Category: Poetry
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Miz Quickly’s Golden Shovel
MuuMuu Nights It was my mother’s nature, like a thread’s nature is in the eye of a needle, that a summer night meant a muumuu instead of pyjamas. Hides the heat. Hides a sticky back, that sheen of sweat bubblin’ up against the softness in cotton. It lets the sea breeze into your hollows. My…
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Miz Quickly’s Sunday Read
It’s Miz Quickly’s Reading Sunday prompt. I’m going with Armitage. I am in love with Simon Armitage. I love his view of the world, his dark humour and dry wit. A bio is here. He’s the current Oxford Professor of Poetry (Poet Laureate). He’s a poet, artist, musician (member of The Scaremongers) … not exactly…
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Houses for Miz Quickly
The Deconstruction of Four Walls These walls have cracks – it’s all that water. Her rain. Mother Nature loves danger. These walls falling down with our little sins and too thinned skin. Shut the door. Tight. But there’s always a way through, always a song in her river. Miz Quickly Thinks About Houses
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Home with Miz Quickly
Dusty Colour Clouds Dawn, and the neighbour’s cock crows. Restless sleep, seems night never came. I stare at morning’s clouds. Dusty colours. Traffic echoes. Fades. The earth murmurs. Conversation is quiet. Silent. Held in a box for breakfast. And I stare at dusty colour clouds. for Miz Quickly’s Back Home
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Sleepless with Miz Quickly
Awake I’m counting sheep black as pitch, and stars on midnight blue, and I count my bony fingers and chubby toes, while I ignore my creaking knees. They bitch like angry squirrels whenever I move, whenever I sigh, and whenever I hear you snore, I can’t ignore those sounds that keep me awake as the…
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Up
Up We sing high as rising smoke, circles that float soft as silt. Rising food for a sprinkle of stars. Our feet shuffle, rustle at leaves, and kiss the wind. This week’s word at Three-Line-Thursday is “Rings”
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Where Do I Find…
Where Do I Find Inspiration … in the fragile and frayed, in the light and cool, in the whirl and gleaming infinities of you. In forest pines and rain fresh as a child’s eyes, in the tooth and the bone of a North Sea breeze. In young oak tree leaves, in a summer sunset, in…
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Off-Season for Miz Quickly
Winter at Fjellebroen Havn It clings. The ice is thick on the masts, thick in ropey skeins, and the riggings whine with the singing wind. Straight out of the north. It’s come. It’s lost. Diamond hard. It bites. Feels white as bone, this snow howling across our backs. The air is a carnival swirl. And…
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A Sestina for Miz Quickly
Battered Clouds Shallow grass of fluid green, flows broad, old river Narrow as shadows that slip between bridge and roots. So softly spoken as you drift, fall, these leaves That tumble everywhere, thirsty as the clear blue sky. You shape a daydream, of home, of battered clouds, Your right hand holds tight the last curls…
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dVerse Rooms
Grandpa was autumn. That’s how I saw him. In his brown trousers and rusty-red shirt and a folded paper hat on his head that looked like an origami boat, and he’d stand there in his basement workshop sawing up some piece of driftwood, sawdust flying about like a blizzard. A lightbulb hung from a cord…
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