Category: Poetry
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Blackdamp
Blackdamp Picture, if you will, a brief surge of engine steam that glitters with pyrite dirt. It churns the still night air – They work the old coal pits, shuffle down damp tunnels, black dust kisses the skin. The canary trips no concern. And up above this blackdamp, in the crisp clean air, there in…
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Twiglet #156
CHILLED the winter fields are flat and cold snow clouds stretching long as banners Dad hated this time of year. He’d come home, and soak his feet in a dishpan of hot water and epson salts.. He was a postman. this weather rushes on us with its wild eyes ice pecking our face I always…
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dVerse Prosery #7
She never sleeps on her back. Her wings, you know, her wings. Curves in a Sparrow’s Voice Bedlam’s silencing her sawtooth edges, her bark and howl, but it can’t bend curves into a sparrow’s voice that’s cracked and shattered like bird seed. Listen to the wind against the windows, rattling like loose teeth. Wind blowing…
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for Twiglet #155
A Study in Geometry Reigning on Picnics I arranged myself on that rickety old three legged stool, my feet rooted on the ground for balance, my knees pressed together for geometry, and on my lap I propped a paper plate with Heinz baked beans bleeding into my hotdog bun. ©️ Misky 2019 Twiglet…
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dVerse Poetics
Ivy As if three suns shine on me, I grow that fast. Groping the fence, I climb razor cuts into the bark of trees, spread like a summer wind, or fire across the coolness of soil. Sticking to willows, weeding up the house, scarring brick like sin on a soul. I’m a … tangled Medusa.…
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Day 28
I. Ars Poetica A poem should be grassy as lawn tidy warm as a lizard sunning on a wall like dawn after a good night’s sleep greedy for attention A poem should be musical chairs an aging aunt a sharp turn in a narrow lane an unexpectedpause A poem should be tomorrow II. Ars…
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Day 27
To Leave Or Not To Leave — that is the question Nearly two score ago, as a new immigrant to the UK, I was given Indefinite Leave to Remain. A peculiar phrase that I’m sure confused many non-English speakers. MQ27: Two Opposing Laws ©️ Misky 2019 It’s November Poem a Day month. These…
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Day 26 & 27
Dear Diary. Yesterday two opposing lows one called Hector, the other Storm #7, blew into the garden. Kicked up leaves as if it were child’s play, and before leaving, knocked down the neighbour’s wood slat fence. I think Alison’s gutters are blocked with leaves. There’s a waterfall spilling off the back of her house. And…
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Day 25
My old bones stopped me playing the piano, and nowadays I sleep on my left side – my right hip can’t take the pressure, and sometimes I feel my heart beat fragile as lose silver thread, and every morning I love seeing that single autumn leaf still clinging to its branch. And not all is…
It's Still Life 