Category: music
-
0603: Journal of Thoughts
Between the Salt and Pepper We used to wave them off at stations. Kisses pressed into collars,wars with foreign namesdissolving into newsprint. Some came home. Some didn’t. Distancewas a mercy then. Now the table is laid. Salt.Pepper.A glass of waterholding the small reflectionof a child’s face. The television speaks. Bombs fall. A street we have…
-
0603: Spring Thoughts
Catkins on the witch hazelhave grown long overnight.Yesterday they were whispers.Today they are sentences,fringed and breeze-trembling,each one a tiny, yellow questionhung out for the wind to answer. And the birds still think I am morning. Some images are a collaboration with Midjourney; all writing is my own original work.©Misky 2006-2026.
-
0503: Journal of Thoughts
Snowdrop Arithmetic The church croucheslike something that survivedseveral endings. Stone remembersmore than it admits. Foundations laid when handsbelieved in plaguesas weather.Now it stands in our village,pretending permanence. Outside, the graveyardis freckled with snowdrops.White as surrender,white as teeth. Each bloom a small uprising.Each stem threading upwardthrough the cold grammar of bone. No one planted them for…
-
4003: The Weight of Iron
The Weight of Iron They hang now in museum lights,mute ribs of a vanished beast:plough and pitchfork,sickle with its patient crescent moutha wooden beam bowed like a tired shoulder. But once—they were thunder. A man rose before the sunwhen winter still stitched fields in silver thread.His breath smoked like a small engine of faith.He wrapped…
-
0303: Spring Thoughts
Tonight, the Worm Moon.Tonight, the serious thing.The moon that names itself after the casting,the turning,the slow, blind labour beneath the soil. Time to get up.Time to get moving. Time to be, like the crow:the theorem of my own life,the whole cold mathematics of an eye. And the birds still think I’m morning. Some images are…
-
0303: Six Sentence Story
Brigid’s Diary, 1834, The Loom Breathes Episode I: Lyon France The silk looms had been breathing all night, a wooden patience that learned anger one shuttle at a time. By morning the steep streets of Lyon filled with canuts climbing toward the Croix-Rousse, silk thread clinging to their sleeves like pale cobwebs, their boots striking…
-
0203: Journal of Thoughts
Bond Street, Winter He sits beneath glass. Not inside the warmth of it,but reflected in it,a ghost beside mannequinsdressed for a seasonthat does not forgive him. A tan hood pulled tightagainst a London windthat does not carewho once had keysand who now has none. His beard holds frostlike unkept promises. People passwith polished shoes,their eyes…
-
Vivaldi’s Winter — L’Inverno (1st Movement) #8
8 Vivaldi’s Winter — L’Inverno (1st Movement) Prologue for the Deaf Listener: This project (multi-part) is written with the deaf reader in mind. It translates orchestral movement into embodied language. These words are the sound of cold becoming a lash. Bring on the wind with teeth of glass, biting bare branches into prayers of splinter.…
-
Vivaldi’s Winter — L’Inverno (1st Movement) #7
7 Vivaldi’s Winter — L’Inverno (1st Movement) Prologue for the Deaf Listener: This project (multi-part) is written with the deaf reader in mind. It translates orchestral movement into embodied language. These words are the sound of cold becoming a lash. Bring on the wind with teeth of glass, biting bare branches into prayers of splinter.…
-
Vivaldi’s Winter — L’Inverno (1st Movement) #6
6 Vivaldi’s Winter — L’Inverno (1st Movement) Prologue for the Deaf Listener: This project (multi-part) is written with the deaf reader in mind. It translates orchestral movement into embodied language. These words are the sound of cold becoming a lash. Bring on the wind with teeth of glass, biting bare branches into prayers of splinter.…
It's Still Life 