Category: photography
-
25 August: One Liner Wednesday
Rain filled the old steel bucket, and I emptied it onto the parsley, watched it spread around the chives, the basil, and the thyme, and I recalled that fisherman on the coast casting his net over the sea. Written for Linda Hill’s One Liner Wednesday. Shared with @Experimentsinfc #APoemADay on Twitter Prose and image ©Misky…
-
SoCS At The Lake
Stream of Consciousness at the Lake I walked around the lake this afternoonwith a view to having a coffee anda sticky bun to show for the effort,and two boys came fast behind meon their scooters. One says to the other, Do you have dinosaurs? to which the other says,Yeah, I have lots…
-
Miz Quickly’s 20 August
Amongst the Blood of Gods I don’t deny my feet a winding path.I take a step. Hear the crack of driedwitness to the ages – these trees thatreach cathedral tall. Heavy and quiet. Like a wood-paneled room with birdswatching from wind-creaking limbs.The air is stiff. Crinkled. Centuries old. No one. But me here. Notwithstanding…
-
Miz Quickly’s 18 August
If Fishes Were Wishes, I’d be Italian If I were Italian,all my grandchildrenwould call me Nona,and I’d make lotsa and lotsapasta in a magicalcooking pot.But I’m not.Italian.So I’m staring at these chipsand this filleted fish,making wish after wishthat I was.Italian. Miz Quickly’s 18 August prompt throws us a hook. Photos. Tie these photos to fairytales, she…
-
for 6WSP “Seasons”
The old beech on the hill. Note: This old beech is at the Reigate Hill Fort with its napoleonic armoury. Fearing that Napoleon’s troops would invade London, a string of hill forts were built as the city’s last defence. Image is my own. Written for Six Word Saturday Prompt
-
Miz Quickly’s 12 August: Take 2
The Rise of the River Arun The water just kept risingThe water racing to the seaThe sea, a sprawling brimThe sea, a solitude’s realmA realm of whip-quick wavesA realm of oar and strokeStroke across this surging waterStroke it like a scimitarScimitar of a lion’s clawScimitar to slice the deepDeep into its primal judderDeep into its…
-
dVerse Gardening
If There’s One, There’s Ten Every year this airless clayis turned, tilled and seeded.A childbirth of preparationout of winter’s wilderness. Out of January’s bankruptcy. And then May. A shift to blue.The God of Azure has arrived.Lupins. Stocks, and hollyhocks.The air is sweet scented clove. My mother wore that scent. The thistle grows, daggers offoxglove with…
-
Miz Q 06.18: Poem Beginning With a Line from Macbeth
Aphidoidea Tongue nor heart cannot conceivenor name thee! But I shall. This black woe, winged griefupon my lupines.Aphidoidea of black andwhite and green fly. Aphids usheringcatastrophe, andants in their lechery farm you like sows’s milk.Like night noise. And come morning,rain knocked those jewelledpurple spikes to the ground. The image…
-
Time, Picnics and Blizzards
Time is laid out like a picnic – Margaret Atwood “Salt” Sometimes, Time Is A Blizzard (which is why you won’t see any punctuation in this one) our old clockticks a bit slowerthen it might yet the daystill slips fromthis room to the next The…
It's Still Life 