Category: Poetry
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A White, White Fog
A White, White Fog Did you see that woman withhair like a white, white fogstanding with her back to uswith one hand on her hip,looking at a child face downon the pavement? And you say, What woman. And if I were walking, I would’vestopped to make sure that childwas okay, and possibly…
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Planted
Planted Time took my oldest friend’s life. Her son took reams of paper,scribbled with phrases andher partially complete poems,and put them in a metal box.Locked it, and then buried itin a corner of the garden. Rain fell down on it, but it never blossomed, …
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In Clove and Nutmeg
In Clove and Nutmeg Autumn’s feel reminds meof a poverty of time In clove and nutmeg tones It’s brittle. In need of sleep Geese flee south overheadA squirrel, branch to branch Tiredness loses importancewhen autumn wants to be seen Shared with #APoemADay on Twitter ©Misky 2021
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Miz Quickly’s 21 August
The Reappearance of Errant Articles I’m rewriting a grocery liston a piece of paper.I fold it.Misplace it.Rewrite it. Milk Eggs Rubbishy veg for soup Seems there’s a river flowingthrough me that washes mymemory away – not forever,as if like wind, but just a meeksmallish river that cycles backinto…
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SoCS At The Lake
Stream of Consciousness at the Lake I walked around the lake this afternoonwith a view to having a coffee anda sticky bun to show for the effort,and two boys came fast behind meon their scooters. One says to the other, Do you have dinosaurs? to which the other says,Yeah, I have lots…
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Miz Quickly’s 20 August
Amongst the Blood of Gods I don’t deny my feet a winding path.I take a step. Hear the crack of driedwitness to the ages – these trees thatreach cathedral tall. Heavy and quiet. Like a wood-paneled room with birdswatching from wind-creaking limbs.The air is stiff. Crinkled. Centuries old. No one. But me here. Notwithstanding…
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20 August: An American Sentence
I would rather be bored by myself than be bored with somebody else. Poetic form: An American Sentence. 17-syllables. Shared with @Experimentsinfc #APoemADay on Twitter. Photo by Sepp Rutz on Unsplash. ©Misky 2021
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Miz Quickly’s 19 August
Bones On The Beach Those bleached white bones there,I can’t help wonder what you werebefore you became unrecognisable.What curdling horror took you.What oxygen clotting grip closedon your taut sinewed neck.Did the air smell like metal, andwas terror in the pit of your voicesthat interrogated your choices –to flee this way or that way, andwas the…
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A Korean Kasa for dVerse Poets
Mum Said She said Dad was a dove that flewover her when she walked the beach, and said he often sat in hisfavourite chair, right next to her. Once he even sat on her bed,she said, just as she fell asleep. But Dad didn’t come back for me.But then I don’t believe in ghosts. Written…
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Miz Quickly’s 18 August
If Fishes Were Wishes, I’d be Italian If I were Italian,all my grandchildrenwould call me Nona,and I’d make lotsa and lotsapasta in a magicalcooking pot.But I’m not.Italian.So I’m staring at these chipsand this filleted fish,making wish after wishthat I was.Italian. Miz Quickly’s 18 August prompt throws us a hook. Photos. Tie these photos to fairytales, she…
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