Category: music
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6 May: dVerse Quadrille
Forty-Four Blooming Words a populationof self-seeded daisieson French verges. common,persistent,blooming anyway. no gardener names them,no border holds them;they take what is given. small faces turnto passing cars,white as breath,bright as forgetting, rooted where chancedecidedbeauty isenough. Written for dVerse Poets’ Quadrille: bloom ©Misky 2006-2026.
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5 May: Journal of Thoughts
The Captain A child sinks a shipwithout hesitation. The crew must be saved.The story requires it. The captain goes downwith quiet agreement; no trial,no question,no second thought. It is not cruelty. It is order in a child’s mind. A hand lifts survivorsfrom the water,sets them safely asideon the bathtub’s rim. The rest is allowedto disappear.…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Cat’s Nocturnal Quest (Or: a brief romance in three acts) ACT I: THE EXIT“Don’t wait up, old woman,” he purrs,tail held high like a banner of mischief.“I have… errands.Of a personal nature.Involves a wicked womanand a well-stocked pantry.” ACT II: THE RETURNDawn finds him back on the windowsill,whiskers tipped with cream,a single sardine tin…
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0205: Journal of Thoughts
5:30am, 2 May — Newhaven Ferry Terminal the house still holds nightin its corners. kettle breath,zips closing,the quiet certaintyof leaving. by eight,the ferry will loosen the landfrom beneath us. sea wideninglike a thoughtwe’ve decided to follow. I have packedfor French rain,for winds that speak lightly, and left a small, deliberate space for tins of sardinesin…
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0105: Journal of Thoughts
7:30pm, 1 May (Beltane) Car Packed and Ready once,I would have lain awakeon the edge of leaving, maps bright behind my eyes,the pull of elsewherelike a tide I couldn’t ignore. now, I sleep. because the road is known,the ferry a familiar hingebetween two roomsthat I have lived in long enoughto forget which one is mine.…
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2904: Journal of Thoughts
An Hour in April 19:20in the conservatory,we sit inside a bowl of blue. moon halfway risen,unhurried as breath. Peder reads the future aloud,electric, precise, kWh,while my little Renault restswith the memory of roads still warm. outside,apple trees hold the last birdsonglike a secret not yet spent. and the clouds, pink drawn sidewaysas if the sky…
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2804: Haibun Monday
No Facebook. No X. Less news — especially politics and war. It seems endless, a kind of tinnitus. I move through the day in relative silence, reclaiming space, attentive again to the small things around me, freed from the relentless alarms of a thousand strangers. Today, after lunch, I sat in the sun and drifted…
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2704: A Different Six
Without Sense I am tired of men who grinwhile cities burn, of suitswho call it strategy, of flagsused as shrouds. I am tiredof the loud being mistakenfor strong, of crueltydressed as realism,of madnessgiven microphones while decent peoplecount coins,ration heat,and bury children. Do not ask mefor balance when the scale itselfis broken. Do not ask mefor…
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2504: Journal of SenHai
Senryuafter all that rainthe sky apologisesin seven colours Haikurainbow to the seadark clouds loosen into lighttideways gleam again Written for Saturday SenHai #49 . image by Kym Ellis – Unsplash.com ©Misky 2006-2026.
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2504: Violet’s Phraseology
Elena found the letter tucked behind Dad’s war medal. “When you tell a lie, you steal someone’s right to the truth,” she read aloud. Inside was her mother’s handwriting …thin, slanting, frightened. To my beloved Elena,I did not leave you. There were pages after that: signatures, witnesses, the legal theft of a child. At the…
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