Category: Poetic Bloomings
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PB’s Day 19
“Tradition is not the worship of ashes, but the preservation of fire.” – by Gustav Mahler I CAN’T THINK OF MUCH BETTER I still love Campbell’s Tomato Soup and a grilled cheese sandwich with white bread that dissolves into compressed paste against your front teeth, and mayonnaise that deconstructs into its basic elements of oil…
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for PB: 13 July Scary Moment
SNEAKY SNAKES Sneaky snakey black rubber hose laying in the summer sun. It slipped away into the climbing rose when my foot set hard upon it. PB’s Memoir Project 13 July “A Scary Moment” ©️ Misky 2019
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A Poem In the Style of Mary Oliver
A Poem In the Style of Mary Oliver I’ve never been one to stand under the midday sun, but here I am, noon, and my shadow has disappeared below my feet, and I’m watching ants chase summer. Rain falls through the leaves, and I feel thunder underfoot. The ants, pause. I pause. We taste the…
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Miz Quickly’s Day 10
My Grandma Wore Mink The sheets. The folded towels. Even the pink toilet paper was scented lavender. She wore every base and treble note of purple. Lived in it. She smelled of Avon. Grandma added spoonfuls of sugar to string beans, made dumplings so soft angels wanted to sit on them. Crystal long-stem glasses are…
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PB’s Memoir Chapbook Project: 9 July 2019 Draft
(Draft: As Yet Untitled) My grandma lived in a two bedroom shiplap house that was halfway up the biggest hill in town. She sold parakeets and canaries in the big bedroom. She slept in a little room off the kitchen. Grandma had rabbits. Every Sunday there was one less — cooked them in a black…
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PB Memoir Chapbook Challenge “Moments”
BACK WHEN: SIDE OF THE ROAD MEMORIES Back in the day when I was young, climbing trees held no fear in me, back when a Sunday ride in the car after church was more than tradition, back when Dad would stop the car by the side of the road and disappear into the underbrush and…
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4 July 2019
STRIDE Heat has soaked the house, the sun is bare and brash, and there’s a bumblebee, hardly alive, hauling its bulk on pin-thin legs that are too frail for support. This is the third bee I’ve seen today. The third to die before my eyes. It stopped my stride and held my heart. …
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The Wind Changed
1 July: The weather turned on Sunday. Saturday was hot. Sunday the wind changed, and the clouds rolled in. Then it rained. Heaven opened, and drowned us. THE WIND CHANGED ON SUNDAY I remember Sundays as sin-free. I’d put on my best dress. My best shiny black shoes. A bit of small change in my…
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Miz Quickly Day 21
Iced Tea and Hot Beef Broth This is an ugly duckling summer. Dim set and pallid as December. We are drowning in sweaters. Steaming beef broth in mugs. There’s thunder in the wind, and rain thorny sharp. But still, hope lives long, that summer soon swans gently into July. for Miz Quickly’s Day…
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PB’s Exercise #2
FOR PB’S BUILDING POETRY EXERCISE #2 1. A proper walk requires a red flannel shirt. The colour of iron rust. Or a strawberry stain. 2. My feet scuff through autumn leaves. My shoes lift dust from dust. 3. Old Myths and a Long Thirst And it’s a lie that a pebble quenches thirst. Tie a…
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