Category: music
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1006: dVerse Unpunctuated
Sad Winter Skin When I was youngI wanted a yellow bedroom I wanted sunny We boastedof evergreenand a climate wetterthan a bath Dad painted although he was mostlya postman and an artist but he didn’t do bedroomsSo mum painted it washable mattedripped from the tin Fresh Egg Yolk I liked naming paint colours It’s too…
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1006: Journal of Thoughts
A Friend: Our Forty Year Stitch Forty years. We have worn groovesinto each other’s silences. Whole conversationsonce livedbetween cigarettes,coffee cups,the long turningof daylight. Now he slipstoward somewhere else, then surfaces againat the sound of my voice. I do not reachto hold him here. I sit beside the bed,straighten the blanket,pass him water. Outside,someone closes a…
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0906: Journal of Thoughts
The Hand Is Enough A hand of sweet scents.A posy.Pearly pink. Silly girl,you’re dreaming. The hand is enough. A kindnesswithout witness. A giftwithout debt — and she rolled overand dreamtshe wasasleep. Written for What Do You See #344. Some images created with Midjourney; all writing is my own original work.©Misky 2006-2026.
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0906: Brigid’s Diary – A Six
Brigid’s Diary: Part 12.2, Arles, Spring 1836 Under the Floorboard The shouting started next door: boots on stairs, a man’s voice like a stomp, the scrape of furniture across wood, and the thin-pitched sound of children when they learn the house is not theirs. I tasted blood where I’d bitten my lip without noticing, salt…
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0606: Journal of SenHai
Senryuold branch, new blossomsthe tree never complainsabout starting over Haikucherry blossoms glowalong the dark and patient branchspring borrows the light Written for SenHai #55 Image from Unsplash.
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0606: Everywhere Poems
30 May: An Everywhere Poem: On Paper The postman arrives withmore origami,shopping lists, and a thousand other usesfor junk mail. Mum saved grocery bagsback before everything went plastic, then paper again. We wrapped parcels in them. No sticky tape. Only string. The paper reused. Life is made of reused words. To crumple,to fold,to toss aside.…
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0506: Everywhere Poems
Everywhere Poems don’t have a subject. They have a starting point and follow wherever attention leads. It’s — go for a walk and see where you end up. 26 May: A Kitchen Window Poem It’s 36°C, and I have winter on my mind. Cold driven deep into stone.Winter’s heart.Air sharp as glass. The kind of…
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0406: Everywhere Poems
An Everywhere Poem: Expectations while other girlsmade daisy chains, I dropped a hookwith a wormin a puddle and expected a fish. I’ve never been afraidof worms. Everywhere Poems don’t have a subject. They have a starting point and follow wherever attention leads. It’s — go for a walk and see where you end up. Some…
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0306: Slightly Dangerous
(an off-piste Everywhere Poem gone for Six) “How is it in there?” asks a man. “In a word, chaos,” I tell him,“but worth it; the olive oil is half price,” and I close the boot of my car while his wife claims my empty trolley. I hate this placebut always return,navigating the demonic ritualsof warehouse…
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0206: Everywhere Poems
Everywhere Poems don’t have a subject. They have a starting point and follow wherever attention leads. It’s — go for a walk and see where you end up. A Kitchen Window Poem there’s a birdin the birdbath, wings emptyingthe bowl, rain fallingthrough the trees. A grey squirrelcrosses the fence, its taila thickened brush — annoyed…
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