Month: Mar 2021
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This Might Be The Most Depressing Thing Ever Written
This Might Be The Most Depressing Thing I’ve Ever Written For pen. For paper. I fumble the nightto write these stammered words. I grievefor its loss. Its misuse. This deluded lightthat I might write, and pretend to believe myself poetic. A witless froth at any age,I know not grammar, my words are awaylike disjointed vertebrae.…
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For dVerse: Verse Epistle
We Always Said After the summer hadturned fields of cut wheatto brooms, and those littlegestures of rain beckoned to winter, and as we saton the dry October lawn,and said we’d always writeeach other fond letters of Dear dearest, and wordsfor wishing on falling stars,after all that, I’m sleeplessand feeling the drift of dark, and wondering…
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A dVerse Quadrille
I Am In The Shadow of highbrick archeswalls ofchipped stuccorendering heated dust rainingfrom bellspealing namesof vanished saintsand talesof moonstruckswallowscoaxed fromnesting cliffsswift as lighton wingsthat cutclouds and sky.our shadowswere justflutteringlips. for dVerse Poets, Quadrille Monday “Swift” and 44 words sans title. © Misky 2021 Image WikiCommons California State Archive. A poem based on recollections of a…
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For International Women’s Day: IWD 2021
The Mystique of Copper Penny I’m 5. Almost 6.I’m watching my mother. How do you do that, Mum? She’s putting on lipstickwithout looking in the mirror. Avon. Copper Penny.When Avon discontinued that colour,Mum cried. Then ordered two dozen. Practice, she said, like whenyou learned to tie your shoesbefore going to kindergarten. Using the word “mirror”…
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For International Women’s Day: IWD 2021
When Life Closes In Take a look at where you’ve been.Look to your roots. As with my mother. She wore a ladybird pin on her collar.Dress or blouse. If there wasn’t one, she sewed a collar on it. And belt loops.A belt reminds you to hold your belly in. That’s what she said. She had…
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Of Noise and Swiftness
A Soul of Noise and Swiftness Cards, like tongues pegged to our chariots. Our wheels. Our spokes. Our feet pedalling down the street. Those old times were upon us. Image from Flickr Creative Commons © Misky 2021
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For Twiglet #216
The Strong Arm Water He’s the strong arm of water.A river at night. We move around the fringe of fewand plenty words. Breathe hard as frozen rainthat sticks to skin. And we drain the river. written for Twiglet #216 and dVerse “Edges and Fringes” Image from Flickr, Creative Commons © Misky 2021
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dVerse Edges
Various Degrees of Blur My pencil whorls. Gone are the edges.The sharpness erased. Roof tileshide under moss. Stones hide the curve of hills. Grass flattensunder the weight of tyres. A shadow denies its edge. And my fingerspush back the second hand, as the hours spin. for dVerse Poets “Edges and Fringe” #1 & 2 ©…
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dVerse Haibun: Memory Lane
The Straight Of It It might’ve been 1952. Or 3. It was certainly summer. I remember wearing cotton shorts and a sleeveless top. It’s hot. The sun stings my arms. I’m barefoot, walking on a narrow brick path that always feels cool and slightly wet against my toes. It leads from the back door down…
It's Still Life 