Month: Apr 2016
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Sunday Whirl #247
First Thing This Morning It’s like a car crash. You don’t have to see it happen, to know that it did — the sight of glass, shattered fine as seashells, bits stretched across the road, and tyre tracks left as a dark memory where it stopped, rested at the base of an old lamp post.…
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How To Follow This Blog
A few friends who follow Chalk Hills Journal, which is soon to close, cannot find the “Follow” option on this blog. WordPress has moved this feature to a hidden spot at the bottom right corner of this screen. Click on the 3 vertical dots at the bottom right of the page, and then you’ll see…
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#6
Six Random Thoughts Candlelight is not the same as burning lightbulbs during the daylight. I remember when you took us fishing — we ate tuna sandwiches. My clothes smell of last night’s curry dinner. We used to eat plain food. We used to stand by the coffee machine and talk. Tea works okay, too. I’m…
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Day 13: Travels with an Elderly Friend
Join me for April NaPoWriPo poems at http://thirtydayspoetry.wordpress.com ~ Misky
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#5
Pastel Chalk and Yellow Bees Never understood it, how birds and bees could do the sex thing. Our teacher, who always smelled of orange rinds, she’d draw flowers with pastel chalk, yellow bees with fragile fairy wings. And those pointy arrows, tips piercing pink blossoms, and connect grinning bees with dots. Third grade science —…
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A Photo For Cecilia
Cecilia at The Kitchens Gardens asks for a photo of where we write. Here is a fractional peek into my study. There’s a wall of bookshelves behind me, a large west-facing window to my right. Plus a lot of other stuff that wouldn’t fit into the viewfinder.
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#4
Urban Relief We were fluent as the blooming of summer, a tonal rest and homespun comfort, lacking the busy hum of men. Those days fulfilled our dreams of lonesome fields and wild heath lanes, time absorbed us into landscape. It was a place to draw near our shoes. written for dVerse Poets 7…
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#3
If Sparrows Played Bagpipes I made barbecue sauce three days ago. It’s the scotch that makes it historical, wakes everything up with a surprise as if sparrows played bagpipes, so I slick sauce on some ribs, a shimmering that makes me smile like a debutante asked to dance. written for dVerse: Quadrille #6…
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#2
Grandpa’s Congregation Our paradise was never erotic, it was chocolate. That’s what happens when your grandpa’s a dentist – the cookie jar’s empty We were witness to all his changes – dentists don’t like to be dentists. He liked the brief conversation though, can’t speak with hands filling your mouth. Endless cavities, root canals, pulling…
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