Category: Poetry
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Poetic Form: Ryūka
In the Groove A beat in her ears A spring in her walk She played songs over and over until the groove wore smooth PB’s Japanese Form: Ryūka 5,5,8,6 and Poetic Aside #502 ©️ Misky 2019
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for PB’s Ity Poem
The Old Lady and Her Kitty There’s an itty-bitty lady of unknown age and antiquity who lives in a teeny house with her uppity kitty. The cat plays the piano, primarily Handel, while the lady howls meowing irascibility. It’s a perplexity, this oddity that tests normality, but they are, quite truly, the height of serenity.…
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Quadrille #89
The Sun Upon Us You rise in defiance of darkness, seize tight the sky. Draw oak’s twisted sinew limbs, and glitter clouds with dreams. Life labours below your gaze while casting constant flame. We blossom in your rise, and flee your thorny light — but marvel as you set. 4 dVerse Quadrille #89…
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for Sunday Muse
Untitled: 71019 she is wind. her footsteps imprinted across the sand like ripples and waves as if her direction is earth’s mindfulness, and she watches us play with her future. written 4′Sunday Muse ©️ Misky 2019
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5 October 2019
This is a Storm Water choked the bridge below, arches stopped, nowhere to go. A boat to float, to sink or sail. A keel, a wheel, fell knees to rail. Our oars are held but tight this mud, this storm it swells, this night of hell. ©️ Misky 2019
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Dverse Food
To Stir I sleep, profound in a dream of molten chocolate. We are cannibals stirring an iron pot, drenched from eruptions of its gentle simmer. We are a whirlpool of dance. And then I wake, speechless in a blaze of sunlight. Morning always comes with its deep blue skies, laughing me awake. 4:dVerse…
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You Can’t Outrun a Rain Storm
You Can’t Outrun Squally Rain Outside a fisherman ties his dingy to the dock. He runs for shelter below a lean-to sheet of plastic, as if a person can outrun squally rain. Nothing compares, being chased by a tropical maelstrom. I’ve sheltered in a cafe with plastic chairs and tables. I glance up at the…
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All That Effort for Nothing
All That Effort for Nothing I encountered a word this morning. Fauxcrastinating I have no idea what it means. It’s like one of those scratch-my-head double negatives, always leaves me thinking, Huh? And the same goes for adding up negative numbers. Even worse, subtracting them. Negatives, shouldn’t be allowed, and double negatives, they’re a virus.…
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for Twiglet #144
Two Thoughts on the Anniversary of My Mother’s Birthday Her broken whispers were so close to earth that I imagined bluebells. I gave her flowers as she rode into the stars. Couldn’t help smiling. Two American Sentences of 17-syllables each. dVerse OLN. For Twiglet #144 Rest easy Mum. ©️ Misky 2019
It's Still Life 