I am going to tell you a story about what began, thus .,,,,
our underused garage became a room for rumpus.
Little did we anticipate the rowdiness it would encompass,
when rowdy young children began to rumpus plus plus!
Discuss the matter further we must.
This week Kim challenged we poets to craft a quadrille around the word “rumpus”. This is an almost true story. Only the children have changed. https://dversepoets.com/2025/08/25/quadrille-230-lets-kick-up-a-rumpus/
In a world where unprotected justice is just another manipulative tool
those who believe in blind justice look increasingly like naive fools
where chaos replaces transparency with the purpose of obscuring truth
evidence based learning falls from aspiration, to work fragmented and moot
when lies are an accepted part of political discussion for misuse
the power lies with those who societal values they readily abuse
if public denigration of dissent is a routine weapon of discourse
then know ye that they will come for you too by threat as well as force
if wealth and appearance are the only currency around
the majority may well end up in position genuflecting from the ground
if deceit tricks and hacks are permitted to taint the heart of democracy
then notional democracy becomes yet another self defeating fallacy
and the corrupt, malign and unread will rule over every land
empowered by the inevitable sycophants and their militarised bully bands
The poetics prompt for we dVerse poets https://dversepoets.com/2025/08/12/dverse-poetics-tuesday-power/ comes from the deep thinking Lisa this week. It is topical, omnipresent and scary – as it has been throughout history. Is it worse today than in past eras? I am not sure I can make an absolute statement about that. However, with the likes of social media and AI now available as part of the dissembling and propaganda mix I suspect it is to become so.
I cannot resist a more personal comment about two principled men from Australia’s political history who I believe represented the antithesis to the forms of abuse of power described in my poem above. Two men whose democratic modelling, and leading of social justice and cultural reforms could be learned from by many leadership figures engaged in the power plays of today. My father Race Mathews with his friend, colleague & mentor Prime Minister Gough Whitlam.
If only you had stayed, I would have learnt to love black days like bright ones with you. Why wouldn’t you? We could have learnt together. Such contrasts are about opportunities, about understanding different perspectives, about understanding each other and how to live and love together. All sorts of days come and go. All types of moods. There are enough days for everything we could imagine sharing - good days and bad. If only you’d waited to see how bright the future could be. If only you had taken the time to see through the clouds to the clear air beyond, to project us into that space of hope and optimism. Instead you allowed us to falter at the first hurdle without even thinking to explore how we could make the dark days bright again. You succumbed to the transient storm as if it would last forever.
This week Kim’s dVerse Prosery Prompt comes from Walcott’s Dark August , “I would have learnt to love black days like bright ones with you.” The task was to write up to 144 words of prose incorporating this line. I chose to write a flash fiction about the disappointment of a short love affair quickly lost to stormy weather – in 144 words.
I want to open my heart to you, talk every thing through about -
you and me
I want to open my windows, yell my love to the world, shout it out -
you will see
I want to open my door, run out, leap and dance and sing of us -
I can be
every bit enough for you, completely one with our two -
that’s the key.
So, say you’ll be mine
until the end of time
and everything will be fine
just fine, just fine
divine
The dVerse prompt for Poetics this week is from Dora. She asks wee poets to give our take on the romance of the open window through your poetry.
Hooting to acknowledge
others hunting there
camouflaging plumage
prey beware
soundless flight
beak and claws to tear
night vision adept
anywhere
hooting acknowledges
others hunting there
dancing with abandon
a nightclub lair
drinking jugs of alcohol
teeth are bared
faux charm awooing
without care
De Jackson from dVerse asked we poets to post a Quadrille (44 word poem) using any form of the word “hoot”.
What is this this thing called art
this thing I feel smell touch hear see
before me
this mode for the senses to draw upon
this code for the mind to interpret
what is this connection
this very personal yet cultural experience
where is traditional what is contemporary
what is permanent what is temporary
which aspect is simply material
which is internally enhanced
in response to which parts do you remain static
to which do you dance
testament contribution idea retribution
dora’s idea is redistribution
so
let’s make anything into something called art
let’s see if I can do my part
I take an image
something plain as a floor
but it’s where I take it from
that makes it more
I climb stairs I scope and review
until I find just the place that will do
and the floor is no longer just a floor anymore
but a creative rendering of space comes to the fore
this is art
This week Dora challenged we dVerse poets to take something familiar and reimagine it in some way.
