Category: Poetry
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9.2. Wisting
It’s Saturday, 21.00, and I am watching Wisting on BBC 4, Norwegian, subtitled in English, although I don’t need the subtitles, and there’s a man standing on a wooden dock that rocks with the brush of each wave under its pontoons, and a large dog standing on heaped mounds of rock that look shaped by…
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9 Feb: 12 Minutes Past 8
Twelve Minutes Past Eight (A List Poem) Chimney Smoke in curls Grass hard with frost 2 doves pacing the roof ridge Scent of oatmeal A spoon stirring coffee A blackbird singing in the apple treeIce melting in drips Clock-radio playing upstairs Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2025.
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A Haibun to Darkness
Waiting for the Dark I sit by the window, the winter trees watching over me as daffodils push through soil and crocuses wait for tomorrow’s sun, and I write this, the light fading until gone, until the paper is more part of darkness than day, and I sit through the hour into night, alone by…
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12 January: Journal of Thought
Note: Please read Spira’s post above and listen to the YouTube music video. This is my response to his post and accompanying music. Another Utterance This is musicthat tears a holein your soul’s fabric It does what thoseof time and circumstancecannot do for themselves. It is a stave for an undoable past, and we listen…
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2 Jan: Found Poetry of Ragnarök c.7
Speak theeIn the Circle of Wise. Sér alla vesá Sér alla vesá No notesNo tidingsNor be of wit Know all that answersAre mute of words. We speak Sér alla vesá. Sér alla vesá. The Weavers Sit in the Circle of Wise. This is the continuation of the series of Found Poetry sourced from The Elder…
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23 December: Happy Jul
Another new year nears, and I want to take a moment to express my gratitude for each of you who have taken the time to read and comment on my poetry and prose. Your friendship has been a source of joy, support, and inspiration. Thank you.
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20 Dec: Found Poetry of Ragnarök
And this I also know. The one called Mother is richerThan wealth, tho’ hersIs a burden of worded sword. Ósnjall mapr hyggsk munu æy lifá Too deep they are. DeeperThan the wits she keepsWatch o’er flame. She who Is called Bairn’s-Strife,She who suffers a daily death –For her bairn drinks in Ever-Live. það gefur honum…
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18.12.24 Ink in Thirds
Every Ebb and Sigh I sit here, on a bench, a memorial seat to someone I don’t know, taking in a breath of salt and secrets drifting from the rising sea. This incoming tide is a melody of brine; my dreams; their ghosts; rushing in on the keel of an old ship, sails like fallen…
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18 Dec: Found Poetry of Ragnarök
Ragnarök: The Weavers c.4 And this I also know. Sá ës sæll ës sjálfir of ǎ ’tis ill this sword of faults.’tis a silent spine, too bold and dry-skinned. to wit men suffer a hasty tongue.to wit her Mother’s measure.to wit men feast of faults. Byrpi bẽtri berræt mápr braútu át, And this I also…
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