The Versesmith

  dVerse Prosery :  Luminous Accountings   The Prosery Challenge: Your prose—fiction or nonfiction—may be no more than 144 words. You must use the given line, and you may not alter the words, change the word order, or insert words into the line. However, you may change the punctuation.  The line is from King of the River , by Stanley Kunitz . . . and the iridescent image swims through a mirror that flows .” Stanley Kunitz (The Atlantic, 1970) Rogue River, OR © Lisa Smith Nelson 2026 Try as I might, I can’t seem to hold on to my memories.  They move, sliding away through my fingers, quicksilver between moments, leaving me with nothing.  No, not nothing.  Worse than nothing.  Nothing would be painless. They leave, not reflections, but vague images, faded photographs, faces silvered with age.  Yet I do remember there were once memories.  That’s what stings.  I promised never to forget.  Even your face is fading, hazy, wavering...

Poets and Storytellers United  Friday Writings #214: Love, love, glorious love! detail of stone lithograph in author's collection, 1909 - K. C. Baking Powder - ©Jaques Mfg. Co., Chicago  White roses by moonlight. Butterflies in the hollyhocks. Scent of vanilla rising from my coffee. Roses dry as bone. Butterflies have flown. My coffee cold and bitter. Love-lost, I live in shadow. ©2026 Lisa Smith Nelson. All Rights Reserved   #poetsandstorytellersunited #fridaywritings #sevenling #lovelost 

 dVerse Poetics: Picking up the Pieces "So, for today’s Poetics challenge, I would like you to write about grief (in general or personal). If that is something you don’t want to share, you can write about healing, dealing with loss or the general state of our world that brings grief to you." While I've written, and posted, poetry speaking of grief in general, much of it, unbeknownst to the reader, as personal.  I may have mentioned, or alluded to the loss of my husband, but never came right out (that I recall) and wrote about it.  I've typed and backspaced, typed and deleted, and now, I've only been able to write one line, an American Sentence.     My heart was left so shattered, there was no way to pick up the jagg'd shards. ©2024 Lisa Smith Nelson. All Rights Reserved Other poems on the subject of grief, and loss, can be found on the left by clicking "grief" in the Labels area. 

Poets and Storytellers United  Friday Writings #108: Beginning For your optional prompt this week, please let the idea of Beginning inspire you. You might write about that idea, or perhaps share a piece which in itself constitutes a beginning of some kind.  Would I, if given the chance, return to  our beginning? I hope you would understand if I refused. It is not meant to hurt you. Our many  years together, now years apart, I would not relive. If only for the pain at the end not to live through again. ©2024 Lisa Smith Nelson. All Rights Reserved 

Poets and Storytellers United   Friday Writings #82 : Favorite Books "...write poetry or prose which includes  the complete title  of one of your favorite books. And if you’re feeling extra generous, tell me why your chosen title is a favorite." I sit at The End of the Pier gazing off into the distance, to squint past the hazy horizon.   There’s nothing to see; there never has been. The Pier is the End of the world.   I sit at The End of the Pier alone, no one ever sees me here to question why I come.   I watch the sun as it slowly drowns, coloring the sea blood-red   in its death throes.   I sit at The End of the Pier wishing I were sinking with the sun, longing to     step off the pier, to walk on moonbeams as they rise from the sun’s ashes. ©2023 Lisa Smith Nelson. All Rights Reserved The End of the Pier is by Martha Grimes.  If you are familiar with her as the author of the Richa...

  Whirligig #382 Prompt words in red. Jim Gateley, CC BY 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons - photo poetic license, it's a Monterey cypress, not pine   Sorrow has burned deep to become a huge charred spot in my barren chest. Beneath the Monterey pine , on the cliff edge far above the shore, I feel salt from the sea on my thin lips mingle with the salt of my tears, the first sensation I've felt in months. I lift my hands into the air tossing the ashes into the wind , letting you fly , free at last.   ©2022 Lisa Smith Nelson. All Rights Reserved

  photo credit Nevermore to feel your warmth against my side at night.   Nevermore to hear your snores until the morning light.   Nevermore to slip cold toes beneath your heated feet.   Nevermore to lay so close to hear your heart to beat.   Nevermore. For ever more. ©2022 Lisa Smith Nelson. All Rights Reserved