Category: Poetic Forms
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dVerse Poets Haibun Monday
Conversations with My Mother I wish her a happy birthday. She turned 92 yesterday. She once said she prefers that I phone. Don’t bother with a visit, she said, we get on better when you ring. I make allowances. She 92. I wonder if I’ll make it to 92. I wonder if anyone will make…
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A Bussokusekika for Poetic Bloomings
Bare Bones Yesterday’s calm slipped into a blind feral wind, naked and ruthless, a murdered bruising day for wasps drunk on whiffs of apple with bare bones that gores the sky. for Poetic Bloomings: Form bussokusekika 5.7.5.7.7.7
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For dVerse: Haibun #20
An Absolute Night Up here, the moon watches, a silent astronomer gazing at us through stellar crowds. Fascinated, faintly dazzled by our unaccustomed ways, our wilds that leave its thoughts vacant as an open sea. Speechless. Barren. Spent. And that moon, searches the absolute night through sable stares of its pious eye, deep into our…
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For dVerse: Quadrille #15
Up a Tree My childhood was up a tree, on a limb, a branch, twigs too far. It grew, I grew legs long and arms to reach up through colours – spring, summer, fall’s scent on bark, sticky, pitchy, sweeping ’round my head. Those leaves falling. Falling. written for dVerse’s Quadrille Monday (44 words)
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A Cinquain for P’Bloomings
Fled Luck was a tapestry, days of infinity. Into your arms, a refugee of love. Poetic Form: Cinquain: 2.4.6.8.2 syllables/line. Written for Poetic Bloomings In-Form Wednesday
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for dVerse: Haibun #19
There’s Always One By 10 o’clock it was darker than the wrath of god. We heard the tide rising behind us, soft and tender, the chatter of rolling pebbles, and before us a driftwood campfire rising and speaking in tongues of cackling fury. We were girls on the edge of hormonal burst, ten of us…
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PB’s In-Form “Dodoitsu”
for Poetic Bloomings, In-Form Wednesday. Poetic form: Dodoitsu, constraint 7.7.7.5
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P’Blooming & d’Verse Quadrille #13
Quadrille #13 The Swimmer He was all blind bones and tendons, whip-willow arms and flying legs. Stood sturdy. Stood jar-steady. It seemed easy, there in water, light as clouds are in sky. Fluid and flowing, a light blue mountain’s breath, and he fed off the roar of crowds. © Misky 2016. for Poetic Bloomings…
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for dVerse: Haibun #18
The Victor Writes the History I keep those memories, treasure them, fall in love with them – over and over again. I colour each one with a whitewash tint to fit, add lilac fragrance like punctuation, form and reform (memories are so delectably malleable), and no one corrects perception, ones private and privileged view,…
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Poetic Bloomings Dances a Quadrille
7:15 Coffee is made. Plates on the table. Radio’s on, but silence takes over. The dog sniffs the air; falls back to sleep. A morning cough from upstairs, emptying lungs of sleep. Rain drips from the gutter as I sip coffee. Silence never tasted so good. © Misky 2016, 3 August: Quadrille, 44 words.
It's Still Life 