The Versesmith

  dVerse Prosery : Toni Morrison  Here’s how to join in:     Write a piece of prose, up to or exactly 144 words, including the given line. "Lips forget what they have kissed." –Toni Morrison, from, " Eve Remembering " 144 words  image source        The door slammed on his way out...      It rattled the windows, which until now she thought was only an expression, and shook the table holding the tray with the glasses of aged Bordeaux. One toppled. Making no movement to stop it, she watched the ox-blood liquid spread, reach the end of the cloth, and drip to the hand-knotted Isfahan rug.      She reached her hand, now devoid of the blue diamond engagement ring (he had been very generous!), up towards her tear-streaked face and gently touched her lips with her fingertips.      Speaking quietly to the room, empty but for her quivering spaniel (he had yet to grow accustomed to angry voices and slamming d...

  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 glamour 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,...

 dVerse Prosery   Write a piece of flash fiction or other prose up of up to or exactly 144 words,  including the given line from this poem.  “ The future gathers in vine, bush, and tree: Persimmon, walnut, loquat, fig, and grape .” From the poem “ Time and the Garden ,” by Yvor Winters dead zinnias 144 words      It’s been a long summer, so long I’ve given up on the garden.      The Shasta daisies once tall and proud, now tall and brown, crisped by the August sun.  I’ve let the pluots drop to the ground.  I’ve no energy to haul out the ladder to pick the ones past my reach.  Keep my distance, out of sight is out of mind.        Did I say no energy?  Yes, that, plus I just don’t care anymore.  After illness a few springs ago the garden’s gone to seed, to weed, to pot, as it were.  Nothing was weeded that year.  Last year their seeds grew wild, too much for me to handle, this spri...