Gaia is wounded, Mars beckons
blue is blue, red still angry
Gaia stains carbon black
Mars stained bloody red long ago
Gaia weeps for her children
potent lively lush and green
Mars impotent red rocks and dust
longs for his own offspring
Mars pleads save them Gaia
build great machines
oxygenate the red planet
with a new rusty sheen
Mars pleads save me Gaia
red oxygen
in your time of failing
save me from oblivion
Gaia harnesses depleted resources
Gaia cuts herself and tears
mother sacrifices for her children
Gaia strips herself bare
Her children develop red oxygen
designers discover scale
miners plunder her depths
engineers build to sail
Todays dVerse prompt from Sanna suggested sci fi poetry. I didn’t know it was a thing and now I am pleased to know it is a thing.
who's the author
what's it mean
has it purpose
is it a screen
what's the story
why's it there
who will read
who cares
is it good
is it bad
is it happy
is it sad
what's important
truth or lie
live or die
This dVerse Quadrille prompt was “What the what?” from De Jackson – for a poem of 44 words including the word “what”.
All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.
above the field the hero-maker
exercises leadership inspired
massing forces across the vale
with support in plenty provided
the gunsmiths make the guns
the gun-handlers pass weapons along
the gun-runners deliver them
to gunners firing on song
on the field the trap-maker
casts nets and snares wide
able-bodies and deft-hands ready
to relieve the fallen and retired
the charging-mob is subdued
by strategy and power
out-flanked and out-thought
they charge prop then cower
injector-darts hit each target
unconscious they drop and fall
collected quickly from the field
be-gathered one and all
each beast is agentle-laid
weighed and length measured
teeth and health are checked
body-secured then tethered
bio-tags are clipped to ears
before the waking beasts astir
safe-release is carefully planned
returned unharmed to where they were
across the remnant-wilderness
against disease and deceit
conservation-heroes monitor life
resisting extinction and defeat
Today’s dVerse prompt is from Bjorn to use “kennings” or new compound words to create meaning in a poem as a way to continue the evolution of language.
Poetry days #37
All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.
She doesn’t have faith like Jesus
But she does believe in love
she doesn’t have faith like Jesus
but she does celebrate life
she doesn’t have faith like Jesus
but she always tries to be kind
she doesn’t have faith like Jesus
but she leads a generous life
she doesn’t have faith like Jesus
but she worships nature and its gifts
she doesn’t have faith like Jesus
but she volunteers and gives a bit
she doesn’t have faith like Jesus
but she does believe in peace
she doesn’t have faith like Jesus
but she can turn the other cheek
she doesn’t have faith like Jesus
but she believes in equality for humankind
she doesn’t have faith like Jesus
but believes in freedom of speech and mind
she doesn’t have faith like Jesus
but believes in growing knowledge and skills
she doesn’t have faith like Jesus
but believes people should not kill
she doesn’t have faith like Jesus
but believes in doing good and always will
she doesn’t have faith like Jesus
but she should be honoured still
Written for the dVerse challenge from Andrew. When we take up poetic arms in any cause, we are trusting that “the pen is mightier than the sword!”
I lost myself amongst the scarlet sage
in the peaks and valleys of the Dancing Range
where the red earth is cracked with heat and age
where the hills themselves whirl in fiery rage
where my love bewitched by a tyrant mage
was broken, his desire to assuage
I hunted them daily in this moving maze
of shifting hills and surface crazed
every dawn the landscape rearranged
to bewilder the hunter until deranged
to trap me in this rolling cage
of shifting hills and surface crazed
of endless paths endlessly paved
reaching only the ends of this mage depraved
I searched shapeless valleys I scoured the peaks
climbing and descending weeks and weeks
his lair it seemed I could not find
until I had a change of mind
was this real where hills could rise
where valleys could twist before my eyes?
was I confused by spell or malign charm
was it my brain doing much of the harm
could I separate my thoughts from my pain
logically concentrate to search again?
I sat a day to plan my way
to find a new route to my prey
a map I would make to display
a grid of my searching every day
the shifting landscape I would ignore
only compass and distance would I score
disoriented I would be no more
I would come upon mage's door
for three days I laboured under blazing sun
everything turned but I was not spun
I found what I wanted I knew I had won
a door in a hillside that must be the one
I steeled my nerves and I drew my sword
I gritted my teeth and charged the door
it shattered as inside I bore
shocking the mage to his very core
taking full advantage of his acute surprise
I smote him between his evil eyes
and so the tyrant mage fell and died
as behind him the love of my life I spied
we fell into each others arms
the death of the mage broke the wicked charm
on my tears of relief she was free from harm
shifting hills and valleys were at once becalmed
Melissa introduced we poets to artist Alma Thomas for this week’s dVerse prompt. We were charged with choosing one of her paintings and writing what the work evoked for each of us.
