#SixSentenceStories; Dust

June 17, 2026June 17, 2026 / D. Avery @shiftnshake / 38 Comments

Wanting to write for the Six Sentence Story blog hop is not the same as actually doing it. To make amends to our gracious host Denise, of GirlieOntheEdge, I included the last two prompts that I missed in this response. So, tucked into these six syntactically strained sentences you will find table and option as well as this week’s dust. Some of you might recognize the shop and its proprietor from long ago Sixes. Click HERE to link up.

Another Look by D. Avery

As her eyes adjusted to the dim light inside the What-You-Seek Boutique she saw row after row of small glass jars on endless shelves and it wasn’t until after she wondered out loud if she was in some kind of apothecary that she noticed the old man behind the walnut counter, his bespectacled eyes twinkling as he said no, she wasn’t in an apothecary, that what she was seeing was “a most interesting collection of the ages”.

She picked up one of the jars, noting that it appeared to be empty, but the old man told her to look very closely, that there was, in each and every jar, a bit of dust, that each jar held a sample from a different time and place, and then he suggested she give the jar a good shake and look again.

She gave the man a slight indulgent smile as she shook the jar then set the jar down on a narrow table to peer at it steadily as her smile turned to a look of incredulity.

The jar was now like a snow globe with the scene and characters inside the jar fully animated and ones she was intimately familiar with, for one of the miniature figures was herself, and just as she felt the old anger and resentment begin to return, the scene replayed again, only this time it was as if she was the other person in the scene, seeing from their eyes, feeling their feelings. She shook the jar again and again and always the same episode repeated, always revealing each person’s perspective, not just hers, and when she finally looked away from the jar her wet eyes met those of the old man at the counter who gently asked, “Now can you consider forgiveness as an option?”

Then she was standing outside on the sidewalk underneath the weathered ‘What-You-Seek Boutique’ sign that swung on its rusty chain in the dust laden wind.

d’Verse Poetics; Come Color

June 17, 2026 / D. Avery @shiftnshake / 15 Comments

This week for Tuesday Poetics at the Pub for Poets, host Lillian wants us to get out our crayons and color. Go to d’Verse Pub for Poets to find out more about this prompt and to read the colorful responses.

streaming color by D. Avery

color 
runs it fades it blends it takes on countless shades and hues
color colludes
with other senses shall I say
lilac
does not conjure color
as much as smell as much as places where these bushes dwell
rank with memories 
a flower in many hues of mauve 
or is it magenta or fuchsia or lavender or pink
and white
its florets will eventually wilt and fall apart leaving 
a skeletal panicle brown I say but
brown also has so many gradients maybe even more than gray
my hair was brown but now is gray though my years number fewer 
than colors in a box of Crayolas you know the one 
more proof of the collusion 
because when you open that box you close your eyes to the neat rows 
of 64 colors and use your nose to ground that moment in memory
before you search for the unblunted shades of green that will embolden you 
to at least try to render the early summer trees 
with their scent of promise and wonder under a sky that 
for lack of a better word is 
blue.

d’Verse MTB & W3 Prompt#215

June 11, 2026 / D. Avery @shiftnshake / 28 Comments

Two prompts, one poem. Per Laura Bloomsbury’s suggestion at d’Verse, I am using the the Hendecastich form created by Michael Fantina to respond to the W³ prompt by the Poet of the Week, Artie Camenzind at The Skeptic’s Kaddish. Thank you to both prompters and hosts. Go by these sites to enjoy more poetry and inspiration.

Today by D. Avery

This morning the rain ended soft

The sun

squeezed through gray clouds and now has won

Heat wafts

leaves glossed hang heavy in thick steam

Birds flit

fluid songs amongst branches drip

bright green

that resounds with sparkling splashing

color

This morning the rain brought summer

d’Verse Poetics; Unpunctuated

June 9, 2026June 9, 2026 / D. Avery @shiftnshake / 25 Comments

It is time again for Tuesday Poetics at the Pub for Poets, hosted this week by Melissa LeMay. She says: “For today’s prompt, let’s have fun sans punctuation. You may capitalize lines, write in all lowercase, rhyme (or not), use enjambment or unique spacing, whatever other tools you use are completely up to you. Your poem must not be punctuated.” Go to d’Verse Pub for Poets to find out more about Melissa’s prompt.

sans punctuation by D. Avery

i’m sure i could and maybe would but have to wonder if i should for once i begin how will i know when to stop and what if i toss all caution and conventions too to the wind and if i do where might this string of words wind up and what if this want of grammatical gates and guards becomes my wont and i won’t know when to stop might go off the rails railing about the lack alas of guides of controls and what if this poem if that is what this string of words dares call itself what if it spun out of control and into freewheeling freedom where would it end
so many questions unmarked

W3 Prompt #213; West/East Combo

May 31, 2026May 31, 2026 / D. Avery @shiftnshake / 37 Comments

Wea’ve Written Weekly

Reena Saxena is the Poet of the Week at W³ Wea’ve Written Weekly. The challenge she presents is to combine one Western poetic form with one Japanese poetic form. I am late responding because I did not know what to write about. So I went to Reena’s site to check out her weekly Xploration Challenge. For her most recent, #432, Reena says, “I give you a sentence this week to act as a thought-starter. “A thought brushed my palm, then scattered like a startled bird.” Let us see where the bird takes you.” I decided to go with a cinquain followed by a haiku. Go to The Skeptic’s Kaddish to find out more and to read other responses to this unique weekly poetry prompt.

fledgling
imaginings
flutter before they soar
held safe in the sky’s open palm
of dreams

manifestations—
discarded shells lie empty
hear the robins chirp

#SixSentenceStories; Interest & WWP#470; Inkling

May 30, 2026 / D. Avery @shiftnshake / 21 Comments

I am back with a follow up Six Sentence Story to this one, and am making sure it is in exactly 99 words and includes “inkling” for Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt. Here’s an interesting bit of too much information: I almost posted the story without it including the SSS prompt, “interest”. But I made some changes and here it is, a two-fer.

