Tag Archives: dVerse

The Big Reveal

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34

It is weeks in the making. First the design is conceived, drawn and copied for a pattern to attach to the worktable. Glass is selected by color, texture, opacity… or sometimes simply availability and affordability. The glass is cut, ground and sized until each piece fits perfectly into the pattern. Individual pieces are wrapped with leading, lead joints soldered together, then putty is worked under the lead for stability and waterproofing. Cleaning is done in place with a bristle brush and whiting powder. Then, the wait.

The putty takes three days to set. Twice daily the artisan cleans off any putty that seeps  from beneath the lead. She notices where she applied too much solder. Or too little. She guiltily surveys a piece she had cut too small but used anyway, knowing she could fudge with lead or putty to hide the gap. She second-guesses her glass choices. Will the colors compliment or contrast as she intended? Will the nuances of the design come across as planned?

When the putty is set, it’s time. The artisan lifts the stained glass panel, wipes it clean and rests it gently on a windowsill. She backs away and for the first time gazes upon the completed work. The critical eye judges workmanship, mercilessly and exacting. The artistic eye must wait ‘til the critic quiets. And lastly, the cautious heart will weigh in on the worthiness of the piece. The verdict? We’ll have to wait and see.

patience takes patience
minutes take sixty seconds
waiting takes its time

IMG_0059r

“Hammer Shattering Glass Shattering Hammer” stained glass panel by Maggie C.

dVerse Haibun Monday: Waiting

Insider

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flame4

Your conspiratorial wink
seeks my complicit nod.
A pact, an inside joke
among us privileged.
What’s the punch line today?
Racism? Xenophobia? Homophobia?

Today the tacit agreement ends.
I will look you in the eye – unflinchingly –
and say, “No more!”
Straight. Into. The. Mirror.

dVerse Quadrille #68: Wink

A Sketchy Story

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23

scary

Once upon a stormy night,
it was a dark and dreary time.
Did you hear the one about…
You’re not going to believe this rhyme.

It all begins on Halloween,
this scary tale I’ve yet to weave.
I do not know the ending yet;
it took so long, the start to leave.

I’m sure there’re bats and witch’s brew,
lightning crackling in the sky,
the mournful howls of shrouded souls,
an icy breeze when ghosts glide by.

Something frightening will occur,
a horrid nightmare come to life.
We must escape impending doom.
A curse? a ghoul? a bloodied knife?

Though terror strikes, Good will prevail.
Ghosts disappear with dawn’s first light.
We’ll be forewarned of danger still
in shadows deep on stormy nights.

And so it ends, as all tales do.
The rest is history as they say.
We all live happily ever more.
We live to fight another day.

The details of this scary tale —
as sketchy as they seem to be —
are yours to conjure in your mind
and fill the blanks in as you please.

If any moral lies herein,
I leave that point for you to hone.
The yarns I spin unravel fast.
Collect the threads and weave your own.

dVerse Poetics

Old but New

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floor3

I don’t know when the original hardwood flooring was covered with carpet. Times change. Tastes change. A beautiful, gleaming oak floor in the mid-fifties came – over time – to be seen as an outdated, cold, hard to maintain surface. Carpets – with so many shades and textures to choose from, so warm to the feet on cold mornings, so… modern! – were slapped down right over the top of the oak floors. Adding insult to injury, no one even bothered to use drop cloths when they spray-textured and painted the walls before laying the carpet.

Times change. Tastes change. When I discovered the oak floor beneath the tacky, cheap, outdated carpet, I was delighted! Scratches, minor water stains, tack and staple holes give it charm and character to my eye. I will not revive it to its pristine 1955 condition. I will clean it up and let it blend in with the industrial chic vibe of other rooms in the house.

