The Versesmith

dVerse -  Open Link Night #396   You can link up one poem of your choice below or write to the optional mini prompt which we are offering today. Consider the opening line from Edna St Vincent Millay’s poem “Love is Not All.” source “Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink nor slumber nor a roof against the rain." I read her words, then lay the book, spine up on my lap, and wonder. No, “ love is not all …” I found it once. Lost it, and never found another. Yet I do not hunger nor thirst for love, nor lose sleep, alone in my bed. If I lay awake at night, it’s to hear the rain upon my roof. No, “ love is not all …” It’s merely a part of one sort of whole. Which leaves another sort of hole when it parts. ©20 25 Lisa Smith Nelson. All Rights Reserved  

 dVerse #235 : Take Your Poem For a Whirl Around the Block  Ready to give it a whirl? Here’s how to let your whirl unfurl:  Just pen us a poem of precisely 44 words, not counting the title, and using some form of the word whirl. My head in a whirl,  dizzying, what was I doing again? My mind wandering, lost, wondering where I was going? My brain in a fog, confused, didn’t I already write that line? If we all gained an extra hour,  why does it feel inversed? ©2025 Lisa Smith Nelson. All Rights Reserved

Poets and Storytellers United Friday Writings #201: On Halloween " write poetry or prose set on Halloween, All Hallows’ Eve, Dia de Muertos… or whatever this day is called in your bit of our world. " I am glory  beyond your understanding. I was not as you see me now, no skin and bones, no flesh and blood, spectral.  I see you tremble. No more than my due, since time immemorial, time unending. Your fear excites, your cowering incites my passions. Why did you come?  What did you hope to find? Come closer, let me feel your breath  on my neck. Come closer, let me smell the sweat  of your fear. Come closer, let me envelop your fluttering heart, my ghostly veil your shroud. A veil for a bride it shall be.  Is that why you came? Is that what you’d hoped to find?  Eternal life? Eternal death? ©202 5 Lisa Smith Nelson. All Rights Reserved

 It's Haibun Monday at dVerse.   The prompt is " Write a haibun that references Halloween ." Starting in early October, the neighborhood ghouls and witches appear.  Mostly inflatables, but a growing number of gigantic skeletons as well.  Where do they the residents keep those during the off season?  These things are 12’ tall!  Maybe they leave them up.  I saw you can get Santa outfits for them on Amazon.  It will be interesting to see if Easter Bunny ears will be available come spring, or Uncle Sam hats for July 4th.  Come to think of it, patriotic garb on a skeleton is a good representation of what’s been going on.   You know... the Death of Democracy.  bones reach for the sky  as children screech on the porch feeding sugar-highs  ©2025 Lisa Smith Nelson. All Rights Reserved  

  Poets and Storytellers United Friday Writings #200:  "...write something about, or including, the number 10. And/or write a 10-line poem." I have written a 10-line poem using the word  decimate . Decimate : to destroy, to  remove one tenth f rom the Latin decimus, meaning ten image source  Rebellious ones in the Legions of Rome, be afraid. Decimation is upon you for your cowardice. Gather by tens for judgment, shake in fear. Pick your stone, and beg Fortuna her wheel pass you by. Her fortune is random, the odds in your favor. Spare you she may, y e t nine throw the ston es , n ine raise the ir clubs. Shared guilt, a lesson in obedience. ©2025 Lisa Smith Nelson. All Rights Reserved  

  dVerse Prosery : Oh, Umbrellas  For your prompt today, I’d like you to use the following lines in your Prosery: “What will I do there without my hands upon your summer face?” lines from the poem, Oh, Umbrellas, by Jeffrey Hermann Write a piece of prosery of up to or exactly 144 words, including the given line in the order in which it has been given. You may add or change punctuation, but you may not add or delete words. 144 words rainy city scene on newsprint, by Mary Pedri, in author's collection       S ummer was ending. I was told I was going to go to school in the city. I didn’t want to go. For all the glitz and glamor my mother insisted I’d enjoy, I knew I wouldn’t. I hate the city. It was noisy in the city. I preferred the country. The country… melodies of meadowlarks… chirping of crickets at dusk… f rogs in the pond (my brother called it The Lake ) croak ing to one another. In the city you couldn’t hear a bird to save your life. Tr affic, ...