Category: Poetry
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12 October: dVerse Prosery
This Summer Boy This summer boy of tide pools and kelp forests. He plays in waves while grains of an hourglass slip from under his feet. Up to his waist. He’s afraid to move. Afraid to call for help. He hears a chaos of language from the shore. His legs tangle in the long reach…
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Twiglet #248
Originally posted on The Twiglets: A twiglet’s aim is to “prompt” a thought. If something comes to mind, write. A polished piece isn’t the goal; creativity is. Leave a link, if you’d like your work read, but comments should not be expected.
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Miz Quickly’s Day 11: Monday (2)
Untitled On Tuesday I sharpenedand oiled the secateurs. On Wednesday I cartedaway the pruned roses. On Thursday I sliced upbananas and made bread. On Friday I cut back thegrapevines that were dead. On Saturday I thoughtI heard a nightjar sing. On Sunday I didn’t doa single damned thing. But today is Monday. Written for Miz Quickly’s…
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Miz Quickly’s Day 11: Monday
11 October, Monday: Not by choice, my alarm lets me sleep through all its noise until 8:30. That’s every day, not just today, and then I smell coffee. It starts brewing at 8. Perhaps it’s the coffee that wakes me up. I think coffee is supposed to do that. A few stretches, and I shower.…
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Miz Quickly’s Day 10: What If
Where’s the Rabbit what if I’m wrongwhat if there’s no such thing as wrong no wrong path, wrong door, wrong choice. what if there was onlyhere, now, simple happiness. perfect happiness, a gossamer light. what if I found happinessand I was wrong about it. what if there never was a rabbit in his hat. written…
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Miz Quickly’s Day 9: As Seen By …
What the Nissan Figaro Said Next … Pumps still dry, no petrol for 3-weeks.I’m parked-up in neighbourhood voices. One ear to the asphalt, and one eye on the road – potholes, twiggy weeds. A road paved with good intentions,platinum-laced fumes on the road. There’s a new cat sniffing around,around me, it’s white with a racoon…
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9 October: A Strange Mildness
The Turn of the Season blessthis mess of leaves these trees rattle andturn to burnt bits leaves curl andclench to themselves crisp and brokenunder some version of sun that no longer warmsthrough glass panes. it’s a blinding opticof strange mildness Photo by Jason Mitrione on Unsplash. Shared with @Experimentsinfc #APoemADay on Twitter ©Misky 2021
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The Poeming: A Found Poetry Project
Originally posted on It's Still Life: During the month of October, I’m participating in The Poeming Project, a month of Found Poetry, with poems created and sourced from John Grisham’s “The Pelican Brief,” Published by Arrow Books (Penguin Random House UK) in digital format, published in 2010. My project is called Broken Windows, and it’s…
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Miz Quickly’s Day 8: Two Rooms
Muddy Waters A glass of cold waterand two aspirin.There’s a crow pickingmy skull into tiny bones.A simmering cranial gap to a steep slope. Grey trees.A footbridge pinned downin reeds and a shallow creek.You’re a kingdom of rot.The creak in your bed. In response to Miz Quickly’s Day 8 “Two Rooms” prompt. I used the room with the…
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for Miz Quickly’s Day 7
It Won’t Happen Again This Year What happened to the blue of yesterday.Everything is as vague as today’s haze. October colours. Burn. Burn We are children at the edge of a reset.Now rain rattles the windows, wind bellows and wheezes at us from the centuries. October holds us in its belt buckle,in its flow of…
It's Still Life 