Requiem–dVerse Poets, Erasure Poetry


Bring me back the thought of you
as the sun comes to shine,
the grain, also golden,
hair, the color of gold,
the sound of a step
different from all others.

My heart is ready to greet you.
Only with the heart can one see.
But I shall cry.
(I shall cry.)

An Erasure Poem
Taken from the Little Prince by Antoine de Saint Exupéry

Written and posted for my prompt at dVerse Meeting the Bar, where I’m offering up a prompt for you to write an erasure poem.

I had chosen one of my all-time favorite inspirational reads: The Little Prince, by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry and opened it to a page that seemed to offer a fair amount of printed text (as you probably know, the book is illustrated with watercolors.) When I began to cull phrases, somewhat randomly, a theme emerged which is pure serendipity–next Tuesday is the first anniversary of my sweet mother’s death.

Please stop by the pub with a poem of your own, or even just to read. We are a welcoming community.

Photo: David Slotto–Taken in 2011, on the occasion of Mom’s 90th birthday.


all the light we cannot see–dVerse OLN



all the light we cannot see

the blind french girl
her bedroom fills with pebbles, seaglass, shells,
and yet she misses gardens, books and pinecones.
her pockets lined with sand, her face aglow with wind,
she simply listens, hears and breaths.

the reluctant german soldier boy
he tries to lose himself in work,
stares into space and hears the distant
thrumming of a bird, a skylark
four hundred children crawl along the razors edge.

the blind french girl
her stockings now have runs in them,
her shoes too large but still she walks
a ballerina in satin slippers
her feet articulate as hands,
a little vessel, now, of grace

the reluctant german soldier boy
a shell now screams above the house
everything—transient, aching, tentative
i only want to sit with her, he thinks,
for hour upon hour.

so war continues to this day
with no return, without surcease
preventing lovers’ deepest want
indulging only endless greed
and misplaced ideology
why not accept the beauty of
our differences.

her bedroom fills with shells and whelks
and tears.

I’ve written this for dVerse Open Link Night with reference to the peace prompt from dVerse Poetics on Tuesday. This is an erasure poem with some paraphrasing. The book I used is Pulitzer Prize Winner Anthony Doerr’s “All the Light We Cannot See.” It is the story of a German Orphan boy, recruited into Hitler’s Army and a young French girl, displaced from Paris during the occupation…and how their lives converge. I cannot recommend it highly enough. At my age, I only read books I find really worthwhile, and only once…I want to get in as much reading as I can before I can’t! I read this twice, for its amazing plot and stunningly poetic writing. 5 Stars +++

Please join us for Open Link Night.


poetic lyricism of the west: you are horse

Photo: Nevada Museum of Art

Photo: Nevada Museum of Art

poetic lyricism of the west, you are horse
the sculptural art of Deborah Butterfield

sweeping epic, primal presence
powerful yet vulnerable
masterful mustang

formed of branches, twigs and bark
fragile ambiguity
formed into a story told for the ages

twisting, tying sculptures
reconstructing deconstructed life
now cast in molten bronze, applied patina

retelling stories of vast openness
encroached and threatened
nobility woven from the past
reminders for the future.

Written in response to Abhra’s prompt at dVerse poetics where we are invited to dip into history. I’ve chosen Deborah Butterfield, a sculptural artist from Montana, who uses found articles to fashion the powerful horse, a symbol of the West. Today in Nevada, where I call home, the mustang still roams free, though in lesser numbers. There is much controversy surrounding round-ups by the Bureau of Land Management. When we first moved here in 1993, wild horses came down into neighborhoods to the East of town to graze. We have one of Butterfield’s sculptures here at the Nevada Museum of Art. A few years ago, when I was still a docent, we had an exhibit of her work. The largest gallery was overtaken by a magnificent stampede of equine sculpture. I encourage you to read more about the process this artist uses in this YouTube Video Here

Photo: honolulumuseumofart

Photo: honolulumuseumofart


I used a sort of erasure form of poetry, borrowing words from an exquisitely-penned article in the Seattle Post Intelligencer (1998-2003) written by Judy Wagonfeld.


It seemed to whisper,


Everything that had been a part of her.
Everything bound up
in her deepest roots.


Fear fell away, congealed.
Fear, frozen, oddly gentle,
like a baby rabbit in a trap.


The air, thick with feathers,
floated softly down.
Suddenly stilled.


Photo: V. Slotto

This is an erasure poem, written as a response to Anna Montgomery’s prompt over at dVerse Form for All. You’ll enjoy learning all about this form and reading what other poets have created. I chose Mitchell’s Gone with the Wind opened to a page at random. The scene in play is that which occurs when the Union invades and sets fire to Tara. I first read this classic as a teen and again about twenty years ago.

The pub opens a 1500 EST…come on over.

Thank you, Anna.