Irrevocable Transformation

Humpty Dumpty’s a metaphor


Fallen from the wall


Past is gone forevermore


No return at all.


Adam and Eve’s Apple 


Imagined as an egg


Pandora’s Box, of course,


Works just as well.


I’ll see you soon.


Between now and then


Think of some more.



It’s time yet again for DVerse Poets Pub


Today’s Quadrille #53 is a 44~word poem, written by each of us, including the word “egg”.  Kim is our Fearless Leader.







Truth or Fiction

Are you well? 

Lovely to see you.

O kind sir

Have some tea.

Perhaps you’re a figment of



For the latest DVersepoets


we’re asked to write in a style of poetry, 

supposedly Spanish, known as Shadorma


Role Models

John, Paul, George, and Ringo,                                                                                                       

 And St. Gabriel Possenti 

.                                                                                           .                                                                  I’ve read biographies of them                                                                                            And they’ve come to life in front of me.


Role models are often like that,


Prone toward transcending time and space.


Those who appear to be mere names and faces


Often tend to be the trickiest that way.


Yet again I’ve made an attempt at DVerse Poets Pub


Today’s poem is about Heroes, Super Heroes, Super Powers, etc.






























Point Of No Return

O have you imbibed of the Pierian Spring?


O are you prepared to dwell

Where knowledge unbridled must soon take its toll


And where chaos can take you pell mell?                                                                                    We haven’t a moment to waste.                                                                                                       Take a taste of the Fires of Hell.


To me chagrin I haven’t tried to write for the  Dverse Poets Pub

in the past quite a while.  It’s Quadrille Monday so I’ve taken a chance on a poem of exactly 44 words~not counting the title~using one word provided. This week’s word is “Fire.”


Cold panic grips the senses.

Past, Future, behind Fences.   

Seen through distorted lenses. 

Left Alone, nothing cleanses.                                                                                                             This is my first recent attempt at poetry. Tanaga is a Filipino form of poetry I’d never heard of before this afternoon.


let the sun shine let the sun shine in

Is springtime at last approaching?

My hitherto forced grins

Are becoming more spontaneous.

Now I can come out

Of my shell again

And face the world.

Not cut out for winter,

I fall in love

With each vernal outburst.

 I wish it were permanent.

Join us for quadrilles in  dverse   forty.four.word poetry.


an enigmatic good-bye

Perhaps I should have told him

Or at least made something up.

         I’ve met another man, joined the

Dominicans…  O it’s too late now.  He’s

          right  here.   I must make haste.

 My heart is broken but at least it’s all over.


magpie tales

kathe w


c hummel kornell

the good life

I thought my life would be like  cartoon talk or a piece of gum,

Ever ready to be contained within,  or to produce, a bubble.

I soon shall figure out a way to make it so.

         I sha’n’t relax until I see that day.


Time for the third quadrille where De wants us to bubble with 44.word poetry at


the belle of amherst and I visit my early days

I went to Lindenhurst last night

I  thought I Heard the bells

Ring out loud at O.L.P.H.

The town was Dark and still.

I then went back to East Elmhurst

Outside St. Gabriel’s

And no one Recognized me there.

I felt a Solemn chill.


“Perhaps I’ll come back Someday soon”,

I thought as I did leave.

“I don’t belong Here anymore”,

Was all I could believe.

I have there now no Friend or foe

But only Tales to tell

Of life that was once, long ago,

A world I once knew well.





the belle of amherst

It’s a bright morning, seven a.m. April 16, 1862, in Amherst, Massachusetts. Emily Dickinson and her older brother Austin are to spend the day at his house celebrating his thirty third birthday with their family. For a while she is left alone. She contemplates her poem number 449. Death for beauty meets death for truth. Engrossed in a mystical vision of their confrontation, the consummate poetess loses all track of time. At about noon, Austin and their sister Lavinia arrive at the house and are stunned. Why had she entirely ignored the candle?


I have included a link to Dickinson’s poem, with an explanation of it, in order to give some insight into the circumstances surrounding my story.