Category: Poetry
-
0209: Journal of Thoughts
If There Were No Love if there were no loveI would still let summer’s last secretfind my face. just for the love of it to watch the lift and fallof leaves giving themselvesto the breeze, and if I believethey are hope,then they are. I once knew a manwho said, “I will die in a countrywhere…
-
3108: The Liturgy Episode 4
Episode 4: Dead Men Don’t Drown — Liturgy for the Antique Shop(where the dead linger in the objects they once loved) I. The Shop That Holds the PastThe antique shop breathes softly,beeswax and dust holding the warmth of roomswhose fires went out years ago. Objects wait for hands that will not be theirs. Silver has…
-
3008: cí pái Lyric Poetry
The Sunflower The Old Woman’s patient hands,tie sunflowers weakened by wind.Crow perched on the fence,greedy for seeds soon his, while Cat, superior in disdain,‘Such fuss for fading gold’,he thinks, ‘this laboured strainfor what autumn can’t hold.’ Some images created with Midjourney; all writing is my own work.©Misky 2006-2026.
-
The Old Woman With No Cat
The Cat and the Man in the Moon(Or: A Feline Lunar Audit) The cat sits on the windowsill,nose pressed to the glass,tail curled around its paws,gazing up at the pale, glowing coinof the full moon. “Old Woman,” he says,without turning,“I don’t see a man’s face.I’ve been studying.Intently.For minutes now.And there is no man.There is a…
-
2908: Journal of Thoughts
Pygmalion it is a quiet,deliberate working: the moment you open your mouth,someone begins decidingwhat you are worth. Londoner.east end.cockney.midlands.northern. foreigner. a life reducedto the shape of a vowel,as though birthplacewere evidence,as though the mouthcould confess a classbefore the hearthas said a word. it is a flimsy mechanism,yet it survives. audible,inherited,almost polite. and so easilywe mistake…
-
2808: dVerse Landscapes
Hay Brown this cruel heat that frames us,this persisting dry, return me to English summers, the scent of chlorophyll, and the sight of dew’s lustre. he longs to mow stripes againthrough grassgone hay-brown. this persisting dryis an old man’s cough. I remember the pink glowof the hydrangea, it filled the window,axed the sunof its heatfrom…
-
2708: The Colour of Elsewhere
The Colour of Elsewhere — Poems from the Periphery An Afternoon in the Museum two mummified catsin a dust-free glass casesmudged with prints of childhood, and a right handin formaldehyde. I stand there staringat someone else’s hand, never mind that mineis equally miraculousand still attached, still warm, and I wonder how longthose two cats have…
-
2608: Journal of Thoughts
Before the Bleaching mortality’s breathis in your salt-bleached bones whiteas inevitability something took you here a grip at the sinewed neckperhaps pressurewhere breath should pass the body knowswhen it is being ended the air may have smelledof metal the sky may have been blueor perhaps you blinkedagainst the rain none of thisis for the telling…
-
2508: Protesting Quadrilles
Two Protesting Quadrilles I.she is one among a hundredsandaled feet,leather slappinglate-August streets. heat risesto regimented metre,chanting voices,summer-tanned skin. the street becomesa wilderness of protest,placards ticking,senses wiredto explosion. police draw a line.skin presses skin. paniccrosses it. II.she came with sandals,August skin,a placard.nothing more. then protest foundits marching metre: slap of leather,chant and answer,heat risingfrom a hundred…
-
2508: Six Sentence Poem
They Left This morning four beeslay quietlyon the patio stones. not sleeping. the sunhad simply askedtoo much of them. I carried each oneto the shade, where lavenderstill remembersword for word,their names. I’d rather believethey’ve gone somewhere cooler,where foxglovesnever wilt, and cloverkeeps flowering. somewherewhere no beeneed choosebetween thirstand sunlight. Written for Denise’s Six Sentence Story Poetry…
It's Still Life 