Taking Measure by D. Avery

She got as far as the village when she decided he deserved a call. It could be interesting, she mused, might be his wake up call. But when he finally answered the phone, instead of calmly telling him that she’d left, and why, she blasted him for the shoddy condition of his motorcycle and for the rusting heaps of unregistered vehicles melting into the overgrown, unkempt yard.

To her surprise he responded, “I have an inkling this is about more than the junky yard.”

An inkling!

Sitting in her purring Toyota, she contemplated whether an inkling would be enough.

#SixSentenceStories; Interest

May 29, 2026 / D. Avery @shiftnshake / 29 Comments

The rules for the Six Sentence Story blog hop are so simple- write a story or poem, or what have you in six sentences, or lines, or stanzas, or what have you. And you must include in some way some form of the given prompt word, which this week is Interest, provided by the venerable host of the Six Sentence Story blog hop, Denise, aka, GirlieOntheEdge . I have a six sentence story this week but at what cost, those six periods? Countless commas and conjunctions, the odd dash and semi colon go into the creation of a six sentence story. Read at your own risk, and thank you for it and for your comments. Click the link up to link up your story and to read others.

Space by D. Avery

He leaves his motorcycle out in the yard, uncovered, even though there is all kinds of space in the barns, and she isn’t sure why that bothers her so much, but it does, more and more, and when he just shrugs when she mentions that he could keep it under cover she feels like she could explode but she doesn’t, she walks away, startled and uncertain at the intensity of her feelings.

Of course parking her old Toyota inside didn’t keep it from gathering dust; out of sight out of mind, it slipped further down on his unwritten list of things to do until finally she pushed it through the big double doors and back into the yard where she lifted the hood and checked what she knew how to check, replaced what she knew how to replace, but still it would not start.

Then he was there, and after saying “Let me have a look at it,” it was all grunts and utterances, but he was clearly interested in solving the conundrum of the stalled Toyota now and after many trips back and forth to the shed that housed his tools and to the lean-to that housed spare parts he said he needed to go to the auto supply store in the village and would be right back, said her truck would soon be purring like a kitten and running like a cheetah.

While she pondered how he could go hours without a word then say things like that, he, without even brushing off the caterpillar-like birch catkins that clung to the seat and to the sun faded helmet that had sat on it and now sat on his head, kick started the old motorcycle to life and rode off.

Overhead, clouds rolled in and out, cold and shadows made more intense by the thick canopy of leaves of the tall trees that enclosed the sun pocked yard, and she went inside, where she stuffed clothes into a big black garbage bag while waiting for him to return, all the while marveling that a man would put off for two months a task that he could complete in little more than two hours.

The next morning was decidedly sunny, already warm by six when she walked past the motorcycle, started her Toyota, all fixed and purring like a kitten, and drove away without looking back.

W3 Prompt #212; One Syllable Challenge

May 20, 2026 / D. Avery @shiftnshake / 21 Comments

Wea’ve Written Weekly

The Poet of the Week at W³ Wea’ve Written Weekly is A.J. Wilson. She invites us to “capture a dramatic moment in just a handful of lines”—a poem between 5 and 8 lines long. Every single word in the poem must be just one syllable. One multi-syllable word is allowed — but it must appear as the very last word of the poem. Go to The Skeptic’s Kaddish to find out more and to read other responses to this unique weekly poetry prompt.

Weather Or Not by D. Avery

late spring...
birds and frogs sing
but there is still such a chill in the air
cold creeps 
in black cars with no marks
cold hearts full of hate
late spring and ice is everywhere

d’Verse Poetics; What Art Says

May 13, 2026May 13, 2026 / D. Avery @shiftnshake / 16 Comments

Art who? Art by Indian artists, brought to us by paeansunplugged for Tuesday Poetics at the Pub for Poets. Go over to d’Verse Pub for Poets to find out more about Punam’s prompt and to see which artwork speaks to you. Be sure to link your own poem and to read the other poets’ responses.

Conjunctive Prepositions by D. Avery

Within these inherited quarters
held aloft by stately columns, curtained 
she remains elegant and ageless
commands from her ordered space within.

Outside, the gardens have gone wild
the walls are scaffolded by vines
weed wrung grip upon the rusting bars 
meant to keep the unruly world outside.

Inside, all is black and white
everything kept in its familiar place 
even me, her forever child whose
aproned thoughts softly pace inside.

Between my arrival and dismissal
I keep order accordant to her whim
bouquet of wildflowers artfully arranged 
poise maintained by the space between.

Distance has two points, double-edged
container for yearnings undeclared
measures of space, decrees of degree
both bound and freed within our distance.

W3 Prompt #210; Dectina Refrain

May 6, 2026May 20, 2026 / D. Avery @shiftnshake / 25 Comments

Wea’ve Written Weekly

This week the challenge at W³ Wea’ve Written Weekly is to write a dectina refrain poem about “mothers—by blood or by choice”. The Poet of the Week presenting this challenge is Dawn Minott . Dawn would have us “focus on unconditional love, and be sure to include the word “mother” (or a variation of it)”. Here’s where the prompt took me. Go to The Skeptic’s Kaddish to find out more and to read other responses to this unique weekly poetry prompt.

 Birth by D. Avery


We
gather
around her
our First Mother
She is eternal
She is fire; light and warmth
We are the stories she tells
Our backs to the dark, we tend her,
retell her stories to glowing coals
We gather around her, our First Mother