Category: Poetry
-
dVerse Quadrille #114
Magnetised the push and pullthe up and downthe rise and fallthe kiss the slapthe pain the cheerthe deafened earthe birth the deathtears for us berefta prayer a curseto hurt to heallonely daysand hearts grief-stricken dVerse Quadrille #114 “Magnet” © Misky 2020
-
Twiglet #199
Originally posted on The Twiglets: hanging on an echo 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.
-
The Poeming’s Found Poetry Challenge
October is found poetry month at The Poeming challenge. The collection of daily posts can be read at https://miskyb.tumblr.com . We’re working from the book “From Dead to Worse” by Charlaine Harris. Copyright 2011 by Orion Publishing Group London. Images are by Pieter Bruegel the Elder and his son, Pieter the Younger, 16th century, and…
-
Poetic Asides: A Hunt
An Unintentional Return to Loam Once, while taking the dog for a walk, who prefers jumping from one muddysquidge to another, never walking as allother dogs around us did, I came upon a troop of mushrooms,perhaps twenty, or perhaps more,closed cap, gills hidden, and although I was tempted beyond all prudent caution,I left them –…
-
for Twiglet #198
HMS Trenchant: An Error of Judgement there’s music on the deck,and Cook’s in his white overalls. he steps over cables and gears,and lights up the barbecue. all in the spirit of lockdown.and the sailors are dancing as music’s spilling from speakersas flags are warning cherry red. image: Dangerous Work at Low Tide, by Eric Ravilious, 1940…
-
dVerse What3Words
Crisped All Around And then,the frost plunged into night, a driven knife down from the North. And by morning,the leaf-strewn ground had crisped and hoared here all around — T’was a proper penguin beach. written for dVerse using What3Words (frost.driven.proper = Penguin Beach at London Zoo) I also verbified the word ‘hoar’. © Misky…
-
The Last Days of Summer: 1968
The clay soil here is ironware-hard. Dad, nevertheless, muscles and thrusts a long steel spike into it. It bounces like a pogo hopper. To break it up, he says. This, on the hottest day of any that I can recall, and he’s weighted a yellow sheet of grid paper under a stone that maps out…
-
Dverse Lists
It’s Never Just Black and White Grey is a shape a mood to sleep to dreama blank canvas a precursor to black the colour of hope pressure-washed motes in light a eunuch’s cloak a mushroom huntmorels and caps is gray for some is a cloud a vapour a spirit a far-flung hill is never just black and…
-
dVerse Gloomy Ballads
Where Music Stops She stood in the lee of heavy grief,as if lashed to a mast on a craggy reef.Sirens howled in her ear,and a month lingered to a year. Swallowed, some say, as she bedded gloom.Took herself to her darkened room.Took her heart, and buried it deep,and then fell into a long cold sleep.…
-
for Visual Verse: October
Through a Fine-Tooth Comb I look out the kitchen windowand mutter, I’m done with rain. Such are my thoughts, as hot watershowers coffee grounds, and I pulla fine-tooth comb through my hair.Have faith, I say, as each white follicleholds miserly against grating abrasion. My dust is everywhere. Skin dry anditching, even the air grates. Comes…
It's Still Life 