Category: Poetry
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210125: Journal of Thoughts
This is a reflection inspired by Friedrich Zettl’s post “Spring Greetings from Yunnan” Where Mantra Holds the Mountain(inspired by Spring Greetings from Yunnan) Someone was here.They did not sign their name. They lifted a stone,warm from the palm,and set it downwhere prayer had already learnedthe shape of weather. These mountains never answer,but always listen. Yellow syllables…
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190126: Journal of Thoughts
Today Is the Day Morning unfastened itself in rain,a soft grey unlatching of the world.I pulled the curtains, and there it was,a small plane stitching the sky,dragging its sentence behind it:Today is the day. No thunder followed.No doors flew open.The kettle boiled.The hours put on their usual coatsand walked past without stopping. Still, that banner…
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1901: A Gogyohka Poem
A Gogyohka Poem Untitled last night’s snowstill holds the breathof those who never came home.my hand sinks in.its silence begins to burn. I will be herewaiting when the crocus return,and the snow drips like punctuationfrom my wrist. the crocus will risefrom a grave of ice,but I no longer flinchat the sting.I write spring in scars.…
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An Elegy in Six Voices
Note: Each poem is a votive offering, not only to the loved one being honoured, but to the poetic spirits of the cultures from which they come. Each culture speaks to death not as an end, but as a change.
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Cat’s Nocturnal Symphony (in 2 Acts of Chaos) ACT I: PHILOSOPHY AT 2 A.M.The cat stares into the dark garden,one paw pressed to the windowpane:“If a leaf falls in the night,and no one is around to blame me for it…did it truly fall?” ACT II: The Reply at 2:10 A.M.(The Old Woman shouts: “YES.”)…
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Csárdás Part 2
Csárdás (as the ancestors told it) First,a single note. Thin as winter smoke slips from the fiddle and winds through the roomlike an old woman’s blessing. It is the colour of duskon the Great Plain,the colour of storieswhispered beside the stovewhen wolves were still believed in. The bow drags slowly:sír a hegedű,the fiddle cries,and every…
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1501: His Weather
His Weather I know a small boy made of bottled thunder.His fingers hook into claws;his body drops to a low animal growl,a sound dragged up from somewhere older than words. His mother says her boy frightens her sometimes,that in those momentslove feels like a thing with edges. I watch his hands braid themselves into fists.When…
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1401: dVerse Quadrille
Rainy Smile You ask why I am smiling.This grey dawnis its own kind of gift;the rain’s rhythmon the windowpane is a hymn I understand—the world,in its wet,patient way,offers itself to me again.And I say, yes,thank you. written for dVerse Poets Quadrille #239 “smile” , poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2026.
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1201: The Voice, A Six Liturgy
A Liturgy for the Hollow & the Heel The Invocation This is the hook on the polished stool,the calling of lacquered lightand murmuring ghosts. This is not emptiness,this is a chamber.The Bistro.The Stiletto.The Anchor.The Hook of the Night. The Invented Whisper. Of Anchors and Architecture This is sacred geometry.This is waiting.The black heel,the spike of…
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