Month: Oct 2025
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Old Woman Considers Ownership The Old Woman watches the cat— that cat, the one who pacesher kitchen like a landlordcollecting rent in broken sleepand half-remembered dreams — and she says, soft as dust:“Perhaps you are mine,in the way the wind owns the sigh,or the crow owns that stolen spoonhe buried near the mugwort.” The…
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26.10: SenHai #23
Senryu: two old souls watchingthe moon pour its golden dream.a shared, silent wish. Haiku: a moon’s veil fallspours light over the cliff’s edgenight drinks golden dawn. Senryu: two souls at the edgemoonlight spills their held breath loose,they forget to speak. Haiku: moon’s river falling,night drinks the silver current,stars tremble awake. Senryu: lovers lean, unmovedas if…
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25.10: Journal of Thoughts
Of Poets Dead and Gone while I slept in my chair,my dream, waking my horse, although I’ve noneand never will, nevertheless, it woke, and we rode down a rocky lanewhere stood the souls of poets dead; and gone, and one who seemed of marble,who stood as any might alive —rain falling thickand clinging to her…
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24.10: Ten Things of Thankful
This has been an up and down week. “Smart Meter” installation cancelled because “sorry, we don’t know why our engineer didn’t show up, so let’s reschedule for next month,” and then a new piece of specialised equipment arrived today, which should make my life easier; a huge storm (called Benjamin) blew through SE England and…
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10.24: MicroDosing 130µg
Walking Westport The sea breaks inches from where I stand. It’s a cannon’s rush on my ears. A tempest. The sound of purgatory. We’re walking fast along wet sand, the tide pushing us faster, the beach is paper-flat and straight into the west sky. We’re barefoot. Mum says it’s good for the arches of our…
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23.10: The Past is a Foreign Country
The Past is a Foreign Country ‘stood beside my grandmother’s grave,one stone of granite, shown and marked,where I, when young caught lightning bugs. Tell me again that saying her nameis like a warmth,a hug,a mug of steaming tea.Tell me again that she loved me. Take me to her altar,her little shrinesafe above the tide-line.Take me…
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23.10: A Thursday Door
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 photos and found a few to share. ©Misky 2022-2025 Shared on X #amwriting @bushboywhotweet and @DAntion
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22.10: A Six – The Book of 27
24 – Briarthrest: The restlessness that follows after healing Of All the Goodbyes Brigid stands in the doorway of a house she once called hers. Behind her: packed books, a pair of curtains that never quite fit the windows, two chipped mugs (left not in carelessness, but filled with gratitude and the faint spice of…
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22.10: Briarthrest – The Liturgy
24 of 27: Briarthrest – The restlessness that follows after healing I. After the Breaking:It doesn’t come while you’re breaking.It comes afterward,the moment you find yourselfunmoored from ache. It’s not the wound.Not the grief,but a chair empty at the table.You learned to eat alone.You stopped setting a place. II. After the Healing:It is what the…
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22.10 MicroDosing 70 µg
Floriography She went barefoot into the brittle garden, the earth creaking like old knees. Dandelion nodded its tired gold; yarrow whispered of stubborn hearts. She bent and gathered what still offered itself: Queen Anne’s Lace, sage, a handful of seed, an autumn-washed grape leaf. From a chipped jug she poured moonwater, murmured gratitude to the…
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