Month: Aug 2018
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In-Form: Reiki
(Untitled) Bold, this iron hot, this devil you know. Choice is always an option. ℳ A Reiki form poem for In-Form Poetics and dVerse Does Adages . Reiki: 5.5.4.3 syllable count; no title; rhyme optional
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Miz Quickly’s Name Game
The Name Game Dad called me Jack, called my mother Egghead. He called my sister Robin, but that was her name. for Miz Quickly’s “What’s in a Name“
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dVerse Quadrille #63
A Stoney-Face Sky Summer’s end burns exhausted, as if falling faint from effort. The sky is stoney-faced, torn and tense and shining, and trickling jigsaw shapes against the windowpane. Earth chews its bottom lip, nervous, life’s slowing to a static stride. Winter watches in the distance. for dVerse Quadrille #63 44 words, excluding the…
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Miz Quickly’s Found-Deux
Found in Saturday Conversations at Fell House Gardens We are a taste of this – of styrofoam cups it’s always insane, up on the ceiling and under the floor, empty in the middle wherever that is. He fell in love with a drop of rain, spikes of red and yellow, a good morning, a coffee…
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Miz Quickly’s Never Again
Never Again I live and learn, and sometimes I learn the hard way, like I’ll never again drink the water in Cartagena, forget to put suncream on the top of my feet, order braised chicken feet, allow myself near a bowl of snake soup, visit the poultry market at WanChi market, or never cry over…
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A Wander
A Wander The idea that I might wander lonely, be seduced by a ramble, not in a breathless city, but to traverse the nature of poetry. To forget that I am. That I am. for Poetic Bloomings “Forget”
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24 August 2018
Originally posted on The Journal: On the Occasion of the Poet’s Being Challenged There’s an air of atheism about a plastic flower, no matter where it is, it just seems wrong. And, I never grocery shop on an empty stomach, which is why I’m at this tiny tired cafe , sitting on a plastic chair…
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Miz Quickly’s Bad Poetry Day
Miz Quickly asked earlier this week, or maybe it was last, that we take a rotten poem and rework it. Improvement is the aim. Well, my eyes are not what they used to be; my aim is off. This is still rotten, but I’ve started dreaming about this sucker, so it’s time to move on.…
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A Ryūka for Miz Qūickly
An Untitled Ryūka There’s something careless in the air as uncertain as childhood. Shallow as the creek that’s bone dry. You left the sea for me. That creek where we used to hunger and dream; it’s a drainage ditch. It’s crags and lost souls when dry, or full as a hurricane. You and I, we’re…
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Miz Quickly’s Golden Shovel
MuuMuu Nights It was my mother’s nature, like a thread’s nature is in the eye of a needle, that a summer night meant a muumuu instead of pyjamas. Hides the heat. Hides a sticky back, that sheen of sweat bubblin’ up against the softness in cotton. It lets the sea breeze into your hollows. My…
It's Still Life 