As I write
I’m in between
the space of work
and home yet seen
I fill my time
in this nowhere land
writing poetry
without a brand
brandless poetry
there’s a thought
cos without a brand
it comes to nought
do I care?
not really no
I do it for pleasure
not for the show
but if I’m honest
I’d like it seen
by some of the public
ah, that’s just a dream
I sit on the train
I write in between
I write and think
what does it mean
this purposeless ink?
Thanks to Dora. This week’s dVerse poetics challenge was to use the concept of liminal in a work. I found myself writing in exactly that space, as I often do. Sorry, I missed the Mr Linky cut though!
The people are raining in bits and blobs
the rain is red bled tears and sobs
the people are flying up through the sky
arcing like rag dolls to heights very high
the thunder is frightening the lightning is death
the people are dying taking last breaths
fleshy lumps are dropping back to their berth
with fractured bones falling to rattle the earth
the children are worst as their bodies burst
with each new detonation another curse
as the soldiers wade through the carnage they create
claiming it’s orders no difference can they make
instructions come from those sitting above
but the executioners fit in with them hand in glove
while mothers cry and fathers weep
some bodies may heal but other scars run deep
and the harm ensures an eye for an eye
more and more people will rain from the sky
Melissa’s dVerse prompt for we poets today references the surrealism of Rene Magritte. I chose the painting Golconda (1953) of raining men to address the terrible wars around the globe and our repeated failure to learn the lessons of history.
L is for love’s early phase, all hot and bothered
all fractious, disruptive restless, in doubt
E is for eliciting confirmation from others
who tell you it’s real, dubious or not
A is for arrow straight through the heart
the pain of the piercing love’s peculiar stress
P is for pain-free when new love departs
established and certain is when love is best
This week Lisa appropriately asked we dVerse poets to use the leap year as a prompt. https://dversepoets.com/2024/02/27/dverse-poetics-tuesday-2024-poets-leaping/
Angel carry your heavy payload
until god asks for it one day
Angel bitter, discard your halo
throw it worlds away
Angel fly to heaven above
dive to hell below
Angel receive peace from a dove
or scavenge it from a crow
Angel weep soul deep
until your very last breath
Angel sleep the long sleep
pray yourself to death
Angel just Angel lust Angel thrust
Angel sing Angel cling Angel wring
Angel must Angel bust Angel dust
Angel wing left wing right wing broken wing
Angel nothing
The dVerse prompts from Melissa today were inspired by Kurt Cobain’s birthday. I chose to take one line from a Nirvana song and reflect on the feelings that might drive a suicide. It was a harrowing exercise and I am sorry if it causes hurt. https://dversepoets.com/2024/02/20/happy-birthday-kurt🎉/
We can dance
And lose ourselves in a moment
Because that is what dancing is for
We can sway
Holding each other tightly
To confirm our love once more
We can be melody
As music inhabits us
We let our emotions go
We can swing
Together to a rhythm
Fierce, suggestive, gentle, slow
We can slink
Sexy, sultry, driven
Gliding across a floor
We can rhumba
To a beat of pure, rollicking fun
Then breathless, cry for more
We can jig
Jumping, clapping, heel toe
Folding, peeling struts our stuff
We can rock
Big, bold and beautiful
Freestyle is enough
We can ballet
Oh glorious presence
Beauty and grace refined
We can improvise
On a living room floor
Every style combined
We can watch
Absorbed in the majesty of human flight
Awash with the joy of life
And you my love
Can dance with me
Dance with me my wife
So, dance with me my partner
Hold me in your arms
And look into my eyes so deeply
You free me from all harm
We can dance
This week dVerse poetics is from Mish, about dance and dance we will. https://dversepoets.com/2024/01/30/poetics-may-i-have-this-dance/
When Mary was born she put on quite a show
her hair as a floral bouquet did grow
her hands had green fingers covered in earth
her mouth was a rosebud first day of birth
her ears were round spirals just like sea shells
when she laughed she tinkled like joyful small bells
her nose was a Billy Button soft and yellow
her voice was a summer breeze soft and mellow
her toes were soon rooted in the loamy soil of home
and no further than that garden did she ever roam
where at her touch fruit was ready for harvest
at her invitation birds were ready to nest
she ensured vegetables and flowers grew in abundance
she learned all the ways of nature’s fertile dance
she was one pretty maid ready to grow
every kind of plant in a bed or in a row
The dVerse poetics prompt this week comes from Lillian. An interesting one that I found tricky to hook into. Then I thought of my granddaughters and out it came. Find the prompt here https://dversepoets.com/2024/01/23/and-what-were-you-like-before/
Flinders Street
is the place to meet
the trains will get you there
you'll go out on the town
never let down
in this city where
