Category: music
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0811: Journal of SenHai
Senryuin an open palmthe oldest thing in the worldstill asks to be held Haikufern upon a handthe forest lays down one leafand keeps all its green Senryumy hand answeringthe fern curls its green questioninto my still palm Haikuone frond in silencespeaks of green discoveryin the depths of leaves ©Misky 2006-2026. Written for Susi’s SenHai Saturday…
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The Old Woman & Marcel
A Penny for the Guy “…and will you stop calling me Shoelace. My tail does not look like a shoelace.” Marcel sits beneath the table with a chocolate cereal box over his head. “What are you doing, Marcel?” “Taking precautions.” “Against what?” “The British.” “That’s rather broad.” BOOM. “See?” “It’s Guy Fawkes Night, Shoelace.” “Yes.…
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Stream of Consciousness
The Last Four Pages(in the style of James Joyce’s Molly Bloom’s interior monologue) I poured myself into a cup of coffee this morning no sugar just milk, and then opened my notebook which has only four more pages left in it so that should give me eight days except the last page overleaf is a…
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Ten Things of Thankful
Today is 5th November: fireworks, concussion, bonfires, and the burning of effigies rooted in old religious violence. The noise is physically painful for me, but more than that, I find the spectacle of cheering while a human likeness burns utterly repellent. There is nothing about this day that I enjoy. It feels brutal; I therefore…
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The Old Woman & Marcel
The Old Woman and Marcel (or the universe remembers its own size) The Old Woman was writing about short things when a mouse climbs onto the table. ‘Small,’ she said, looking at him.‘Relative,’ said Marcel, looking at the cheese. Then he wrote: Short My legs are short.My reach is shorter.But leave the cheese too near…
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04.11: Dead Men Don’t Drown
Dead Men Don’t Drown: #13 (catch-up with all episodes here) I write Mairi on the back of an electricity bill, then Mary beneath it, then cross both out as though ink can be bullied into telling the truth. The names look almost alike if I want them to, near enough for a husband with salt…
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0311: dVerse Quadrille
The Shrilling that storm left us chilly mornings,hedgerows more thorn than leaf, and every bird, insect,winged or walking shrilling with sound. I scarcely moveshould they ceaseand fall into quietness. but they sing,so persistentand insistent. T’is joy, by my own creation. Written for dVerse Poets and De’s Quadrille #259 (44-words excluding the title) including the word…
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0211: A Six – SSC&B Alcove
The Heist a double Six this week The Heist — Episode 6: Another Door in the Wall The gargoyle on the right is still quibbling with the Soup Gobbler on his smartphone — “no, not that wall, the other wall” — when the signal breaks into static and dies exactly as we step through the…
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0111: Samhain
Air Won’t Hold Her this air won’t hold leaves,it is to watch a thousandsouls falling. wind.unstitched. I am allof my ancestors. it is as she said,to hold darknessis your last veil. this is the lastof eight days, of Samhain. I remember the yearit snowedon Samhain, the dark arms of treeswidespread. I walked in my footstepsback…
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Stream of Consciousness
Don’t Swallow Your Chewing Gum (in the style of James Joyce’s Molly Bloom’s interior monologue) Woke from a dream those sounds of late night coming in through the cracked window coldish air and a cat prowling the street its voice tightening up into an air-raid siren like what we had on top of my elementary…
