Month: Nov 2019
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dVerse Poetics
Ivy As if three suns shine on me, I grow that fast. Groping the fence, I climb razor cuts into the bark of trees, spread like a summer wind, or fire across the coolness of soil. Sticking to willows, weeding up the house, scarring brick like sin on a soul. I’m a … tangled Medusa.…
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Day 28
I. Ars Poetica A poem should be grassy as lawn tidy warm as a lizard sunning on a wall like dawn after a good night’s sleep greedy for attention A poem should be musical chairs an aging aunt a sharp turn in a narrow lane an unexpectedpause A poem should be tomorrow II. Ars…
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Day 27
To Leave Or Not To Leave — that is the question Nearly two score ago, as a new immigrant to the UK, I was given Indefinite Leave to Remain. A peculiar phrase that I’m sure confused many non-English speakers. MQ27: Two Opposing Laws ©️ Misky 2019 It’s November Poem a Day month. These…
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Day 26 & 27
Dear Diary. Yesterday two opposing lows one called Hector, the other Storm #7, blew into the garden. Kicked up leaves as if it were child’s play, and before leaving, knocked down the neighbour’s wood slat fence. I think Alison’s gutters are blocked with leaves. There’s a waterfall spilling off the back of her house. And…
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Day 25
My old bones stopped me playing the piano, and nowadays I sleep on my left side – my right hip can’t take the pressure, and sometimes I feel my heart beat fragile as lose silver thread, and every morning I love seeing that single autumn leaf still clinging to its branch. And not all is…
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Day 24
PA24: A Dialogue Poem I’d like to pick up a delivery, please. Order number (but I can’t recall it so I show her my phone with the SMS) Name? she asks. Yes, I say. (and then correct myself. I must pay closer attention) Which is difficult because there’s a baby. Howling. Its face is tomato…
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Day 24
The Trinket Shop in Old Jerusalem When my soul claps joy it’s for the bold brilliance of it all. Of prayer rugs and woven shawls and the frayed fringe knotted into crimson and turquoise, and gold knobs on miniature boxes with brass hinges, and look over there on the brass table, a wooden camel, its…
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Day 22
Silent as Bones The hallway was silent as rain. A soft drizzle silence that soaks through your bones, and you ache for someone to just say, Hello. PB’s Silent Hallway quarrelsome he had a quarrel with an apple. bit it. Biting is not allowed. then he quarrelled with laughter. it was a total…
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Day 21
The World Was Never So Confusing Last Year. Like in every story this one included a woman of receding beauty. She lived in a modest house, owned a rescue horse that was entirely idle, she never learned to ride a horse, plus a rabbit that was intended for her granny’s cast iron pot but that…
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20 November 2019
MQ20: I Must Be Mistaken My mother was a kind of wildness. A kind of smoke from a burning bush. Not THE Burning Bush, although as a girl I thought she was. In reality, she was a concussion from banging her head against a brick wall (or so she said, or nearly so). And I…
It's Still Life 