Tag Archives: dVerse Poets

Dental Discourse: dVerse Poets Compound Word Verse


Dental Discourse

She could not stand the sad sad sight
of his horrendous overbite.
She arranged to take him to a
dentist, thinking he could do a

She asked the doc what he would charge
to make his overhang less large.
The price he set to make each tooth less
was, I fear, greedy and ruthless

Thus began their drawn-out dicker
that I think would have gone quicker
if his teeth had been less icky,
and the job a much less tricky 

After much talk, they struck a deal,
both thinking that they’d made a steal.
But then with little else to do,
 she said  if he attempted to

she would have his license lifted
no matter how bloody gifted
he might have been (when this all ends)
at cutting down her toothy friend’s



For dVerse Poets prompt: Compound Word Verse Image by Diana Polekhina on Unsplash

This form consists of 5  five-line stanzas with aabb rhyme schemes, each containing 8 syllables and each stanza concluding with a three-syllable compound word that had one element the same as all other compound words in the final lines of the stanzas. Phew!

“Ash” for dVerse Poets


Wood to ash and flesh to dust,
stone to sand and iron to rust.
Leather snaps and fabrics fray.
All things living must wear away.
What we seek to save, we save in vain.
Nature wipes out every gain,
and blessedly, also our pain.


For the dVerse Poets Quadrille prompt: Ash (44 words only)



The pain of love unraveling? No one knows it better,
for she wears her heart upon her sleeve, knit into her sweater.
Each day her heart unravels and lies tangled down her arm.
They say it cannot harm her. Loosened hearts cannot do harm.
But she’s a prisoner of these tendrils of love that’s come undone—
the truth of it revealed to her each day by a new sun,
while each night in her dreams, sleep knits it up again
and the ardor of her lost love once more draws her in.
She forgets the present and relives what she once had—
what she imagines in her slumber cancelling out the bad.
This unknitting and reknitting can’t be what life is for.
She must search for her dream’s exit. She must try to find the door.
Cast her old garment on the flames. Burn up that raveled sleeve.
Real love stays firmly knitted. A true love doesn’t leave.

For dVerse Poets: Pain  Image by nik on Unsplash.

Panegyric Poetry: Ode to Morrie


Ode to Morrie

Oh you ball of energy, you little snarl of fluff.
When it comes to hugging you, I cannot get enough.
Your hair so black and curly, your teeth so sharp and white
that it is an honor when you choose to bite.

Your flair at ball retrieval truly has no equal.
However many thrown for you, you always seek a sequel.
Your eyes luminous marbles, your nails a lovely shape
from running over terraces to stem a squirrel’s escape.

Your hairy little jowls would put Borgnine’s to shame.
So many little mysteries for which you aren’t to blame.
What creature eats the birdseed spread out on the wall?
What other creature has your leap? What other dog the gall?

You give the cats their exercise and what possum would dare
to stray into a garden given to your care?
Oh brave little caroler when interloper passes,
Your mighty barks belie your size. No burglar tests your sasses.

At night you serenade me with your howling croon
accompaniment to ambulances or the rising moon.
My revered alarm clock, my companion after dark,
as now and then throughout the night I celebrate your bark.

Each day I laud thy energy, thy beauty and thy voice.
When I contemplate your dogginess, I cannot but rejoice!
This ode of praise I write for thee, I cannot help but pen it.
If there had been a dog messiah, my dear, you would have been it!


A Panegyric poem of praise for dVerse Poets




Cold as ice, brittle as bone. 
Lethal as a well-aimed stone.
Nonetheless, it’s you I crave— 
calculating, clever, brave. 
Though you fit me like a glove, 
you’re not predisposed to love. 
How long will your memory linger
as you’re peeled off, finger by finger?


For the dVerse Poets Quadrille prompt: Stone

Chi Baba Blues

Here is the earliest picture I have of me, probably at about 10 months.


