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...

 Colleen of Tanka Tuesday has offered the follow syllabic poetry prompt.  This will be the last Tanka Tuesday Poetry Challenge as Colleen has retired the challenge.  "This week, we’re using the Native American Zodiac for inspiration. Find your sign and write a syllabic poem about your zodiac animal." Image from Threads  Based on my birthdate, my Native American Zodiac Sign is The Salmon.* So, for this last Tanka Tuesday, on the last day of 2024, I offer a haiku.  Fortunately, " salmon spawning time " is indeed a kigo phrase. Kokanee salmon in Kokanee Creek, B.C. Canada  where the salmon spawn water runs shallow and clear bear, osprey, gather ©2024 Lisa Smith Nelson. All Rights Reserved  Lockhart Creek Camp - bears and osprey need not heed the warning! *Photos are from a childhood vacation in Canada.  Other than salmon as food (and my dog refuses any protein but salmon!) these spawning Kokanee are my only experience with the fish.  I w...

  Ronovan Writes Ovi Poetry Challenge 19: MINE is your inspiration. Oh!  The days of roses and wine! Toasting our future, you were mine. When since then did I miss the sign your love for me had died? ©2023 Lisa Smith Nelson. All Rights Reserved #ronovanwrites #ronovanwritesovipoetrychallenge #ovipoetry #ovipoem #truthpoetry #syllabicpoetry #syllabicpoem 

 Friday Fictioneers  "The Challenge: Write a complete story in one hundred words or less." photo prompt ©Miles Rost 100 words Every time I see a laundromat I am transported back in time to 1981. I was pregnant, had just moved into a rented house with no laundry facilities, necessitating a trip to the local laundromat. One day, as I sat crocheting the coming-home blanket for my baby, a woman came, sat next to me, and opened a can of sardines.  There are some odors a pregnant woman cannot handle; for me it was that smell of oily fish.  She started picking them out with her fingers, tilting back her head, and slurping them into her waiting mouth. Oh, the nausea! ©2023 Lisa Smith Nelson. All Rights #storyprompt #fridayfictioneers #100words #100wordstory 

Writers' Pantry #94  This is the last Writers' Pantry... but not the last of Poets and Storytellers United!  Writers' Pantry (Sunday's promptless) and Weekly Scribblings (Wednesday prompt) will be combined after today into one Friday event (promptless or prompt, poet's choice). My lament on the state of my hands began with my actually wondering when the spots appeared, but the poem is much exaggerated! photo found on Pinterest, no credit given When did the skin on my hands get so thin?   When did the “age spots” of advertisements begin?   When did they turn to an old lady’s hands?   When did the hourglass run short of sands?   And they ache in the cold! When did that start?   They’re stiff in the morning! I’m falling apart!   When did all of me suddenly age?   When will my story turn the last page?   ©2021 Lisa Smith Nelson. All Rights Reserved    

 Writers' Pantry #80                       Summers were barefeet running the neighborhood, tar filled pavement cracks melting in the sun (pick it out and chew it) sticking to our soles. Quick! Any lawn to cool them.   Sprinklers and stubbed toes.   Too soon, the dreaded days of school, our toughened feet trapped and strapped into leather oxfords and saddle shoes. Softening until those sweet, sweet summer days of freedom and running barefoot once again. hot foot it back home summer’s annual dance step barefeet on pavement   ©2021 Lisa Smith Nelson. All Rights Reserved