the lights stay bright
all through the night
it's an entertainment fair
a place for dreams
and long limousines
amongst the glare and flair
the restaurants fill
and the public will
take in a bar or show
the music scene
has to be seen
then to another venue you go
so it's out to dance
or find romance
dressed and ready to party
new friends and old
a bit tipsy bold
will party away with glee
the night savoured
the energy wavers
for some their time is up
or more fun beckons
for those who reckon
there's more drink in this cup
the train ride home
goes on and on
if going home alone
while those lucky new pairs
hit the fresh air
tantalised by the unknown
I have never thought about how I write
with stealth or do I attack the page
sometimes I think I write in fright
sometimes I write to release my rage
but overall I’m a a reflective fellow
like a wombat I trundle about
I like to write thoughtful and mellow
until an issue makes me want to shout
and then I am as useful as a thylacine
the stripes on my back for all to see
extinct barking creature of a bygone time
a target for the crack guns to eradicate me
so, now I practice being an observer
like an owl watching and waiting in a tree
one with much less shout and more murmur
I learn more about the world to better understand me
This early 2024 dVerse challenge was a thought provoking one from Dora, to create an animal metaphor for how we write. https://dversepoets.com
I'm walking in the evening smelling all the sounds I'm strolling through the gloaming Doing my enchantment rounds I'm catching all the moonbeams and putting them in my pocket Remembering fondly daydreams Preparing days last docket The path is lit so brightly in silver and dappled grey The water sprites dance lightly on moonlit water spray And where the cascading creek pools calmly at my feet it reflects the Milky Way I'm walking in the evening Hearing all that I can see I sense the bobuck in the tree before the bobuck senses me A tawny frogmouth silhouettes against a star bright sky With silent flight of no regret his dive is only heard by eye White shades of cockatoos perch ghostly in pairs aloft Crests rising to the "Who? Who?" of the barn owl in near croft A mother koala briefly joins me on her own purposeful path Her joey clinging grimly to her shoulders makes me laugh And then a cool spring breeze tousles my hair as if to please and praise my meandering task I'm walking in the evening touching scents borne on air I'm feeling all I'm feeling I'm shedding care by care Honeysuckle's sweet subtle breath permeates all around Bullrushes whisper secrets kept Chocolate lilies abound The swamp gum rustles above me The peppermint towers high The snow gum looks so lovely as I tread quietly by Flowering gums are tipped with fairy tutus The manna creaks as it sways All sprinkle the night with eucalyptus scent whispering to the wind, “Australian bush” they say And then on the horizon I see my home It calls me from my roaming To sit in darkness without a sound I savour all the night has shown me while walking in the evening
This week the d’verse prompt is from Lillian. She asks we poets to, “Take a walk with me.” You can view the full prompt here https://dversepoets.com/2023/09/05/take-a-walk-with-me/ I have chosen to rework a poem from a while ago that reflects on walks in the evening near my home. I hope you enjoyed walking with me.
I got what I wanted
lost everything I had
what can I say
What can I do?
the faceless ones
took everything
including
you
From the heights
of the mountains
behind oslo
to the depths of despair
inseine
enparis
to be redeemed
after death alone
leaves me faceless
faithless
the impressions that i left
kept me away from you
reducing you to
faceless
along with your
faceless
crew
Today Lillian prompted we poets with works by an artist rejected by his country (Norway) Thorvald Hellesen. I chose this portrait of Mary Alice Eckbo because I felt it had great detail where there is none overtly apparent – as symbolised by the faceless Cubist impression that has been created. I really liked this artist’s work. It is hard to see how it was not recognised by his fellow Norwegians. You can find the prompt here https://dversepoets.com/2023/05/23/an-artist-gets-his-due/
Basil had finally arrived in Arizona dreaming of repeating Krakow nights with his saffron love, Garam Masala. After leaving sunny Paris they had spent thyme watching Tuscan sunsets before mulling spices into a mural of flavour for adding some Aleppo pepper to their long awaited reunion. Laced with dill, pickled appetisers set a savouring mood for their evening Cumin, coriander paprika zatar and mustard seeds ensured the main meal was saucy, spicy and hot. Sea salt, lemon grass fennel and sesame seeds added potentcy to the salad Nutmeg, cinnamon and vanilla heightened their senses throughout dessert. By the end of the meal they were ravenous for the after dinner mints.
Merril set this week’s dVerse prompt for we poets to spice things up using at least three of twenty-five listed herbs, spices, flavors, and spice combinations. For a bit of fun, I chose to cook up something that used them all.
