Category: Miz Q
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26 April: NaPoWriMo
An Attempt at the Bright Side Liver. Ermmmmmm. Liver (shivering) with fried onions I love onions, unfortunatelyThis is supposed to be about liver, not onions. I know … Liver is best Kept inside a cow. Or a pig This photo was taken at Tablehurst Farm in Forest Row, Sussex. Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2024. Written…
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26 April: NaPoWriMo
A Poem Lacking A Title & Direction There was a dog the colour of old lace, eyes of onyx, always napping under the jasmine, loved chasing a ball, and puzzled over the shape of earth.He told everyone he might be a Time Lord. And there was a seagull icy white as phlox, whose wings were…
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24 April: NaPoWriMo
The Book When I was young and opened this book, I could hear wind chimes. It was like air, cool and dry on my fingers. Leather grain, and oiled from fingers, a subtle worn smooth surface. Leather strong and softly pliable. Resistance of the binding suggested an aged spine but it was much older. Grandmother…
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23 April: NaPoWriMo
The Flashy Spangle Spots It’s one of those gloomy music days that I allow to pour out in spoonfuls from a small back room of fumes seeping in from a previous century, a room somewhere along the Moors where wet overcoats and woollen caps are hung to dry on hooks and whose muddy boots go…
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22 April: NaPoWriMo (a haibun)
It’s lazy-hot for mid-May. A few days before she finishes 6th grade, and she can hear her mother talking, voices slipping in and out of her open bedroom window, “somethingsomethingsometimes she makes my flesh crawl,” so she knows what she’s telling the neighbour. She swings her feet off the bed, she’s wearing white cotton socks…
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21 April: NaPoWriMo
A Stark Hand I am in the strange hands of wind that reach the cliffs and pebble beach. I have come here to hear the voice of time’s sentinel, its sun-washed ancient secrets. Tell me of your lost lore, what guards your stark hand so well. I turn my face to the sky where by…
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20 April: NaPoWriMo
A (Prose) Poem Starting with a Line from Armageddon by T. Silverman Every time I see you, I ask if Bruce Willis is dead. For months, the days repeated and the windows were blank with winter, and then it was April – an eclipse, red-tint full moon from Sahara dust, and a devil-horned asteroid, and…
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19 April: NaPoWriMo
A Blot Upon It All She calls me her blot. Her watermark. As if she’d looked directly into the sun, or a flashbulb had gone off in too close a proximity. Like January eyes – bokeh’d, fogged, a wet ache, foot-loose, if those eyes were feet. Forlorn perhaps, but not always, just as night can’t…
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18 April: NaPoWriMo
The Old Woman Who’s Not Whistler’s Mother She’s not Whistler’s mother,but if she were, she’d describeherself as the shape of cloudson the way to a different life. And she might suggest thatshe is a dinosaur … not plasticas that’s not been invented yet,who’s bored with herself. And that her cheeks, once pink,are now the colour…
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18 April: NaPoWriMo (17/4 prompt)
Duality’s Voice She is the morning,And the birds mistake her for it.But this worldIs an indifferent parentWithout a guiding heart. Life is an eddy. A swirl.One day her heart will forgetTo beat,But today she smiles and wonders,Who am I to feel so loved. Written for Miz Quickly’s 17 April prompt: Two poems with a title that…
It's Still Life 