Category: Poetry
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2 Oct: Chester
I’ve always wanted to see Chester. It was my birthday treat: we’re going to Chester for the day, and then dinner afterwards at a steak restaurant. I rarely eat steak, except on my birthday. It was excellent. And Chester was everything I hoped it would be. A perfect birthday. Note: click the images for full-size…
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30 Sept: On Dunmail Raise
On Dunmail Raise The wind on Dunmail Raise plays tricks on the ear. Can’t see him, but you can hear him. Up there on the hill, shouting at his dog. One man and his dog, and the wind carrying them both. And then you see them. White specks, a fleeting flock across the bare hill.…
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28 Sept: The Bookcase
The Bookcase When I dream, I write it down. He says he never dreams, but the bookcase says otherwise. His side, which is the right side, is filled with folded road maps. He dreams of being carefree as a river, or a thin-line horizon. His Michelin in hand. To drive across roads of Norway and…
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27 Sept: dVerse September Song
September’s Song Summer’s deathbed; here comes autumn. It’s an old woman’s bed, where the air yawns wide as ancient oak and its crisp leaves untether, glowing in clingy vicious colours. The soil smells of wet dog, and the forest drips of dew that smells of liniment. Tomato vines hang greyish limp and weary. Pickles sink…
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27 Sept: This Price of It
The Price of It I’m writing this on a piece of paper that was once a tree, cut down and ground and pulped, and made into something else that trees don’t know is a necessity of life. Like a loo roll. First grade: I’m writing on black slate with chalk. Circles round and round. Straight…
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30 September: Our Gaps
Our Gaps I’m sitting on a logthat has a heart carved into it.He’s sitting on the log oppositepicking at the bark. The campfire shifts, sparksclimbing into the night airto join all those errant stars. And I ask him,What are you thinking about,and he says, Nothing. I’ve never been able to do that,think about nothing, I…
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15 Sept: Some Fresh Air
Rain hat: yep. Rain coat: yep. Hiking boots: yes, and heavy socks. Camera: yep. Hankie: yep. Heading off for the wilds of the Peak District and the Lake District for a bit. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting on Twitter
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13 Sept: Autumnal Crisp
Autumnal Crisp Leaves are falling. Heat drained them dry. A crumble from green, exposing their brown skeletal lace. Image: AI created by MidJourney’s bot ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting on Twitter
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12 Sept: Poetic and AI Art
Lightning does dance, like high kicking skirt swirling puppets, their wooden shoes as raucous as thunder. This is a new project, creating poetic AI (artificial intelligence) art using the midJourney bot. Images are produced by “prompting” the bot with words (descriptive; styles; mood; technique; etc). This “AI” image is the bot’s interpretation of my poem. ©Misky…
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10 Sept: Jane’s Oracle Says
II. Meanwhile … her knees are cracking walnuts, it’s a painful sound when she stands or sits, and her heart makes a swooshing murmur sound, and she feels condemned by suggestion that being elderly made her old. Oracle words from Jane. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting on Twitter
