We’re adding muscle to our verbs tonight in the Dverse Lounge. Kim has commanded us to use powerful verbs to bulk up our landscape poetry:
An ocre eye burns thru the morn.
Sol suffocates the breeze.
Seagulls scream, “mercy, mercy”,
neath his stony, baking stare.
He winches in the tidal flow,
Waves, wrenched of all their foam,
gasp, lying listless on shore.
Tourists scurry in hotels,
Toasted in his warm embrace.
Just when you thought it was safe
To go back to the beach