Category: Poetry
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3 April 2018: Dialogue 1st 2nd 3rd Person
Originally posted on The Journal: Say Something We’re eating breakfast, and can I hear the clock tick. You have to say something, I say. I’ve interrupted his oatmeal, and he asks me, in that way he has about him, Something? Why? And I tell him I have to write something. With dialogue. He finishes his…
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2 April 2018
Originally posted on The Journal: Mum was full of “shhhhh’s” and “quiet you” but my sister and I had a blind spot for him. This distant, and long dead relative that my uncle said was a foul against our blood. Billy was his name. A wind-grazed face, rocky as a landscape. Dusty as death. Those…
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Day 1.1 A Den Enn (Revised)
Introducing Misky’s new poem form called: “Den Enn”. Untitled It’s more than hunger, eating Nutella straight out of the jar. I hate getting caught out. It’s humiliating. Chocolate at the corners of my mouth. A red-arsed baboon sure wouldn’t care. Tomatoes cause riots, you know. They’re too easy to throw. It’s like that baboon I…
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Day 1 AprPAD
Against the Wall Quick smiles. Sweets. And treats. Like, I eat Nutella straight from the jar. Hate getting caught. It’s humiliating. Chocolate at corners of my mouth. A red-arsed baboon wouldn’t care though – they eat whatever whenever they want, and then they throw a riot of cabbages at the wall. Secret: AprPAD…
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Draft on Red
This is working draft. Very much a draft but with possibilities. The She in Red Red jeans, I begged, that’s all I really want for my 13th birthday, but Mum would have none of it; she’s a sit and think sort of person. Sitting. Thinking. And then she said, A young lady should be able…
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19.03.18 Poems for Gnomes
The Winnowed Approach of tulips. of daffodils. they compete with bare-knuckled weather. they prepare against the weight of snow, against stem-breaking frost, against long-tooth grey, and still spring promises an approach. comes, day upon day, and speaks to us in four season languages, wearing its winnowed face. written for Poems for Gnomes
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15.03.18 TLT
The Way It Was That’s her. Nearly two. Mashed peas on her chin, and hair bound in wet rags. Curls by morning. Those black and white days, safe between covers. Three Line Thursday (#TLT): “photo” three lines, max 10 words per line
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Twiglet #67
Three American Sentences All About Weather I. Stood on a muddy track, umbrella in hand. A moody slash of rain. II. Saw a sculpture. Looked like wizard fingers. Or a seahorse. Rain does that. III. You’re out on flattened water. Fishing. As rain slashes at my window. written for Twiglet #67 “Slash of Rain”
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Sunday Whirl #342
All That Noise Curious disguise, this youthful mimicry. When we lost the gift of silence to stormy wind, it marred the sky like a viral draft. We watched stillness falling on all manner of stars, in a stutter, in a song, a sparkling charge. In my youth, I was hot wired to fry like desert…
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A dVerse Haibun
Originally posted on The Journal: Mum wants to bring the garden into her apartment; wants to paint all the walls green. I love the sea but I’m sure not going to throw salt water or coral sand or haddock at the walls. I love tomato soup but the same holds true for that, too. Maybe…
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