Category: Poetic Forms
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A Poem in the Style of Raymond Garlick
ON BOGNOR BAY A Poem in the Style of Raymond Garlick Bognor Bay divided into two tongues. A spit of shingle tossed by salty lips, and a broad flat of sand where the wind sung high to seagull cries. Riggings rang on a whispering breeze, woodwind tunes and sea- borne souls. Restless feet floundered upon…
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for dVerse Prosery
We children had so little, although we always had just enough. Absent parenting, well more like absentminded parented, but Mum and Dad did their best. Mum said it is all about setting the right examples. Her mum was an ice cube, so she was a chip off it (or chipped, or something like that). That…
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Poetry: An Espinela
Iron on the Wall There’s the northern and the southern. Hallelujah, they sang for him, and amen ending every hymn. Brothers. Sisters. Baptist. Brethren. On the wall, a cross of iron, wooden pews so unforgiving. Discomfort. Complaint. Forbidden. God, they said, punishes living. Death, they said, is all forgiving. In that building, they’re still singing.…
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Quadrille #99 and Wordle
The Approach The barn door’s open to birds singing, and he comes into view, born out of smooth fog. The floor’s a chill. His damp stirs. Rips the fog, lifts from his heat. He’s a virus. A panic. I felt old enough. I’d just turned twenty. for dVerse Quadrille #99 and Wordle Words…
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Quadrille #98
The Peel And again those white chalk cliffs near Dover peeled away and crumbled into the sea. Grief feels that way, the crumbling of it. It tore my heart, and peeled my bones. Raw days in a flood. Its flawed blue horizon is now my familiar. dVerse Quadrille #98 “peeling” (constraint: 44 words)…
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Quadrille #97
Dose One pill tastes of lemon. One is orange and white. One is for sneezes and sniffy noses, and one tastes a bit like fish. One is white and plump and long, and one is diamond pink. Pills, these pills, and she takes her fill. ©️ Misky 2020 for dVerse quadrille #97 (Fill)
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Sonnet from Deconstructed Haibun
Moon Dog (sonnet from deconstructed haibun) My dog dreamt she chased the moon. It filled her head with sky by night. By day she soaked in long wet grass, and ran between light and gravity. She left us in deepest winter light, left our lives much too quiet. Last night I dreamt my dog was…
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Quadrille #96
Fevered It’s a fevered dream, you stumble sidewise into a wild place, and you think, God, don’t let me die here, not now, not here, and you ignore that you’re feeling very small, and half ruined, and that’s when your fever breaks into rain. for dVerse Quadrille #96 “Wild” ©️ Misky 2019
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dVerse Quadrille #94
That Small and Darkest There what angers streams to overflow and flood to mud like clouds that drown the sky. and what causes a small lake to rage and fume inky volcanic ash. this roar from darkest age. and there we stood, mud stuck to our shoes. there. standing. for dVerse Quadrille #94…
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Day 28
I. Ars Poetica A poem should be grassy as lawn tidy warm as a lizard sunning on a wall like dawn after a good night’s sleep greedy for attention A poem should be musical chairs an aging aunt a sharp turn in a narrow lane an unexpectedpause A poem should be tomorrow II. Ars…
It's Still Life 