It's Still Life

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. She might light a cigarette and delight in watching it suffer, smoke and burn. Our Agnes, she’s a cruel voice, a swirling vicious yawn with a recognisable naked eye. Her rain shines through vellum clouds. It’s a bad omen out there, the optics are all wrong – leaves ripped and shredded. Silent serenity cast out of glory. Agnes, have mercy.

wind of snarling trumpets
frosted clouds of white faced sheep
a storm’s in her heart

Written for Frank’s dVerse Haibun Monday: Equinox . Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Imagery and poems ©Misky 2023.