Category: Poetry
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2 May: dVerse First Line Poem
The Trees Are Whispering Your Name “The trees are coming into leafLike something almost being said—” Like the pause before I love you,Like the breath before a sob,Like the way your hands hoveredOver my ribs— Are you sure you want all this light?The trees unfold,Show me their green ink blots:Here’s where she laughed in her…
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01.05: Three Line Thursday
Orange whispers on forgotten steel,time’s slow kiss, a bleeding bloom—the bridge between metal and memory. Written for Three Line Thursday “Rust”. Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Images are copyright and not to used without permission, which I willingly give when asked, and when not…
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01.05: Old Woman With No Cat
The Old Woman Adopts a Mould Culture (For Research, Obviously) The petri dish gleams on the windowsill—a swirling nebula of sentient blue-green,thriving on neglectand last Tuesday’s lasagna sins. The cat, honorary Head of Microbial Astronomy,presses its nose to the glass:“Fascinating. It has your eyes.”The old woman nods.“And your manners.” The crow, MSc (Disaster Studies &…
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29.04: The Old Woman With No Cat
The Old Woman and the Milk’s Mortality Crisis the cat paces before the fridgelike a wee, furry coroner,one paw pressed to the milk bottle’s pulse. “it’s clinging to life,” purrs the cat.“one more dawn, maybe two.”the old woman peers at the use-by date—smudged, dubious,possibly written in invisible ink. “it’s fine,” she declares.“time is a construct.also,…
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28.04: The Old Woman With No Cat
The Old Woman and Aleph in the Garden My mother’s name is Aleph—a swallowed alphabet,the dirt’s own first vowel. The robin cocks its head.“Explain the worm, then.” The old woman with no catsinks her spade again—bites clay, bites air, bites centuries.“Aleph,” she mutters,“is the shape a worm writes—a letter no god can read.” The robin…
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27.04: The Old Woman With No Cat
The Old Woman and the Quantum Lawn Gnome The gnome both is and isn’t—Schrödinger’s kitsch, grinning sideways through time,one foot tangled in the chives,one foot hovering in the seventh dimension,tracking mud across both. The old woman squints, pokes it with a rake:“You’re technically trespassing.” The gnome winks.(Or doesn’t. Or winks in thirteen simultaneous realities.) Bells…
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26.04: Poem-a-Day Challenge
A Hermit Crab Poem: On the Back of a Receipt 1 bottle full-fat milk(life is too short for skimming anything)3 overripe avocados(they bruise faster than first loves)1 jar of honey(thicker than apologies at 2 AM)2 donuts(the baker knows my name.asks, “where’ve you been?”I say, “somewhere warmer.”he nods like a priest absolving an absentee.) 1 bouquet…
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26.04: The Old Woman With No Cat
The Old Woman and the Second-Hand Spellbook – (Domestic Maleficia) the old woman drags home the tome—its spine cracked like a bad omen,its margins scribbled with “TRY THIS :)”in what might be bloodor very committed raspberry jam. the neighbour’s cat(now a black market bibliomancer)sniffs a page and sneezes:“ah. cursed. discounted. perfect.” the dead woman flips…
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26.04: Poem-a-Day Challenge
The Dark with Gold i save your voice in a jam jar—it hums when shaken.your laugh—a fireflyi release at dusk,stitching the dark with gold. the fridge still holdsyour half of the brownie—fossil-sweet,still waiting, some losses don’t grow lighter,only wider—like a treeforgiving its own roots. only 4 more days of too many poems a day 🤣…
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25.04 The Old Woman With No Cat
Part III. AN ELEGY FOR THE BLUE AND WHITE VASE(a sonnet-that’s-not for Grandmother’s shattered treasure) I. THE FALL it fell—not as a failureof hands,but as the last noteof a songher grandmotherleft unfinishedin this world. the blue and white shardsbloomed on the floor—porcelain hydrangeasplantedin sudden soil. II. THE JOURNEY’S END it was time.the vase had grownheavy…
It's Still Life 