Category: ekphrastic
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6 March: For Sunday Muse
In A Dream With Turquoise Walls There once was a dreamthe colour of Seychelles’ sea,the colour of originsand maternal longing,and there was a swanwho dreamt it saton a young woman’s breasts,thinking that with timethose soft eggs might hatchinto creamy white. Written for Sunday Muse #249. A.I. Digital Artwork is created using Midjourney. Imagery and poems ©Misky…
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23 February: Ekphrastic – Imagine a Fly
Imagine a Fly Imagine never listening to Bach, never noticing a rainbow or looking for its pot of gold, never feeling drunk whilst looking at the stars, or knowing a spider’s laugh as you’re caught up in its web. An Ekphrastic poem written for Petite Pen, 35 words and RDP “Complicated” Image by Zdzistaw Beksinski.…
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14 February: for Twiglets #311
Mouse I see youthere, dipping and diving,rooting in bowls. A spoonful of dinner.Sugar on your lips.Crumbs on your fur. I hear yougnawing, you withthose black bean eyes. You, scurrying onthin silence. You, lurkingwhen I’m not looking. I see youlittle mouse, eyeing upthat glistening moon. Written for Twiglets #311 “Eyeing It” AI Digital Artwork is created…
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27 October: Ekphrastic for Petite Pen
Or So You Said the ancients did as we do now. lovewith biting urgency, andtwo fingers up at twilight’s facebefore light diesin a final lift, andlevels the uncurtained moonon us. this is how it is with us.no love letters.no emptying ones headof tears.no whispering names like an old wish. just darkness through the branches,slipping through…
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K’s Petite Pen: Recycling Day
Recycling Day Men in yellow hi-vis vests, theyknow recycling, which containerfor an armload of draft poems,which one for your destiny. A man’s throwing moisture curledpaper into a bin. I slip in a dozenglossy magazines as a boy hurlsglass bottles in a metal container. He spins and shatters each onewith a chaotic joy of destructionthat only…
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21 August: That Old Photo
Note: this is pure fiction based on an image at Café of Imaginary Dreams. That Old Photo: Ekphrastic Prose On the right is Jeff. Granny S named him after Jefferson. Not that Jefferson. Jefferson Street, where she worked as a waitress on Saturday afternoons, where Grandpa S always came in for his regular burger with…
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17 August: for K’s Petite Pen
Vista There’s a vague pointlessnessto rushing when you knowthere’s another ferry coming. So we admire the view. The sun stabs at our skin,as a mother, arms white as milk,shouts caution at her children. Image by Julia Rigby. Written for K’s Petite Pen. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting on Twitter
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12 August: Petite Pen
A Day Bronzed by August It was a day spinning in my ear,unbothered by rain or regretor lost love or virtue, there wasjust pale light and the call of gullssinging like plucked piano wires,and a child with a kite coaxingthe last breeze out of daylight. for K’s A Petite Pen. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting on Twitter
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9 August: An Ekphrastic Poem
The Return of the Flame I am stopped dead, clutching a water bottle again. A hostage to withered rivers. Burnt faces. This scotch bonnet heat empties my head. I will never get used to this sort of thing. Heat unleashed from some- where else, and spilling on you. A barbarous soak. Phaethon’s set the air…
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28 June: Words from the Oracle
Whichever Way It Blows I share this housewith a man with a bad back, and a roof verge of crumbling cementthat drinks water and leaks like a drunk as the windtongues at the roof tiles. The man leaves doors open,dried leaves like giddy spooks flit across the floor, and mosquitoes, guiltlesslyhunt me at night. Flies…
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