In Flames – dVerse


So much of any year is flammable,
hours you wasted again and again
principles swept under the carpet
relatives ditched for famous friends

So much of any year is flammable,
the calls you forgot to give
the smiles you could have shared
discussions you chose to avoid

So much of any year is flammable,
stretches of sleepless nights
long evenings you drank away
hope forever burnt down to ashes

So much of any year is flammable,
the smoke lingers on and on.

This poem was written for dVerse Poetics where the Tuesday prompt is to include a line from Burning the Old Year.

Classrooms – dVerse


Similar, yet so different
desks, chairs, white boards,
photos, posters, favorite quotes

rooms where learning happens
where hopes abound
passions flourish

rooms where tears are shed
limits encountered
dreams shattered

spaces where memories live
love and hate cohabit
past and present collide

our classrooms.

This poem was written for dVerse Poetics where the Tuesday prompt is ROOM.

Selling – dVerse


My dear children,

It is probably the last time I am looking at the cornflowers in the garden. Tomorrow I will put the house up for sale and Germain will drive me back to Paris. I have no intention of coming back here.

I know you wanted to keep the place where you spent all your summer vacations for so long but, since neither of you is willing to spend any money on it, I no longer have the energy nor the determination to keep it for the sake of old memories.

Memories should only be entertained if they are real, not the myth of a golden age that never was. As it happens, a few months before your father died, I received a letter from a woman I had never heard of. Apparently she had been his mistress for as long as he and I had been married. They had one child. I have no idea why she wanted me to know since your father had secured both her future and that of their son.

As you see the happy marriage was only a facade, nothing I want a house to remind me daily. I only wish I had known a little earlier, when there was still time for another future.

So do not cry for a house. Instead make sure to pursue your dreams with someone you can trust. I love you. Mother

june cornflowers wilt,
time, say where is thy sickle
when memories remain?

This is shared with dVerse for Haibun Monday.

Failure – dVerse


Contemplative Man on the banks of the Mississippi River in Dubuque, Mary.


I walk briskly and nervously. My bag is sliding off my shoulder. I twitch to tilt it back while I grasp the key to the room, my lunch bag, the iPad and folder they gave me. My coffee thermos is right under my arm. It too is trying to slide away.

I feel a fool already and I have not met anyone yet, save the plain woman who gave me the instructions for the day. Why did I ever think I would make a decent teacher while all I know is the world of computers? And when I say teacher, I really mean substitute teacher. The man you see one day and never see again. The one they call ‘sub’ as in ‘oh, we have a sub today’ or ‘hi, sub’ or even worse ‘are you the sub?’

I never saw them. The kids, I mean. I made it to the door. But never opened it. At the last second, I figured that if I cannot speak to co-workers nor address a manager in a normal way, there was no way I could deal with hormone-loaded teenagers. So here I am now…

alone with sharp angst
the river still flows down where
weakness, failures float

This is shared with dVerse for Haibun Monday.

Who Do You Miss – dVerse



Dreams of better days
the hope that tomorrow
would undoubtedly
be brighter than today

certitude that we all long
for democracy, peace
freedom, happiness
wherever we live

safe concert halls
café terrace at night
meals with friends
in parisian restaurants

faith in human nature
hope for liberty
equality, fraternity
all that she misses.

This poem was written for dVerse Poetics where the Tuesday prompt is What I Miss!

The One Who Got Away – dVerse



This is submitted to MTB where we are writing TRIMERIC.


cousin and best friend

why did you leave us so

for me you’ll always be

the one who got away


why did you leave us so

there were no warning signs

you didn’t even leave a note


for me you’ll always be

both clown and confident

sister and open mystery


the one who got away

the one i miss every day

the one i’ll ever look for.

Orphaned – dVerse

IMG 4524

This is shared with dVerse for Haibun Monday.

The waves were licking Ailsa’s toes. She took another step into the water, then another. The sea was grey and rough, the beach empty. She was shivering, despite the navy pullover she wore. She bit fiercely on the hair she had been chewing all along and froze when she realized her shorts were wet. She rubbed her nose, the sand only making the tears and sniveling worse. All she could hear were the waves and her sobs coming and going in unison.

Ever since Mum had come back with the silly baby boy, nothing was the same. Where was the fun she had been promised? It was all about him, him. She might as well be swallowed by the sea, nobody would ever notice.

Suddenly Ailsa was whisked off her feet in a swift embrace of Chanel, silk and red hair.

doubts, waves now muted
she was a daughter again
forever drowned in love

The Pool – dVerse

This is shared with dVerse Open Link. I rewrote a former piece into a haibun. This is also shared with Poetry Pantry at Poets United



Why on earth had they stuck a sundial on the wall of an outdoor swimming-pool? Flavia wondered why she had never seen it from the pool. She must have been too focused on her strokes, hitting the cold water every evening with the team. And why was she sitting here on the terraces now?

The chlorine was wafting to her nostrils, familiar noises colliding with old memories. Ellie the coach was shouting her orders, complaining that they had not trained enough over the summer. It had been a mistake to come and watch. She had made up her mind to quit and here she was brooding uselessly over her decision. Why couldn’t she just admit that she was not good enough?

She sensed a presence behind her. A tall blond woman was scrutinising the water. A mother or a former swimmer, Flavia could not tell but her head spun when in the pale blue eyes she recognised an older version of herself.

chorine droplets, tears
trickling invisible sweat
power of memory