Category: music
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23.10: The Past is a Foreign Country
The Past is a Foreign Country ‘stood beside my grandmother’s grave,one stone of granite, shown and marked,where I, when young caught lightning bugs. Tell me again that saying her nameis like a warmth,a hug,a mug of steaming tea.Tell me again that she loved me. Take me to her altar,her little shrinesafe above the tide-line.Take me…
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22.10: A Six – The Book of 27
24 – Briarthrest: The restlessness that follows after healing Of All the Goodbyes Brigid stands in the doorway of a house she once called hers. Behind her: packed books, a pair of curtains that never quite fit the windows, two chipped mugs (left not in carelessness, but filled with gratitude and the faint spice of…
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21.10: A Six – The Book of 27
25 of 27: Glintmere – The Hesitant Harmony:A Moment of Hesitant Harmony: a road trip with my sister My sister drove with a headmistress’s composure, the silence between us taut as piano wire — until she muttered, low and dry, “You always sold more Girl Scout cookies to Mr. Murray than I did,” and I…
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20.10: Kintsugi’s Language of Lacquer
This poem is inspired by Spira’s Edo era music creation, and I highly recommend that you listen to his creation. Language, here, is not a melody but a collection of lacquered shards — each word a resonant fragment. The music lives in the gaps, in the negative space (ma), and in the reader’s act of golden repair…
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19 Oct: SenHai #22
Cold Fire Senryū Bare branches claw up —The sky bleeds its wounds in hues.A cold, lonely prayer. Haiku Winter branches tracemoon’s veiled, burning palette —night’s silent, cold fire. Written for SenHai #22. Poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2025.
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17 Oct: A Six Sentence Story
Carrying the Weight The old man carried the village’s silence up the mountain each morning. Not in a sack, but in the hollow humming of his throat. It was the weight of unmade decisions, and need left unsaid. At the summit, he’d open his mouth, and let the wind take it all. The valley below…
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17.10: Journal of Thoughts
A Wednesday in October I.I am wearing long socks and music, and watching clouds turn angry. The morning’s been a car chase — after notes, after sounds. The clock’s ticking, lending the day its rhythm. II.He wears old dark colours. Wool and boots. Leaves dropping all around him. The bones of trees are bent his…
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16.10: dVerse Headless
A Steed’s Lament in Sleepy Hollow They call me omen, call me curse,a shadow-mare to haul the headless hearse.He grips my flanks with knees of bone,and rides me through the mourner’s moan. I toss my mane — he cannot see.I choose the path — what use is he?I’ve borne the weight of sin and dread,but…
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14.10: A Six – The Book of 27
23 of 27 — Wraithborne: A Glance Mistaken for Something Else The Taste of Almost Brigid notices the smudge first — a violet-ash on her teacup’s rim, still warm, the shape of a thumbprint, the weight of an unfinished thought — and this would mean nothing, except she lives alone, and has done for many…
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13 Oct: The Key
The Key That soundof the lock surrendering.Of ancient fingersfinally answering. I am the keeperof the lock.Of its click.The finder of its form in its beautiful chaos.I keep turning the keys.I keep listeningfor the locks to click. Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2025.
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