Month: Nov 2017
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Day 13 NovPAD
An Alley in Old Cartagena I will forever be in your red clay bricks, amongst a thousand footsteps. Tread upon and equatorial bake. I want to be part of your streets, of cobbled narrows, and alleys into gardens. My secrets coveted by heavy doors of wood caramelised brown by the sun. I count centuries of…
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dVerse Haibun Monday
Courage Winter is courage. It’s a well-disciplined march stopping for nothing. And it’s those middling, dead-centre winter months that possess all our complaints, and illnesses. And tragedy. Winter stalks the frail, takes them into its crushing tranquility, leaving us in deepest grief and melancholy during the whole winter journey. We are for loss of green…
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Day 12 NovPAD
Touchstones and Shifty Natures That side of the hill was a dirt slide after it was logged clear, though the loggers claimed the land was of shifty nature, but it turned into a seething body waging war on fifty or so families who called this dirt home. Hindsight knew it a fat belly begging to…
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Day 11 NovPAD
whispering all that hope that she inhaled deep into her lungs — unlucky girl, she’s afraid to her own whispered wishes Poetic Asides: Day 11 “Unlucky”
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Day 10.1 NovPAD
Where Do the Hours Go It’s just past 4pm, and the sun is going down, but for now it’s caught on crisses and crosses of aeroplane contrails. Those tic-tac-toe kisses, each trace an hour passing, rose-hued and translucent, and glued to the sky. Poetic Asides Day 10: Go Somewhere
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Day 10 NovPAD
Navidad en Bogotá We bought a cheap suitcase at Poundland. It’s a cavernous monster. Burgundy colour, which I suspect will bleed like beetroot all over everything at the first hint of rain, but no worries because we and it are heading to Bogotá next month, and although it can tip down rain there, it’s an…
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Day 9 NovPAD
What If I can’t think of a single blank-if thing to write – I’d drink a glass a water (7 more to go) check WhatsApp for overnight messages pace the kitchen floor from the fridge to the sink – helps me to think pick bread crumbs off the oriental and I’m thinking Prizzi’s Honor all…
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Day 8 NovPAD
A Crow’s Feast in that darkness in that silence in the simple of the night, the topmost branch escaped its clutch, it fumbled with the wind. it fell, it scrambled down the rattling air, fell upon the apple tree, where there upon the ground, now apples apples bounce, now a hop a hop by a…
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dVerse Looking Up
What Were You Thinking … that everyone felt that rise and fall, that it was breathing. waves in the sky, that my feet were on the ground so my head was safe in the stars, that you and I were safe because we turned the key between us, that the only way out is from…
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dVerse Quadrille #44
Kick Plastic no plastic, no kicking this plastic planet into the long grass. no scrapyard-plastic junkyard, no poisoned water pumps or floating microbeads. rising, rising, and how to hold back a tideline. we’re drinking from a madman’s glass, drinking up desert. nobody trusts a scorpion’s nose. dVerse Quadrille #44 “kick” 44 words
It's Still Life 