Category: Poetry
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Vivaldi’s Winter — L’Inverno (1st Movement) #3
3 Vivaldi’s Winter — L’Inverno (1st Movement) Prologue for the Deaf Listener: This project (multi-part) is written with the deaf reader in mind. It translates orchestral movement into embodied language. These words are the sound of cold becoming a lash. Bring on the wind with teeth of glass, biting bare branches into prayers of splinter.…
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Vivaldi’s Winter — L’Inverno (1st Movement) #2
2 Vivaldi’s Winter — L’Inverno (1st Movement) Prologue for the Deaf Listener: This project (multi-part) is written with the deaf reader in mind. It translates orchestral movement into embodied language. These words are the sound of cold becoming a lash. Bring on the wind with teeth of glass, biting bare branches into prayers of splinter.…
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Vivaldi’s Winter — L’Inverno (1st Movement) #1
1 Vivaldi’s Winter — L’Inverno (1st Movement) Prologue for the Deaf Listener: This project (multi-part) is written with the deaf reader in mind. It translates orchestral movement into embodied language. These words are the sound of cold becoming a lash. Bring on the wind with teeth of glass, biting bare branches into prayers of splinter.…
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1602: The Liturgy
Liturgy for Those Who Burned Their Names to Stay Alive(for the ones who fled too late) I. The First Mistake of BelievingYou thought the river would wash you clean.You thought the new tonguewould taste sweeter in your mouth. That the accent you couldn’t shedwould be mistaken for poetry,not origin. But fear travels without papers.It crossed…
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1502: Sunday Whirl 744
Plesiosaurs At salty edgesthe beasts drank brineand bit the wind. The tides drag debris;bone, rib, vertebra,a silver scatterunder the tilt of a ruined sky. The jaw of the seacracks open. It does not sip.It slathers rock raw.It vaults the horizonlike a spine snapping. Voices?Gone. Each stitch of speechripped from the throat,salt-packed,swallowed whole. The edges remember.The…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Cat Watches the Sky Slopes (A Tragedy in Four Paws) The cat buries his face in the old woman’s sleeve.“Make it stop,” he whimpers,one eye peeking at the telly.“They’re falling.Tumbling.Cartwheeling through the snow. WHERE ARE THEIR CLAWS?” She strokes between his ears.“They have skis, cat.And skill.And helmets.” “Helmets?Helmets don’t protect dignity!I fall off the…
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1402: Journal of Thoughts
Senryuat the mountain’s footwe bloom anywayno need to be tall Haikujagged peaks at dawnyellow flowers hold the lightspring defies the stone Written for Saturday SenHai Poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2026.
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1302: Naming the Unclaimed
Naming the Unclaimed Wolf moon.Orion’s Belt.Sirius, bold and low. She stands beneath them,wrapped in night’s blanket,its hem dusted with memory. Each star is a name she mouthslike a lullaby,like a story left unfinished. Children she never bore,their light traveling yearsto reach her upturned face. Jupiter.Pollux.Canopus. She counts them slowly—not to possess,but to belong. The city…
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1302: Journal of Thoughts
Torsion Without Tear Some days, the world is clear-woven.A linen of light, laid flat, to read the warp,the weft of a leaf,the true grain of a face in the morning. Some days are a slow, internal hand,taking the cloth by its cornersand twisting. There is no rip, no tear.It torques —edges sharpened,but still whole. A…
It's Still Life 