Times change. Tastes change. A new homeowner will come along some day. They won’t see the hardwood floors as the treasure that I do. They’ll likely wonder why I exposed the cold, outdated eyesore of distressed wood flooring. They’ll cover it with god-only-knows what. Hopefully, as the transition from trend to trend and back again continues, the stalwart wood will at least be given the courtesy of a drop cloth. Is that too much to ask?

autumn turns to fall
transitioning to itself
changed yet unchanging

Haibun Monday – Transitions 

morning stirs

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32

morning4

The clock shows six a.m. Maybe. My eyes don’t quite focus first thing in the morning. My dog Chules has awakened me with his gentle “woof” from halfway down the hall. I don’t know how he expects me to hear such soft greetings, but I do hear them, almost every time. I rise and make my way down the hall to the front door where Chules now waits. “What kind of day do you suppose it is today?” I ask. Chules answers as usual with a generous tail wag and an expectant smile. He doesn’t prejudge days. He’s very Zen about that kind of thing.

I prop the door open with my Himalayan salt crystal. The lamp inside broke some time ago, but it’s quite heavy and makes a perfect door stop, so there it sits. Chules steps out to the  porch and plops down on the cool cement. The lyrics from a Dan Fogelberg song enter my head.

Yes it’s going to be a day // There is really no way to say no // To the morning.

Chules’ eyes meet mine. Does he hear the song, too? In my imagination, I hear us both saying, “Yes.” A most hearty yes to the morning.

morning stirs awake
day unfolds to greet the sun
petals of summer

dVerse Haibun Monday: morning

Rodent Robbers

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Snap! smacks the mouse trap,
as the spring is spryly sprung.
The trap slaps shut with a jolt abrupt.
Now the deadly deed is done.

Wheeze! breathes the brave mouse,
as she gasps to grasp some air.
That’s how it goes when the cheese she chose
is a ploy plied to ensnare.

Voilà! exclaims the vainglorious vole.
“You disdained and disbelieved
that a twig tip-tapped could trip the trap.
Such a clean scheme I conceived.”

Shush! shouts the shaking mouse.
“It was I who death defied.
Put a plug in your pompous prattling
while we partake of our purloined prize.”

dVerse Meet the Bar: Onomatopoeia 

Let Sleepy Towns Lie

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jail time

The sands of time had ground to dust.
The wheels of justice left the bus.
My day in court long overdue,
due process – it seemed – had stood me up.

This sleepy town gave me arrest
for stealing nest eggs off their nests.
When left to choose ‘twixt right and wrong,
I wrongly chose, then quickly left.

Blind justice sniffed me out that day,
threw me in jail; the key, away.
Each year, society’s ransom grew.
How long until this debt was paid?

One night I knew just what to do.
I poison-penned an IOU,
slipped through the cracks and stole away,
and vowed my life of crime was through.

I bailed from jail, but I’m still not free.
I watch my back, it watches me.
I’ll no more practice to deceive, ‘cuz
from ‘neath her blindfold, justice sees.

dVerse Poetics: Twisted Adages. “For this week’s Poetics, we will start with an adage, or several adages, but we won’t stop there.  I am asking you to craft your poetry around an adage or two that you must change in some significant way.”

I may have gotten a bit carried away with my wordplay, but you know, when it rhymes, it pours. 

I wrote a previous post that fits the bill for this challenge as well. You may find it here.

 

Turning In

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chules at night2

It is 10 PM. My dog Chules stares up at me from the floor, where he has been sleeping most of the evening. He wants to catch my eye so I will realize it is bedtime. I’m not sure how he distinguishes between his many naps and bedtime, nor do I understand why he feels responsible for getting me to turn in at this particular hour. Nonetheless, bedtime it is.

As per ritual, I open the front door so he can go outside and relieve himself one last time. Not wanting to draw moths to the light inside, I step out onto the porch, close the door, and wait in the dark for Chules to finish his business. Sometimes he gets right to it, sometimes he goes off on a final check of the yard’s perimeter. On warm nights like tonight, he is just as apt to sit on the lawn and gaze at the stars. I join him in sitting and gazing, though I’m certain our ruminations run on very different tracks.

it is quiet tonight except for the chirping of crickets. I don’t recall having heard them for quite some time, and I find comfort in the familiarity of nature’s music. So much of it has gone missing. After a time, I stand and Chules comes trotting back to the porch. We go inside and — having settled my mind and his kidneys — we retire to our beds in peace.

crickets serenade
on dark, warm nights I eavesdrop
songs not meant for me

dVerse haibun Monday: crickets