Category: Poetry
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0204: Journal of Thoughts
My sister had three of them behind glass. They’d swim, stunned by their own beauty and grandeur, skimming through long blades of green. First they ate all the smaller fish in the tank, and then the three of them set upon each other until only one remained. And there he swam alone for nearly 15-years.…
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0104: Journal of Thoughts
The Leak The calendar hangs:boxes, numbers,the fiction of order. Minutes leak. Not quickly.That would be kindness. Through sleep.Through distraction.Through the body’s small betrayals. An afternoon lost in a chair.A word gone missing at the stair.Morning gonebefore the kettle cools. February: a sieve.March: a colander. To ageis to learnyou do not spend your hours.You lose them.…
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3103: dVerse Haibun
March is a mad hare in a fit. Wild, bounding, all elbows and interruptions. He sits in the sun until he remembers he prefers frost, then leaps up and overturns the day. “Change places!” he cries, though no one is sitting where they were to begin with. He pours tea into the wind, scolds the…
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3103: The Hinge
The Hinge That Forgot Its Door A hinge without a doorstill turns, not freely,not fully,but enough to remember. Two plates,a pin worn thin,holding to a purposethat no longer exists. It opens into nothing. Again.Again. A motion rehearsedlong after the meaninghas gone. Wind finds itand it answers,a small, obedient shudder, as if something unseenstill passes through,as…
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3003: The Six Liturgy
Liturgy for the Paddle Wheel — where old and new collide I. The Animal of Iron and BreathIt came up the Rhône like a great beast learning to speak.Pistons for lungs, smoke for voice,paddle wheels striking the waterwith the rhythm of a heart that never tires. We stood on the bank and watched it approach,this…
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3003: Spring Journal
She Walks the Fair She walks the fair, a carousel’s brass musictugging at her sleeve, buys a daffodilfrom a man with kind hands, watches a child spinuntil the world goes loose. The scent of frying dough,cinnamon and sugar,the squeak of a wheel, a stranger’s laughthat sounds like her own. She carries a paper coneof warm…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Cat Studies Tai Chi(Or: The Slow-Motion Pounce) The Old Woman finds himin the middle of the sitting room rug,moving with a slowness usually reservedfor glaciers or drying paint. One paw lifts,hovers,descends—as if placing it on the very heartbeat of the earth. “What,” she asks,“are you doing?” He does not look up.“Tai Chi walking.It is…
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2803: Journal of SenHai
Senryustriped brushstrokes blendin the closeness of bodies,fear loses its shape Haikustriped bodies entwinethe plain hums with quiet watch,safer together Written for Saturday SenHai image prompt. Some images created with Midjourney; all writing is authentically my own original work.©Misky 2006-2026.
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2803: Journal of Thoughts
“…to find the smallest fragment and silence all around it until its voice fills your ears…” — M. I.The Smallest Fragment First, find the shard,a cracked bell,a half-buried word. Then build silence around it. Wait.Do not reach.Let it remember itself. Now listen.It will not shout. It will humnot with what was lost,with what remains true.…
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Witnesses
a collection of moments: nothing grand or forced. just soft, slightly askew truths of ordinary days — witnessed 27 March 2026: 06:43 Two pigeons. A sharp rap to the skull,feathers drifting.Love’s old, foolish arithmetic. © MB 2026
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