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Daily Verse
 

Week 3, May  2024
 

Image by Scott Webb

On the Face of It
by Hester L Furey  13th May 2024

Weather

Not being facile, as people think,

Or that other word, the one he slung

            Like an axe and severed us,

            Threw away that future,

            Like any man bearing cudgels.

 

Fascia holds organs in place around

            Bones, binds and bounds,

            Stretches and shrivels,

            Sticks when I am rigid, snaps

            Like any woman with a tongue long bitten.

 

Unshackled, unstoried after asana, having left

            Behind all thoughts of who I am,

            What fiction factions me.

 

Beneath my eye skin, coolness, fresh air flutters,

A breath that means I moved, let go, grew.

 

I am no one again.

My tongue is soft.

tiny poems.jpg

Tanka

by Reid Hepworth 14th May 2024

Crayon
shattered _in an instant…_after the fall_lenticular clouds_slowly drift by.jpg

shattered 

in an instant…

after the fall

lenticular clouds

slowly drift by

how gentle_the wind caresses_the birch _this longing to hold you_again in my arms .jpg

how gentle

the wind caresses

the birch 

this longing to hold you

again in my arms 

regret slips in_like an old friend_why do I _always choose_the hardest path.jpg

regret slips in

like an old friend

why do I 

always choose

the hardest path

a beautiful painting of a dark night with a moon, a river and fireflies.jpg

On A Summer Evening Walk in San Marcos, Texas, I Remember Mary Oliver

By Oscar Houck 15th May  2024

The midnight moon, full and gracious,
has softened the river from its deep greens and blues

to silver.
Crickets and cicadas in the cottonwoods
set up a metallic cacophony such that
if I didn't know better,
I would think I was
walking through a machine.
Maybe a giant watch,
with all its internal gears
whirring and clicking.
But I do know better.

 

This is a church,

where the congregants
speak in tongues
that only they can understand.

And the fireflies are votive candles,
whose yellow-gold radiance
flickers against
the indigo night sky,
where someone
has spread salt,
incandescent grains of starlight,
the way farmers used to broadcast seed, by hand,
over the fallow soil of spring.

The river
is one long, baptismal font of motion.
It whispers vespers,
in the low murmur
of water over stones.

The priest however, has gone missing
and so,
the liturgy is left to us.

The world is so obviously alive
despite our best efforts to destroy it.
And we have been allowed here

in spite of it all,
to worship.

 

Let us pray to the mystery
we are a part of,
rather than trying
to own it.

For every day here is a gift and holy.
And every night here is holy.

Amen.

an abstract with words.jpg

Lost

By Dan Hardison 17th May 2024

Watercolor Shape

The poem went away
And did not look back.

― James Still

Some might think
it is writer’s block,
but it’s not that words
will not come,
instead they come
and then drift away
lost somewhere between
then and now.

writing poetry.jpg
Flower

Poems: On Transformation

By Robert Witmer 16th May 2024

cicada husks filled with rain.jpg

the grieving gone

cicada husks

filling with rain

spring leaves in the cemetery__.jpg

another long walk

through the cemetery

spring leaves

beam of light from a lighthouse in a stormy sea.jpg

the pulse of a lighthouse

on a stormy sea

the mother's final push

Biographies of Poets

A native of Tennessee, Dan Hardison now lives in Wilmington, North Carolina where he is a writer and artist. Dan's artwork is inspired by Japanese woodblocks and ink painting (sumi-e). As an artist and writer, he is drawn to the Japanese haiga – a combination of image and poem. This has led to recent work creating handmade artist books. His writing is primarily in the Japanese short form of haiku and haibun, and has appeared at Frogpond, Cattails, Contemporary Haibun Online, Drifting Sands, and other print and online journals. Dan's work can be found on his website 'Windscape Studio' and blog 'Some Tomorrow’s Morning.'

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