Month: Sep 2023
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30 September: A Pioneer Poem
A Ghost of You Time won’t heal this scar –I’m your scattered ruin.Your touch, how much‘fore your scent leaves mywaking sleep and dreams.Take your weedy walk –I’m your scattered ruin.Time won’t heal some scars. A Pioneer Poem for MPP “haunted”. Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text…
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30 September: For Unicorn Challenge
The Derelict Line to Turners Hill My feet have come to rest here,at the end of this dim lit lane, where fallen leaves, gold and red and brown,rain down like regal crowns, and however soft I treadupon this hardened path, I stop and look and listen for the 8:04,a train from a sky faded world,…
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29 September: A Pocketful
A Pocketful I am from damp forestswith moss hanging like men’sgrey beards from branches. Orange huckleberriesWild blueberriesJune’s strawberries, sunburnt red. There was no pizza,tomato sauce was ketchup,and pockets always deep. And you neededan operatorto connect to another phone. My dad collectedbuffalo nickels,and shiny silver dollars … and my mum made all of our clothing,and all…
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28 September: A Thursday Door
A house front door in Lübeck, Germany Bushboy (Brian Dodd) shares photos of doors, but not just any doors. Spectacular doors from his journeys. Dan’s Thursday Doors opened the door on this. I love doors of all sorts. I’ve trawled through my holiday snaps and found a few to share. ©Misky 2023 Shared on X #amwriting @bushboywhotweet and…
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28 September: Haibun Monday “Equinox”
Autumn’s winter came last night. September’s departing with a rip. Trees undressed of their fiery colour. A storm blows through. This one has a name. Agnes. A woman. As though a storm might sit in a chair in a secluded corner, cross her legs in a most delicate and enticing way, sweet as dripping honey.…
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27 September: The Goatherd #10
The Girl of Goats The man arrivedon the back of dawn dew air.If only, if only to turn back time.If only to be there. For her. Moonlight had a creased disregardthat night – it was blackas a crushed star. The moon pulled at him,and he knew its crush. She told him of cursing the wind…
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25 September: Idling Thoughts on a Road Trip
25.09.23 Driving South Along the Mosel River 7:25Fog licks the morning in curls, and rides like wingless birds on grapevines. Hushed on terraced steps. River reflections that come for solitude. This is the Mosel River. 8:00The old church tower is a spike into time. We are small. Solitary. Rising essence of water, we are this.…
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24 September: Idling Thoughts on a Road Trip
23.09.23 (from Hamburg to Koblenz) 08:19I want a universal mandate that all bathroom fixtures must be the same. At each new hotel, I need to ask him, How do I turn on the shower? 08:50Rain is no metaphor. It is soberingly wet. It is a thinly veiled image of myself. I managed to turn on…
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23 September: Idling Thoughts on a Road Trip
22.09.23 (Svendborg Denmark to Hamburg Germany) 08:51He’s starving. Dinner was foofoo, he says. One radish on some green stuff. Apple. Maybe. And pickled rosehips. Says the evening’s still stuck between his teeth. 09:15Oh yeah, he says, and there was veal steak. Now I’m reassessing this whole starvation story with a squint. 13:14Driving leaves me punctuating…
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22 September: Idling Thoughts on a Road Trip
21.09.23 (563 words: reading time 3 minutes) 09:57Cows find their way on to fields where they shouldn’t. It is life beyond language. 10:00Hay stacked in blocks of henges. The next farm, rolls ambered disks. Like fallen moons. Grounded on a field. With cows. Wind haunts the air. 10:20Birch. Curvaceous green in the wind. Air is…
It's Still Life 