The prompt from dVerse poets today was to write a poem incorporating the lyrics of a song that was popular on the day you were born. Well, although it isn’t a poem, here is a link to a post I wrote six years ago about the most popular song on the charts on July 3, 1947, the day I was born:

https://judydykstrabrown.com/2015/09/02/las-mananitas-and-other-less-lovely-bastardizations-of-a foreign-language/

And, to meet the qualifications of the prompt, here is a poem hastily pounded out today in response:

Chi Baba Blues

It must have been a silly year, the year that I was born,
with music even newborn babies might be driven to scorn.
The fact it was a lullaby, alas, could not atone
for that ugly music spewed out by the gramophone.
“Chi baba, chi baba chihuahua” were hardly words that lulled
and along with all the other lyrics, needed to be culled.
And though I have much gratitude that my mom chose to bear me,
when it comes to this lullaby, I’m glad she chose to spare me:

The #1 song in the U.S. on the day I was born was “Chi-Baba, Chi-Baba Chihuahua (My Bambino Go to Sleep) ” by Perry Como.  Although I would advise against it, you can hear it HERE. But after that, please go to the link at the beginning of this post and click on the link to see my rave about its trivialization of and confusion between the Spanish and Italian languages and to hear one of the most beautiful serenades in the Spanish language, imho.

My mom and me. 


Here is the link to the dVerse prompt: https://dversepoets.com/

Biography of a Rain Puddle

Biography of a Rain Puddle

A snowflake fell upon my nose.
I don’t know why it missed my clothes,
because, of course, it soon unfroze.

It dripped onto a snowbank where
exposed to colder space and air
as nippy as a Frigidaire,
it froze to crystal, I suppose.

When sun came out to warm the day,
that crystal caught an errant ray
that found the place wherein it lay
and so into the sky it rose.

As a vapor it was reborn
to float upon the sunlit morn.
Unto the heavens it was borne,
in that new state that nature chose.

Months later, it came down again
in a new form, as summer rain,
and winter’s loss was summer’s gain—
a celebration for my toes!

The dVerse prompt today is to write a Zéjel Here is the form:

Then I asked Forgottenman to give me a prompt for the subject and he gave me  Snowflake.

The Emperor of Chocolate

The Emperor of Chocolate

The Emperor of Chocolate

I am the emperor of chocolate. I conquer every bar.
I can detect its presence in wrappings or in jar.
When there’s no chocolate to be found, I simply can’t abide it.
I can find it anywhere—wherever you might hide it.
My tendency toward chocolate is a tale I hate to tell;
but I cannot help it, for it is congenital.
My mother abused substances—namely, Russell Stover.
She could not close the box lid until eating them was over.

She couldn’t resist chocolates, though she was not a glutton
when it came to other foods like hamburgers or mutton.
She received a box of chocolates on every holiday—
on her birthday and for Christmas, and for sure on Mother’s Day.
When it came to appreciation, my mother never failed them,
for when it came to chocolates, she always just inhaled them.
One time my dad decided that he would have some fun.
He bought my mom some chocolates to dole out one-by-one.

He hid them underneath the cushion of a chair
to give her one piece daily, but she knew that they were there.
She ate the whole box in two days. It really was disgraceful.
Every time I saw her, it seemed she had a face full.
Only with my father did she manage to save face,
For she bought chocolate-covered cherries and put one in the place
of every chocolate that she stole. My father never knew.
She was not tempted by the cherries—a taste she could eschew.

My father always thought he’d pulled one over on my mother,
although I’ve always known that the true jokester was another.
When the box was only cherries, and he offered them to her,
she’d say, “I’ll save it for later,” or sometimes she’d demur.
To resist chocolate cherries, she was fully able,
and I was fully loyal to preserving mother’s fable.
That’s how my addiction was learned at Mother’s knee,
because the chocolate-covered cherries? She gave them all to me.


For dVerse Poets we are to write a poem about fruit. I hope it counts if it is covered with chocolate. This, I also admit, is a poem I wrote four years ago. Go HERE to read more fruity poetry on dVerse.

Orderly Words


Orderly Words

They march in shackles all across the page.
Short long, short long, they limp in ordered form.
These words too orderly to show their rage
just follow rules and do not break the norm.
Line after line, rhyme shuffled out like cards.

What truth words carry comes in second place.
Are we mere croupiers or are we bards?
For in this poem, of truth there’s not a trace.
It’s more important it maintains its pace.

Chaos was the law of nature; Order was the dream of man.–Henry Adams

For dVerse Poets we are to write a novelinee, a nine-line poem in iambic pentameter and ababcdcdd rhyme scheme. To read other novelinees, go HERE. Image by Henry Cos on Unsplash. And, also for Marsha’s WQWWC prompt on Order


prompt on Order.

Slipping out of the Groove

Slipping out of the Groove

For those of you it might behoove
to operate out of the groove,

I’d like to say that stranger’s better
than performing to the letter. 

In things you write and words you speak
it’s much more fun if you’re unique. 

Comments boring
create snoring.


For dVerse Poets Quadrille Challenge: Groove.  Go HERE to see the prompt.