Category: Miz Q
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for Miz Quickly: 11 June
In the style of “Spoon River Anthology” by Edgar Lee Masters Corinna Rosetti I was born on a breeze – cleaned, polished as bright pink as roses growing fragrant, petals drifting like stars across the sky, and I loved the night. I’d stare out like a moon leaning over the lake. I lived in a house…
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7 June: A Conversation
Night You are my talcum star, scarlet on your lips, it’s your shade. Swathed in black, is it your protest, or my consolation. What hides behind your mask. You are my Nyx …. Day Morning is my peach, espalier across the linens. Ripe and soaking in sunshine, fingers playing my long song. Who is…
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dVerse & Miz Q 04: Vacation
Ferienskifahrer I remember that our ski instructor called us Die ferienskifahrer. Holiday skiers, he said. Didn’t bother disguising the sneer on his lips. Our muscles tore and bits on bones chipped as we fell on the snow. Ferienskifahrer. We, with our legs stuck under desks for 50 weeks of the year. We, conquering the Alps…
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Miz Q04: Vacation
Blowing Through Skagen I’ve been to Skagen. Once. I was young. Seems like yesterday. There was grey gritty sand blowing down the street. Danish flags snapping the air, fringed edges, flagellated by wind. We walked the beach. Licked strawberry ice cream, and chewed grit for several days after. Stayed in a hotel straight out of…
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Miz Q02: Image Prompt
It Put Me Right Off Chicken Forever A man on the street is asked, What’s the first thing you’ll do when lockdown ends? Go the KFC, he says, and get me-self a tub of chicken. And the reporter says, Oh. Okay. Well, what else? And he says, Next? ermm, a 24 count Chicken Nuggets with…
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Miz Q 01: Remix
Through an Old Window I was born in rainwater, with clothespins sewn in my pockets. I was a burden and a blessing. I was air drifting in old windows, and I was the passing of that century when fishes and loaves were born in a roadside kitchen. Remixed text from Written by Himself…
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Miz Q 31 May
Are You Waiting for Me Sunrise seeps through the slats of the fence. Shakes the leaves into dancing silhouettes. Shuffles shadows like playing cards. We all fall down. My ear against the pillow. Heaven fills the other. Thunder rolls — all those souls are clapping. Are you waiting for me in heaven? What…
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More Than a Voice
More Than A Voice A Trill. A B-flat shrill. There’s a blackbird in the laurel bush. Sing to me your birdsong. Blackbird with an orange beak warbling to the world. Here. There. Everywhere. I hear your voice over the traffic, the dog’s bark from next door, the girls playing up the street, the ice cream…
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Where the Story Took Her
Where the Story Took Her I once heard of a girl who was so high above us that she was her very own bright moon. Her face was her pride, and her laughter star-sparkling. I heard that she was all legs and luxury, lips like plums, and eyes of lavender-lilt. She wore pastel-pink shorts, and…
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Day 28
I. Ars Poetica A poem should be grassy as lawn tidy warm as a lizard sunning on a wall like dawn after a good night’s sleep greedy for attention A poem should be musical chairs an aging aunt a sharp turn in a narrow lane an unexpectedpause A poem should be tomorrow II. Ars…
It's Still Life 