Category: music
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0909: A Six – SSC&B Alcove
The Alcove: Strikethrough two on the fence, one grey squirrel motionless, an the other — its tail a rudder steering through speed, crimped and flagging semaphores messages; a spiderweb at the window, delicate as Brugge lace, a breeze inflicting coaxing teasing a minute tremor through its lattices; autumn arrived two months early, as though woollen socks had some private grievance against summer the world had grown impatient with…
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0909: Everywhere Poems
Free tried once.fell off. slowly. slid like animation.like marmaladeoff hot toast. dented myselfa bit on August-dry clay. soot-black eyeand a sprained wrist. the horse and I,we walked back to the stables. I fed him windfall applesbruised with bee stings. talked about howi’d remember this dayfor the rest of my life. i love to watch horses…
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0809: Dead Men Don’t Drown
Dead Men Don’t Drown: #5 (catch-up with all episodes here) “Hi Mum, it’s me — ay’okay, well, sort of, because I popped up the shops for milk, bread, and a few bits, and saw two pottery Staffordshire dogs like Gran’s in the antique shop, so I went in to see whether they were worth anything.”…
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0509: Journal of SenHai
SenryūThe path says nothingI follow its listeningdeeper into green. HaikuListening through green,stone path curves toward the seawind enters the tree. SenryūThe tree stands its groundgrass comes running with the windstone wanders away. HaikuBrown trunk in deep greenthe stone path stitches through grasswind unpicks the seam. Written for SenHai Saturday: #68. Not all images are created…
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0409: Six Sentence Story
The Alcove: Afters Last week’s Poetry Slam has ended, the scent of cigars lingering hungry for fire to catch from a match. The proprietors gather at the end of the bar, hugs and laughter — how little separates laughter from crying, I think. Denise looks up from polishing water marks from a wine glass; “Hi…
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0409: Stick of Butter
Stick of Butter when I was ten, maybe nine, but certainly no younger because we were living in the house where we lived the longest, and my bedroom window emptied its view straight into the yew tree and the park beyond, so I must’ve been ten … or nine … anyway, I spent the night…
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0209: Journal of Thoughts
If There Were No Love if there were no loveI would still let summer’s last secretfind my face. just for the love of it to watch the lift and fallof leaves giving themselvesto the breeze, and if I believethey are hope,then they are. I once knew a manwho said, “I will die in a countrywhere…
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0109: Dead Men Don’t Drown
Dead Men Don’t Drown: Episode #4 (catch-up with all episodes here) No. 4, Dead Men Don’t Drown: The Antique Shop on Rope Walk I walk into town for bread, milk and a box of wooden matches for the coal fire; inheriting a cottage means inheriting an endless list of small errands. Halfway home, a fleck…
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3008: cí pái Lyric Poetry
The Sunflower The Old Woman’s patient hands,tie sunflowers weakened by wind.Crow perched on the fence,greedy for seeds soon his, while Cat, superior in disdain,‘Such fuss for fading gold’,he thinks, ‘this laboured strainfor what autumn can’t hold.’ Some images created with Midjourney; all writing is my own work.©Misky 2006-2026.
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2608: Journal of Thoughts
Before the Bleaching mortality’s breathis in your salt-bleached bones whiteas inevitability something took you here a grip at the sinewed neckperhaps pressurewhere breath should pass the body knowswhen it is being ended the air may have smelledof metal the sky may have been blueor perhaps you blinkedagainst the rain none of thisis for the telling…
It's Still Life 