Month: Nov 2019
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MQ 06
Somewhere Along the Snake River A few years ago, my sister and I were on a road trip through Idaho. She was driving, and we burned off miles reminiscing, mostly childhood stuff. And she said she remembered lots of things Mum and Dad said to her when she was a baby, long before she could…
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PA05 and dVerse
PA 05 A Crow’s Pleasure black crow with its patent leather shine, snagged a brown shrew on its cold hook grab. carried it off under fatal wings, carried it off on ragged winds. heard its final yip, its faded death call. waxen stiff its small wordless voice. up high, even higher, over a black slow…
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PA 04
PA 04: A Little Night Music The day that Dad brought home a bag of cherries, Mum shook her head and said, No. She had a headache. So Dad ate the cherries, as I watched. He emptied the bag by half, folded the top down twice, and carefully creased it tight with his thumbnail, just…
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for Twiglet 151
for Twiglet #151 “Block of Text“, Found poetry from “The Book of Questions” by Pablo Neruda. ©️ Misky 2019
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MQ 05 and dVerse
MQ 05.1: Gypsy Moon T’was cool and dry as ancient silk, and bright as a lunar pearl. Its light poured into rooms, disowning all it touched. That moon shined on like a new religion, keeper of all I knew. By day it tucked away sheltered in my bed. MQ 05.2 We disappointed him. He…
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Day 02
MQ 02: Draft All Along the Watchtower a mother and her son hand in hand they stand in purple haze spilled from cars strewn on streets look right look left look right just focus, my son. and I hear Jimi Hendrix playing from the watchtower a mother and her son care and caution ever watchful…
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Day 01
Draft MQ 01 and PA 01 An Alpha Poem – And Where to Start and what might this pen create, what tempest of shade and paint, and why do dreams exist in pillows, and why must heroes always die, and who will stitch this quilt into a dying language of what and why and who…
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for VV: Vol. 7 Chapter 01
Sunsets Always Fade to Black The sky is my best memory of it, a reddish violet, sometimes lavender colour just before the brightness of streetlamps poured down sheets of luminesque. In the fog that light seemed like stardust from a galaxy far, far, far away, some place on the edge of my daydreams that played…
It's Still Life 