Category: #apoemaday
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The Path Near Tully’s Farm
A Quiet Moment There’s no pomegranate,lotus flower, lion or thrones here.There’s no death or grieving, or lumbering sea.There’s only the quiet you find in emptiness. Shared with @Experimentsinfc #APoemADay on Twitter ©Misky 2021
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An Ekphrastic Poem
To Weave Wisdom Sing to the museof oak trees,and ospreys,thunder, and open sky. Weave wisdominto poetry, pour lighton poppied fields, andsalt into the sea. Photo by Geran de Klerk on Unsplash #APoemADay on Twitter ©Misky 2021
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Miz Quickly’s Turned Upside Down
Turned Upside Down We all slidetoward the same end, don’t we.Like my oldest, meaning longest, friend. Thirty three years I’ve known him.He was born in a cottage near to where Robert Burns was born. My old friend once said to me,Routine can kill a person. This was after I said,I…
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In Response to Twiglet #233
It’s a Biblichor Thing Grandpa’s bookcasewith every book he ever ownedwas left to my motherwhen he died. Bevelled glass doorsand cut crystal knobsas shiny as King John’s ransom. I earned pocket moneydusting those old books,a biblichor scent giving mea pinched headache as if those books had pressedtheir fingerprints on my skull. For Twiglets #233 “Like Fingerprints” Photo by Gabriella…
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Miz Quickly’s Words
When Is a Mountain an Inch Too Short When does a gnatbecome a fly,and when does Upbecome the sky,and when does a pilebecome too high,or an unwound clockimply there’s time,or when does freedommeans goodbye,or when is knowledgenot knowing why. A mountain, a slip, a watch and a ring,a carpenter is none of these things. Miz…
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28 June 2021
We’re Lucky Fear and suspicion, death and isolation aside,lockdown was good to us, I say.You’re eating oatmeal. You nod. We had ample food on the table,our health, and money enoughto turn on the heating in June. You pause the spoonfuls to sayit was the wettest, coldest June you can rightly remember. I nod. And…
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A Gogyohka: In Dreams
A Gogyohka: In Dreams My father, who passedmany years ago,suddenly appearedin my dreamlast night. Pale hair.Certainly more of itthan I rememberhim ever having. His back to me.He was fishing.A mirror-still river,swollen to nearoverflowing. But it wasonly as deep asmy father’s ankles.His legs like pillarssplitting the water. Perhaps things aren’tas deep as we think.and I wonder:Do…
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Miz Quickly’s Colours
What Do You See I see a spill of cognac,silk and chalky grey,an astral lay andfailing light.Uncorked oak,and an open slack,warming earth, anda morning road for those of faith,a song, and a religious scent. And the remains of a day that chooses us. There’s syrup of autumn,turmeric flesh,a poem for Poe…
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On the Edge of Invisible
On the Edge of Invisible Our street is quiet, on the edge of invisible. I. A magpie’s in the tree, it vanishesinto deep summer leaves,then…
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An Apple for Miz Quickly
A Few Words About Malus Domestica ‘Discovery‘ the colour of its skin isan embarrassment’s blush.it bleeds rouge to its core. a stain straight into infinity,like some kind of forever.an unfathomable number. the bees,the moths,the maggots, they havetheir way with my apples, like bad boys who drink up,and leave without paying,staggering about on cider. but this…
It's Still Life 