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 angry ocre eye burns thru morn.
Sol suffocates the bayside breeze.
Seagulls scream, “mercy, mercy”,
neath his stony, unflinching stare.
He winches the tide in close,
Waves, wrenched of foam,
gasp, lie listless on shore.
Tourists scurry inside,
Toasted in his warm embrace.
Just when you thought it was safe
To go back to the beach