Category: Poetry
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Class 1: Whitman’s Civil War: Writing and Imaging Loss, Death, and Disaster
London: 7/7 We call it seven seven, the day bombs detonated. The Underground. The buses. Explosions in backpacks. We returned to the darkness, crippled as spine-broken books. But we are nowhere near dead. © Misky 2016 The response: The London Bombings of 7/7/2005. We lived in false security, a false sense of safety. So…
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Magnetic Poetry: “The Moaning Sausage”
I’ve been playing with Magnetic Poetry, thanks to De and Björn. Here’s my first attempt at one, and I have to admit that it’s addictive.
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Poetic Bloomings: Playing Favourites
Lost in Paradise Like a parched traveller who comes out of the deep dust — you laughed like bells ringing, despite this bloody journey. And I am an infernal silence. Jaw. Set. Steel. “Let’s go this way,” you say, “an adventure at every corner.” But there is just ever more and ever more distance. No…
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Sunday Whirl #251
The Perfection of Pine It’s May. Enter the flowers, and the perfection of pine. The boys are by the lake – it took days for that fish to take the bait. And a perfect silk of clouds screen the burn of the sun, the hours hung slow, though less we couldn’t have cared. I remember…
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#1
A Few Words About Paolo And so he keeps it brief, “Ciao, are you ready?” His rhythmic voice is a bouncing ball — fills the airy momentary gaps with his memorable smile. But he’s working; the chatter is part of the parcel. It’s a living, like acting, role-play, and he’s proud of his centre-of-attention…
It's Still Life 