Weather’s Roller Coaster

Written for dVerse. Happy New Year and the first dVerse of the year.

sun through trees

©Sascha Darlington

Weather’s Roller Coaster

I could write of fierce January with winds whirling through the naked willow limbs, gunmetal gray skies unyielding, frigid cold, but it wouldn’t be today, a gift of sunshine and short sleeves. Continue reading


Summer’s End

Written for dVerse

Summer’s End

As I sit here, the sounds are three: Scout changing position and then sharply shaking; the steady hum of the air conditioner; and the cricket chorus you might ignore unless attuned to nature. Continue reading

Spatial Oddity, A Haibun? #dVerse

Tonight on dVerse, Jilly is asking us to go avant garde with our haibun. And, I’m going Bowie-ish, because, well, if he is not a definite source of avant garde, I don’t know who is. It’s all unconventional, and that’s where I’m currently at.

This image has been deep dream generated by Sascha Darlington.

Spatial Oddity, A haibun? Continue reading

Spring Sometime, a haibun

written for dVerse haibun Monday

Spring Sometime, a haibun

The days are longer now. Typically I’ve shed my winter wool, placed warmer-weather clothes front and center, but the heat is on, and there’s a freeze-warning for tonight. The cherry blossoms have passed. The grass around the tree looks as if it’s been snowed upon with pinkish-hued white petals. My breath curls upward, white. Traffic on the beltway flows, such a winter sound in deep cold, reaches me, the steady hum like ocean waves.

It struck me how odd it was, while walking my dog, bundling myself in my coat, that light still lingered. I never could remember being wrapped so tightly so late in the evening with dusk hovering, the sun setting mauve, and robins caroling.

birds of spring arrive

spring flowers pierce cold hard soil

blossoming yellow


Sascha Darlington 4/17/2018

Finding Poetry, a haibun #dVerse

Written for Monday night’s haibun at dVerse.


Finding Poetry

Regarding poetry writing, I am a late bloomer. Fiction ruled my heart and mind although I loved words and rhythm and sound. Poetry was like a mystical voice, too enigmatic to undertake until I found poetry by Neruda, Mary Oliver, and Jane Kenyon, such different voices whispering to me, yet each echoing a love of words. Beautiful, hungry words. Continue reading

Haibun: Mushroom Ragout and Birds

Haibun Monday: From the kitchen of poets dVerse Poet Pub.


Haibun: Mushroom Ragout and Birds

When I ate meat, I did not eat mushrooms. I claimed it was the texture, but secretly I viewed them as alien lifeforms and still do, but these days they frequently showcase a dinner. At the beginning of January I savored rich mushroom ragout in a quiet beach restaurant after all of the holiday vacationers had returned to their lives elsewhere. The thick tomato and mushroom laden sauce smothered pasta while the aroma of red wine, tomatoes, and mushrooms with savory rosemary stimulated my senses. Each taste ensured an eye roll of pure delight. At home, I recreate the dish, although it takes an hour of sautéing mirepoix and mushrooms separately, adding tomatoes and wine and garlic and then finally combining for thirty minutes of marrying the flavors to ultimately adorn anything from pasta to potatoes. Besides the ingredients, the secret is time. Only after simmering and reduction, do the flavors peak.


In the holly bush

Robin rests upon blue eggs

Spring welcomes rebirth


Instead of a robin, I offer a picture of Monsieur Cardinal.


©Sascha Darlington