Category: Poetry
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It’s Just Weather: Heat
It’s Just Weather: Heat We rise with the sun,before the full of heatcrowds the clouds and skims the colour from the day. This is harvest day,clear and hot, a heatusually reserved for ovens,and it leaves our bonessimmered white and limp as foam on foam.…
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for dVerse Poets: Haibun Monday
It’s Just Words Someone once said that I was a prolific. As a writer. At the time, I thought it a compliment. Years later, I’m not sure that’s a good thing. Being prolific. It’s like standing in a bucket of your own sweat. Being overcome by noise. Your own noise. So you can’t hear your…
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Twiglet #246
This week’s Twiglet is ready for your pen! 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 … Twiglet #246
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28 Sept 2021: It’s Just Weather
Blow This wind has no soulshepherd of destruction It breathes low, and leaves wounds across blossoms and breakable hummingbirds And then it turns back, and blows itself inside out. Image is from Unsplash. Shared with @Experimentsinfc #APoemADay on Twitter ©Misky 2021
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25 September 2021: Green
I Next Chose Green A slip of darkness,lost to sunlight.A prick of timethat’s too greenfor lustbut not for love. Image is from Flickr Commons, no attribute. Shared with @Experimentsinfc #APoemADay on Twitter ©Misky 2021
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Miscarry
Miscarry I keep baby’s tearsin my pocket, and I weep over themin sympathy. Photo by Daniele Levis Pelusi on Unsplash. Shared with @Experimentsinfc #APoemADay on Twitter ©Misky 2021
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24 September 2021: Observations
Small Town Saturday It’s market day andyour name is Pat andstanding beside youis your brother, Jack, well he might’ve been your brotherif your mum had married the first boyshe kissed but there is some bloodconnection somewhere under our skin, and Jack pullsa harvest landscapeof corn in a crate fromunder the trestle…
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23 September: 20 Pieces of a Poem
Day 7. Change Direction or Digress from the Last Thing You Said Her back’s against driftwood, a tree trunk that the ocean scooped up during a storm, white and smoothly slick, and she’s wearing a swimsuit, eating a packed lunch of bread and cheese, pickle, and a white globe-of-an-egg, still slightly warm and peeled bald, except…
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for Twiglet #245
Going Mad Eyes.There’s something about anadult baby-face.It’s empty. A baby facein a uniform,bootstrap on a foot on the slaughterand capableof anything. He loved Red Riding Hood. Nobody knewthat he wantedto be the wolf. He wasmagnificently mercurial and mad as an ebony cat.Or sneering black marble. Written for Twiglet #245 “Let me go mad”. Image from Unsplash…
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The Imprint of Northleach Church
The Imprint of Northleach Church It seems to methe weight of years,your deedsyour tears arepressed against your back. Do they stillpress?Do you stillbend to the will of worms? By day, your shadow is yourcover, and by nightlights are lit, andyour shadow hovers. Do you hear ourlaughter,footsteps,lover’s whispersas you wait for God’s return, that promise ofa…
It's Still Life 