Category: Poetry
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5 Aug: The Year I Knew
Note: I braved Brenda’s Sunday Whirl . It is a challenge, for sure — her 12 words this week are: souvenirs, free, touch, know, cracks, siren, window, waves, sting, show, ring and give. I have based this poem on memories from my summers in Sweden, where I am at the moment. The photo (taken today) is of a…
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25 July: Same Old Skin
Same Old Skin — (after a song by Asaf Avidan – My Old Pain) The willowweepsbut notfor me.(fucking willow —danceslike a noose.) It bendsfor windsI cannotsee.(wind.it ripsthe skyfrom its ownmouth.) I wear my achelike leather worn —(torn,cracked,smilingthrough itsseams.)This old skin with teeth at my throat. I’m a hull splintered where ropes once called me —useful.(It…
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25 July: Journal of Thoughts
Where the Heart Goes Then, without warning, the sky splits its seams,dumping light like stolen jewels,and we gulp the calm,foolish as sailorskissing the shorethat will betray them again. Happiness is a spider’s bridge,spun between gunshots. And still the heart—ever the fugitive—steals into the next verse,into the next stranger’s mouth,into the next wardisguised as lullaby. It…
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22 July: Journal of Thoughts
A Chip, We Cried The French cried “Mais non! We made pommes frites!” But history winced and called them twits.For Belgium fried the golden wand,In oil so deep, so rich, so fond. They claimed the name, those saucy Gauls,While Britons munched in seaside stalls.“A chip,” we cried, “not frites, you fool!”Then wrapped them hot in…
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21 July: The Old Woman With No Cat
The Old Woman and Schrödinger’s Cat — The Collapse (part 3) The old woman wakes to find the box again — open, empty, and whispering like a kettle just before the scream. Inside, a note — written in her own precise hand, but the ink smells of ozone and forgotten rain: “Observation completes the curse…
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20 July: MicroDosing 70µg
Soil’s Song ( a 70µg microdose of 70 words) I know soil. Its memory hums beneath my feet, my hands deep in its dark gospel — decay turned bloom. A cradle for seed, for bone, and eternity’s silence — where roots whisper, gossiping like neighbours over the fence. I know the hush of unborn gardens,…
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19 July: The Old Woman With No Cat (tweaked)
From the Old Woman’s Journal: The Cat Gets Dramatic. Again. 10:32 AM — Found the not-my-cat in the coal bin again this morning, covered in soot and undeserved gravitas — “researching ancestral hardship” and “honouring the noble struggles of the Welsh proletariat,” it claims. Impressive rhetoric for something that still chases string and shadows. I…
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17 July: Sonnet to a River
Songs the River Sings (A Sonnet to River Arun) The boat was small, the river calm—no storm to blame, no wrathful psalm. Just wood grown tired of being wood,just water doing what water should. Eleven men (their hands darkwith earth-turned songs), eight women(keepers of loom and flaxen thread),now seamstresses of this riverbed. May mountains spill…
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15 July: Driftspire – The Liturgy
14 of 27 Driftspire – The Poem – The joy of being completely unknown 14 of 27 – The Liturgy of Driftspire I. The UnbuttoningNo name.No story.Just the hushof fog dissolving the edges of memory. Here, you shrug off the coat of who you wereand let it pool at your feet—a puddle of forgotten pronouns.Step…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
A Trilogy of Feline Digital Disasters (Because cats—love chaos) I. TUTORIAL HELLScene: The cat is perched in front of a laptop, watching “Crunchy Tuna Unboxing” videos. CAT (squinting) “This is research.”OLD WOMAN “It’s been six hours.”CAT “Silence, woman. I’m cultivating my aesthetic.” (Off-screen, the crow livestreams the whole affair.) CROW (voiceover)“Day 1: ‘Artist’ has forgotten…
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