Columbine to Douglas High and Everywhere Between

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dverse  Posted by Frank Hubeny  Brevity

Who will come forward
make the hard decisions?
Who will be a champion
a speaker for the dead?


Dream Thief

Catrin Welz-Stein - German Surrealist Graphic Designer - Tutt'Art@ (24)
Catrin Welz-Stein

dverse  Inspired by Art! Posted by Lillian
Her mind was filled with duty things
home and hearth and job and chores
that she loved with every breath she took
and yet her heart was a fluttering bird
straining at a tug of stronger gravity

She closed her eyes and the sounds around
that lived in home and suburban scenes
were loud, demanding to be heard
but underneath a silvered chord
played soft like the fall of a snowflake

Not yet, not yet, she said with regret
I’ve much too much to do, but, she
promised herself somehow, someway
she’d learn to sing that song…
as the chord grew fainter and dimmed away


Image by artist Catrin Welz-Stein, featured at Catrin Welz-Stein
(THANK YOU Catrin Welz-Stein for allowing us to create poetry from your marvelous images!)


Images in Batik

dverse Quadrille #50 Posted by whimsygizmo “Today, I’d like you to murmur.”


Our days echo into the night
repeating in dreams
on crumbled Chambray.
Pictures flow upon this canopy
in silhouettes of deepening grey.

And shadows murmur
of deeds undone
and hopes as yet unmet,
of fears and tears and muddy
schemes in hard shiny jet.


*Jet is a hard, semi-precious stone formed by the fossilisation of wood. It may be either dark brown, with or without lighter brassy streaks or – and as far as we are concerned this is the significant characteristic – a deep glossy black.





The Dark Hours of Recrimination

imaginarygarden   Terza Rima Imagined By Marian


I have seen the far side of twelve o’clock
have pulled up the scratchy covers of two
heard four-thirty’s cruel, convicting mock

For, I have been conversant with the blues
of darkest cobalt in the deepest sea
that washes over one in coldest hues,

in those hours that shift like slackest scree
and dredge up old sorrows and woebegone,
imps of night yammering hyperbole.

I greet the golden apricot of dawn
midst rumpled sheets and pillow tear infused,
with reddened eyes and ferocious yawn.

This tete a tete of defend and accuse
has rendered me conversant with the blues.



A Nod at Wallace Stevens

imaginarygarden   Bits of Inspiration ~ Stairs   Imagined By Susie Clevenger


This house is haunted by white nightgowns
and roomy landings on the stairs
to break the climb and ease the lungs
but when I was young and you were young
we’d run in our neon pink pajamas
to the attic and back sliding down the stairs.
Now I must consider hip replacement
and brand new knees and I’m disillusioned
with white nightgowns ,old age and their intrusion


“Disillusionment of 10 O’ Clock” by Wallace Stevens


The Long Shadow of War

mindlovemisery  Music Prompt #10: Imagine Dragons – “Demons” prompt by mandibelle16  (Song here)


You left with hope
and high ideals
gonna make it safe
for those back home

But what you dreamed
and what you’d seen
were two very, very
different things

When you came back
without some friends
it was the end
of innocence

I saw your pain
you drowned it out
in angry words
your heart in sherds

an ancient artifact
of war, no more,
you’re better now
but it’s still there

In your eyes lurk
loss and pain, you’ll
never be guiltless again
and every now and then

it rears its head
you push it down
you’ve learned to live
and forgive… yourself.



imaginarygarden Writing Unseen Imagined By Isadora Gruye

”  Write a poem about something you can’t see fully. Whether it’s the sea monster draped in darkness or just the silhouette of a lover blotted out by the sun, we are all intrigued with the details that exist but escape our sights. “


Does it feel velvety soft
like the down of eider
that cradles my head
that soothes me to sleep
to dream the dreams
of peace and rest?

Does it taste like pears,
the rosy part in absinthe green
that fills my mouth
with succulent sweetness
sating my thirst
of body and soul?

Does it sound like
a gentle rain tapping
at the window or rushing
rowdy rapids over rock
or perhaps the hungry chirp
of a wide-mouthed nestling?

I only know it is an enduring
thing, a wish, a possibility,
a thing promised with surety
but unseen, unseeable,
felt only as a flutter,
fragile as a butterfly wing.



Cloud Rorschach

Wheat Field with Cypresses
Painting by Vincent van Gogh, July 1889

Twiglets lily-clouds

There’s a cat pouncing behind the cypress
bent fingers at the top that beckon
and under them a long stemmed calla,
stamen like a tongue stuck out in fun.
Oh, I could lie here all morn finding shapes
in the clouds, my imagination at full run.


Life and other Scary Things

Twiglets     with both feet

I’ve tried it many ways
this dipping into life
I’ve timidly stuck in my toe
and shivering withdrew,
valiantly waded in waist high,
ballerina tiptoe style
but it just prolonged the agony.
I’ve thrown all caution to the wind
and dove headfirst into the deep
but somehow I didn’t like my head
covered before my feet.
Now, I think I’d recommend
springing, eyes open wide
into the deepest part
with both feet
screaming and kicking
and utterly indiscreet.



mindlovemisery Saturday’s Mix-silhouettes-prompt by Teresa

Image result for silhouettes images
Shutterstock on Google images


I only ever saw you in silhouette
blocking out a space of bright
two-dimensional being of dark
that made the light around intense

I thought it was you that dazzled .
I guess it was peripheral vision
that distracted… I forgot to
look for your soul. I admit your

silhouette was well defined, sharp
but your detail was lost in blur,
fuzzy, indistinct like your caring,
your love, your commitment.

It finally came to me – I understood,
a silhouette is a stilled wind,
a static moment, a trick of light
and you never stirred me.