Category: ekphrastic
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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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15 June: Petite Pen
Wilt Nothing happens – and yeteverythingwilts at her feet. for Petite Pen image by Ron Hicks ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting on Twitter
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9 June: No Matter Your Stones
No Matter Your Stones No one tells you that Brighton beach isn’t sand, that it’s pebbled and rolls underfoot. If wading in surf is your pleasure, well, those pebbles will batter your toes and bruise your shins. The weak ankled are easy to spot, their arms flaying the air for balance, their knees wobbling about. […]
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8 June: For K’s Petite Pen
A Loose Spool Here under the treeswhere kiwi-green grassis level as lawn, and crickets sound likedry wooden cogs, midday heatclings to herlike a russet coat. For Petite Pen: 30 words or less. Image is from Vicente Romero Redondo ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting on Twitter
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5 June: Is This Tragedy
Is This Tragedy She’s at this land’s edge looking into machete-sharp light.He’s leaving.He’s burning it all down. His ship sails out of her echoesinto a taunting sea. Her heart leaks music. She watches land’s end. Written for K. Hartless Petite Pen at Yardsale of Thoughts, painting by Vincente Romero. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting on Twitter
It's Still Life 