Word Dissonance

I search the day for pretty words

turrets of rain pummel them into the garden

where they remain until rot comes

maggots eat into their bouma

maggot grows fat from majuscules

creep over minuscules

chomp ascenders and descenders

lying there

in the riddled corpse of a word

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dVerse prompt to write a poem of dissonance

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Word Dissonance

On the Death of Robert Bly

I wanted him to live to be one hundred even though his readings had stopped years ago. Who am I to judge how long a man should live? Or how his living, his writing, his teaching helped my life. I was just a woman in his workshop at Centrum learning as much as I could.

He would take his class on writing walks. One day on a beach hike, we stood together and watched a fish die in the sand. Another day, we sat with an old stump that had once held up something magnificent. We translated Francis Ponge, “the poet of things”, and looked deeply into an orange.

seasons come and go

left alone to find my way

sad hearing the rain

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dVerse prompt to write a haibun on something or someone to be thankful for

On the Death of Robert Bly

Asking

“What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow out of this stony rubbish?”

(Richard always asked questions. Even when he was giving an answer, he would speak the answer in the form of a question. Sometimes that made life miserable and misunderstood. Other times it brought clarity and enlightenment.)

“Was it rhubarb?”

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dVerse prompt using the line from The Wasteland by T S Eliot

Asking