Today’s dVerse prompt was to undertake a very interesting ekphrastic challenge from Sarah. Sarah asked we dVerse poets to choose one of five fascinating images created by UK artiist Lee Madgwick . I chose the image displayed above.
How many times do you step through a door and that decision changes the course of your life? How many times? You step through a door and whether you know which way you are going or not that decision changes the course of your life. Many times. You look through open doors and glass doors and the view beyond each threshold can look better much better with broad vistas of more promise than the narrow one in which you are standing. You are a stand in many, some days, every time. How many times do you go through these doors to where the grass is greener? Many times. You look through closed doors, opaque, the cracks and keyholes of doors to wild skies of threatening, black clouds, heavy and threatening cloud banks of stormy weather oppressive and threatening with worse to come you know it will be worse for at least a time many, some days, every time. But still, consider. How many times do you go through these doors? Many times. How do you choose which door opens to the best passage for the rest of your life? The green of desire or of envy, the passing black of fear or courage? There are no obvious silver linings. The lines are not clear. Can you say your lines? Your lines are not clear. There are no obvious wishes to guide you. Your wishes are not clear. Can you articulate your wishes? When will you wish honesty for yourself? When honesty is a necessity? Don’t close that door. When is the right time? Or the right place? Or do you bother to choose at all? When the right door opens for you? Even when no choice is always a choice and change will come regardless. Change will come. You know this. Do you know this well enough by understanding there is only luck at play? Only luck is at play. Do you know this? You might not know this. How often do those doors that are closed to you and blank with no offerings get ignored because there is no obvious gain for you? You walk past new worlds of wonder and peril everyday. All the time. Any door every door any time every time. Every step is a decision. Every decision is one to please, regret, grieve or rejoice. At the time or in time. But, you never know and that is the reason for looking at doors any door and every door and always wondering about going through into some place else. It should never be otherwise because time is linear and time is limited. All doors are only one door any door every door in front of you when and where ever you are. And each door has its own nature protecting you from the elements or exposing you locking you in locking you out shutting quietly behind you slamming in your face creaking with foreboding or letting in the fresh air. You my be attracted by doors to the light. It seeps in around the edges and under the woodwork and you think to be in the light must be a good place to be, you cross that threshold. That threshold will be crossed. to find a good place to be, And sometimes it is a desert, a blazing sun, a hot, dry furnace and you retreat desperate with thirst, burned and changed. Other times it is a moonlit field and you run through the soft green grass before realising you have strayed enough to never return to be the same person. Does either door scare you? Are you scared? Hope is the latch, fear is the key. Finding a way to use them is finding a way to be. You never have to stray far from yourself to change. Crossing that threshold is no distance at all. One that can take you al long way. Crossing that threshold. You are changed forever every time. Many times. Any door every door any time every time go through. You change so the world changes You change me and everyone else irrevocably. You change us all. All of us change. Neither you nor I, neither will we and us ever be the same we, you and I. For passing through any door every time will change us here and now in time. The person you thought I was is no longer mine. The person I thought was you is no longer in time. The world changes instantly every time without design. We pass through many doors many times. How many times do you step through a door and that decision changes the course of your life? How many times? You step through a door and whether you know which way you are going or not that decision changes the course of your life. Many times.
I sat Table set Her late for date She came Soup came Talk flamed Soup good Entree She said Problem lies in bed Main meal She reveals I’m heel Big deal Drinks round Table pound Curse slur From her For desert Her hurt Expressed curt Wants shirt Stands up Stamps out What’s all this about? I know I’m great Super man Super mate Get home Her stuff All gone Enough’s enough I call Mobile phone No answer She’s done Oh oh Really gone? This time I’m alone Misery me Don’t deserve This treatment What nerve!
Rum tum tum Rum tum tum I succumbed Rum tum tum When the words were flung Saw the bait Saw the bait Thrown to peers alust with hate Saw the bait Do its work to humiliate Watched his face Watched his face Cloud to the many shades of disgrace Watched his face Laid waste by such bitter taste Witnessed the scorn Witnessed the scorn For one different and elsewhere born Witnessed the scorn As with thorny crown he was adorned Turned my head Turned my head When more weaponised words were said Turned my head Away from watching as his heart bled Felt my shame Felt my shame As passive part of this vicious game Felt my shame My brutal silence my silence to blame I still regret I still regret No one’s eyes to have met I still regret Complicit inaction I can’t forget Where is he now? Where is he now? Is he high or is he low? Where is he now? Does anger in him burn aglow?
Sanaa asked we poets to explore the issue of peer pressure for this week’s dVerse prompt. I expect there are few people anywhere who can claim complete innocence. Have you got anything to say for yourself?
poetography.ink 