Category: music
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0701: A Six Sentence Story
Clinging to Small Solid Facts in Six Sentences We talk about Venezuela, as if naming it might steady the water, and I drift in the jacuzzi like a bubble, briefly convinced of my own shape. I mention that Einstein had flat feet — facts don’t ask questions because saying something solid feels like ballast against…
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0401: A Heightened Pass Through the Current
We’re talking Venezuela;it’s coup dressed up as civics,steam lifting words from our mouths like ghoststhat won’t vote,and I am a bubble in the jacuzzi,a brief republic of air, spinning its borders open and shut. “Wasn’t it flat feet that spared Einstein the uniform,” I say, and facts being facts, statements pretending not to ask permission,…
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31.12: To You All
Happy New Year and my very best wishes to you all. — Marilyn (Misky) 🜄 Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI. Poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2026.
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30.12: Six Sentence Story
It Sings at Night At dusk, on the edge of a pond bordered by palms and deciduous trees that have forgotten how to lose their leaves, a call rises only at night that sounds like a woodpecker at work. There are, however, no woodpeckers in the forest of Anapoima, Colombia. This is a goatsucker; a…
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17.12: Six Sentence Story
Note to my readers: I’m travelling for the next few weeks in Colombia. I’ll be reading with gratitude, even if I can’t reply properly immediately. El Mohán: the Colombian River Spirit Time braids itself into the mist and murmur of the Río Magdalena, where women wash laundry in silence and speak of El Mohán only…
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13.12: Later …
From my path to yours, I send warmth and my best wishes. AI imagery. ©Misky 2006-2025.
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9.12: Six Sentence Story
Hols with an O Not a U Brigid sits near the electric space heater — warmth feeling like salvation as it chases the damp chill off the floorboards. And there’s a pigeon in the birdbath: it lifts its left wing into the gauzy rain (sheets of it falling, half-translucent), splashing about as if the rain…
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8.12: Sentinel Trees
Sentinel Trees These areher sentinel trees,watchersof her comingsand her goings This first Sundayof the month,frost holdingthe air lowand steadyas she leansbackinto the white breath of a birch. She, once a childof its slow-growing seed,whispers,tell me a story…one about a young womanwho ran awayto the citybecause she thoughtgreenwasn’t enough. And tell meshe knows nowhow her instinctsmove…
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7.12: Journal of Thoughts
Senryuwe tried to frame itbut the ivy had its sayand rewrote the edge Haikuwhite wood disappearsin the hush of climbing leavestime paints with silence Written for Saturday SenHai image prompt #29. Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI. Poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2025.
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5.12: Journal of Thoughts
A Passing Storm Wild, breathless, untamed. Lightning is a beasttorn loose from sky,its white-hot snarlsplitting the nightwide open. She steps into it.Laughing. Almost —as rain claws at skin,as wind pulls at herlike something thatrecognisesits own. Reclaims. The earth trembles,and so does she. This is the momentshe was made for. Raw, electric, untranslated. And when thunder…
It's Still Life 