Category: Poetry
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16.02.22 A View From The Roof
A View From The Roof That albino pigeon(the one that convinced me it was a dove)has returned. It’s up there on the roof ridge.Slate-grey like a storm,a perched gargoyle,or a wild stone. And it looks down.Left.Right.Wings move,as if shrugging off the weather. And then it’s off,into the air.To the next house. New view.New roof.New pitch.…
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18.02.22 A Storm Called Eunice
A Storm Called Eunice In front of me, a massacreby dark and crossed arms.But the garden will mendfrom this crystalline damage.From tempest spinning circles, and pitched storm spectres.Phantasm thrumming andrequiem squealing at windows.Our bare ghost trees cut fromcard are yelling and coughing.It’s carnage from a sunken sky. edited 18/2/22 10.43am Image The Storm by E Munch 1893.…
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17.02.22 Dunes
The Dunes Back then summer waswhite dunes with cowlicksprigs of crabgrass and mounded hills of sandscrubbed the wind. Sand ramped across scrubas if pulled alongon tiny toy wheels. And with wind at your back,you’d put down a blanket,open your favourite book, and expose your skinto as much sunas it could take in. Back then,that was…
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16.02.22 dVerse Prosery
Fish Moon New Year’s Eve means cod. Always has. Alway will. So we head for the harbour. The whole family, and a few who aren’t, squeezing into the old Volvo, always bits of Pop’s job in the back. Trowels rough with mortar, buckets, crusty boots, white overalls. Pop’s a bricky. Bricklayer. Muremand. We race down…
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15.02.22 Flash Fiction
The View We’re back. Forty-five years ago we sat here at this same table, same window, he and I, waiting for the 15.10 ferry. Always the same ferry. Two of them, running back and forth, back and forth. Connections, you know, making connections to the train. The train to visit family. The train to the…
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14.02.22 Valentine Quadrille
Remembering an Afternoon Picnic Near Steyning It smells of summer, he says.Greenish. We’re sitting at the edge of a field,our feet soaking in a creek, and we’re eating cheese and chutney sandwiches.Drinking milky tea straight from a flask. And I want this moment to last.Beyond forever. A Quadrille for Valentine’s Day. Photo by Kiriakos Verros on Unsplash. ©Misky…
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13.02.22: dVerse Pentameter
A Forest Creek When the sundraws close and hot,and your legsache to stretch,and when your headburns scarlet heat,who alonewill cool your browbut me. dVerse Pounding the Pentameter. Photo by Michael Chambers on Unsplash. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting #apoemaday on Twitter
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13.02.22: Stream of Consciousness Saturday “fortune”
How Long Is Your Length of String How long is a length of windthat gusts in gallops. Does itblow longer than childhood. Pity that mother slicing a loafthin enough to last 4 or 5 days longer. Or is it longer than build-up to war. Longerthan peace that never lasts. A hungry wolf’s in this wind,beating…
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12.02.22: Maxim’s Pantoum
It’s the Soul of Maxim’s Palace It’s like a happy Chinese meal.A duck hullabaloothat’s noisy as jackdaws.Snappy as vinegar.A duck hullabalooon red tablecloths.Snappy as vinegar.Oranges. Gold. As twilighton red. Tableclothsthe colour of joy,oranges gold as twilight,or rain on a tile roof.The colour of joythat’s noisy as jackdaws,or rain on a tin roof.It’s like a happy…
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11.02.22 GoDogGo Cafe Book Titles
This Thing Between Us Her hands are softand her fingers sticky. A pear for dessert.The sweetness lingers. The sight of her smile,like a tattoo, never leaves you. And the smells of smokeis body heat, I think. And every night she walks her cat.Alone. Alone with that cat. She says the sun is too hot,and the…
