Category: prose
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12 October: dVerse Prosery
This Summer Boy This summer boy of tide pools and kelp forests. He plays in waves while grains of an hourglass slip from under his feet. Up to his waist. He’s afraid to move. Afraid to call for help. He hears a chaos of language from the shore. His legs tangle in the long reach…
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More Thoughts on Miz Quickly’s Day 6
Here are a few more thoughts on Miz Quickly’s Day 6 “All The Best Places” The best place to eat an apple:is on a sun-bleached, weathered wooden bench that threatens to slip a sliver into your thigh, but you knew this might happen, so you’re wearing your favourite worn-out jeans, a red cotton t-shirt, and you’re wishing…
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For One Liner Wednesday
Bounce A single blossom just now bounced on the rosebush, as if nudged by a breeze (of which there is none), or touched by the hand of someone’s memory. Mum died on this day a few years ago. For One Liner Wednesday #1linerWeds. Photo is my own. Shared with @Experimentsinfc #APoemADay on Twitter ©Misky 2021
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Stream of Consciousness Saturday: New Shoes
25 September: I won’t get far in these shoes. New, they are. My feet are little piggies. Pink and squealing. But I will them on, walk walk, to go on, just like the seasons. Surprising that the leaves are turning overhead. Seems too soon. Most have fallen on the autumn grass, crinkly and twisted as…
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A White, White Fog
A White, White Fog Did you see that woman withhair like a white, white fogstanding with her back to uswith one hand on her hip,looking at a child face downon the pavement? And you say, What woman. And if I were walking, I would’vestopped to make sure that childwas okay, and possibly…
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25 August: One Liner Wednesday
Rain filled the old steel bucket, and I emptied it onto the parsley, watched it spread around the chives, the basil, and the thyme, and I recalled that fisherman on the coast casting his net over the sea. Written for Linda Hill’s One Liner Wednesday. Shared with @Experimentsinfc #APoemADay on Twitter Prose and image ©Misky…
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Seventeen Syllables and Some Prose
The clipped wings of prayers still rise through the morning mist and falling raindrops. It is no effort to stay, rooted in the moon’s clatter, in this oily dusk, but when all parts of me are worn out, I’ll be freed to dissolve in the lipped waves of some spacious stream, gone from the green of…
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Day 11 NaPoWriMo 2021
NaPoWriMo: Day 11 – 2 poems: A letter written to a person, and their reply My dearest heroic Mark Antony, I remember the sun so bright that it bleached the days colourless, the ground was wounded, naked and unbending, and it raged at us. We were the ruins of yesterday’s moon. Under what shifting sands…
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With a Proverbial Grain
The Prose of Romance with Miz Quickly I think Mum secretly wanted to travel, but since she didn’t know how to drive, she had to go where dad wanted to go, and usually, that was fishing, however, Mum dedicated Saturdays to the public library, and she always brought home a few books about travel, which…
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dVerse Prosery
Sometimes Sometimes weather flings itself in a tantrum at my feet. Such wild abandon in its reach. And sometimes I am lost in my own deep stare. Deep in the face of angry clouds that flood my sight, deep in rain punctuating the ground with broad, cursive raindrops. Sometimes the great bones of my life…
It's Still Life 