Asking Bella


From where did you come,
and where did you go
before you came here to me?
What happened to make you fear
crates and loud noises and the prospect of
being left alone?

Who put you in a cell
with bars and bare cement floors
and people parading by to stare?
How did you choose me
to be the one you would enchant
with your soulful chocolate eyes?

When will I have done enough to thank you
for the privilege of walking this path
with you?

I can imagine answers to my questions,
but I will never truly know.
Of course, some questions have no answers,
and that’s okay. What matters is that
you are the answer to me, and
I am the answer to you.

For Emily and Bella

V.J.’s Weekly Challenge #37: Story

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Sermons and Seeds

The dVerse poetry prompt today is all about the pantoum poetry form. As explained by Gina on the dVerse Poetry blog, the pantoum is a series of interwoven quatrains and rhyming couplets. I won’t elaborate further than that (‘cuz I’d just confuse myself), but you can read Gina’s description of the form here.

Below is my attempt at such a poem.


When bored with a sermon of a Sunday morn,

To the graveyard next door I would go.

Among the gravestones I’d play and roam;

Decorum of death I did blithely not know.


To the graveyard next door I would go

To escape stale air and the pastor’s drone.

Decorum of death I did blithely not know;

Off I would dance over rotting bones.


To escape stale air and the pastor’s drone,

I’d blow dandelion puffballs to free the seeds.

Off they would dance over rotting bones,

Then land between tombstones and weeds.


I’d blow dandelion puffballs to free the seeds

Among the gravestones. I’d play and roam,

Then land between tombstones and weeds,

When bored with a sermon of a Sunday morn.


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Law of Nature


Mankind v. Gaia
without blame or forgiveness
justice will be served

dVerse Poetics: Blame and Forgiveness

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Football Players

On the sideline, I sip warm cocoa.
On field, giants grapple.

Sweat and curses fly.
Shoulder pads crunch.
Whistles blow.
The players lumber toward benches,
spitting mouth guards and blood.

My turn.

Likewise an athlete,
I heft my tuba and sprint on field.

dVerse Quadrille #74: sip

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Wall of Shame

wall graphic

“Here in America, we don’t give in to our fears.

We don’t build up walls to keep people out.”

~ Michelle Obama

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Season’s Greeting


Spring came early.

Daffodils sent up blunt shoots.

Yellow buds perched atop short stalks.

Pushing right through autumn’s detritus,

spring defied winter’s chilly winds.


But winter sent a heavy-handed greeting:

a caress of snow, an icy kiss of welcome

and – most likely –

of goodbye.

dVerse Quadrille #73: Kiss

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You didn’t see me.
You watched my reflection
turn in a direction
you chose not to see.

You didn’t hear me.
You thought I was sleeping.
In fact, I was weeping.
You chose not to hear.

You didn’t touch me.
You thought I might crumble.
You thought you might stumble.
You chose not to feel.

You didn’t miss me.
You thought I had left you,
came not to my rescue.
You chose to move on.

I vow to be seen,
and heard and respected;
my path self-selected;
invisible no more.

dVerse Poetics: Invisible

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