation

beginning again
disguised by repetiton
over and over

and yet not
the same these motions
these attempts
to capture
a moment streaming tracing
the outlines of time

I’ve used the image from National Geographic provided by De at dVerse as inspiration for my watercolor/quadrille using the word stream.

Also linking to earthweal, where Sarah discuss the harvest festival of Lammas and asked us to think about how we harvest and transform in our own lives.


What abides
contains emptiness
waiting for
what cannot
return.  What abides remains
forever unfilled.

What abides
is quintessence—the
of a way
of being—the exchange
of rudimentals.

What abides
contains entire lives
and apart–
more than a remembering–
opened held nowhere.

A quadrille for dVerse, where Jade has given us the word abide.


does what I construct
from what I see
fit the idea
of me?

can I be mirrored
repeated copied

contained in reflection–
momentary glimpses–
light entering

translating possibility
into something visible,

always an after
to an image as
elusive as

For both of this week’s dVerse prompts, from Mish (eye) and De (quadrille of possibilty).

There was a time when I did many many eye collages, and the illustrations here are from about seven years (and many lifetimes) ago. These are both good prompts, and I still have some ideas…

wake up

I needed
herbal tea and drank
lemon ginger—aromas
filled the afternoon

this morning my head
pounded with
caffeine—I had neglected
to include coffee

I needed
to smell the coffee
pot brewing–
the cup–cravings satisfied–
snug, reblanketed

I wrote two blanket poems yesterday–one was depressing and the other too enigmatic, to put it kindly. This poem came to me spontaneously this morning as I waited for my caffeine to brew–along with a drawing to help the time pass more quickly.

A quadrille for dVerse, where Merril has given us the word blanket


reversal 3s

to recur,
move further away–
mote covered
constellated skies, stories
embroidered in blue

darkness fades
into emergence–
the tides of
return shaped
by manifestations of
ghost ships left unsailed

currents bridged between
symbol and
helix twisted round itself–
doubled, multiplied

reversal 2s

For dVerse, a blue quadrille, hosted by Kim.  The art is composed of two different painting experiments that accidentally fell on top of each other–I photographed them in a bunch of different ways, and added the blue with Photoshop.

reversal 1s

I read the news today (oh boy)

I read the news s

approaching greyscale
this blurred journey
down streets
not only nameless but
soundless, dislocated

all the rhythms are abbreviated–
throbbing, stagnating
in a silent cinematic slow motion–
a composite of fragments
neither awake nor asleep–
a perpetual absence
of who
what when where

For dVerse, where Linda has given us the quadrille word of slip, and earthweal, where Brendan asks, “What comes next?”