Category: Poetry
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AprPAD Day 5
Platform Number 4 Legs crossed like the number 4, he reads a book, sets a backpack at his feet. Eats rolled lettuces that drip red sauce. Home is wherever he removes his shoes. Intelligent eyes, and a face like old lava. There are some people you just beg to know. It’s National Poetry Writing…
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AprPAD Day 4.1 Pantoum
A Case for Cake (a Pantoum) It was a party, after all, a clown, raspberries and noise. I can still taste the cake. I can still see the red balloons. A clown, raspberries and noise, and we ate on pink paper plates. I can still see the red balloons. The clown had flipflop feet.…
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AprPAD Day 4
A Case for Spring (Villanelle) Has gone, be gone, I said, this weather’s all wrong. Winter’s too long, its wet months spread. Has gone. Be gone with a blackbird’s song. Unsung. Unsaid. This weather’s all wrong. The wind’s too strong for March has fled, has gone. Be gone Rain. Rain, all nightlong. Falling silk,…
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AprPAD Day 3.1
Periodic I’m reading the Periodic Tables. I learned all this useless stuff in school, but forgot it all. Anyway, it seems that I am a saline nothingness, a chip off the moon, a muddy spring day, I am mundane, maiming, an uneaten fruit, the sound of speech, a comforter, comforting, dusty, flaking, bone white…
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AprPAD Day 3
I. Lilies I stood tiptoed, looking down the throat of a white trumpet flower. It was open. Wide. As a hungry child, or a belligerent baby bird. Stamens bright as a sunset, deep as a vein. Lilies. Spilling white everywhere. All over Grandma’s coffin. Couldn’t stop looking at them, haunted by flowers. I was…
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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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