Category: prose
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23 Sept: A Six – The Book of 27
21 of 27: Mourngale – The Colour of Unbroken Song Mapping the Riverbed Winter had settled into the seams of the house that morning—our quarrel lost to the iron’s hiss, as I pressed three shirts, their cotton wrinkling like elephant skin under my restless, riverless hands. Life was steady, yes — he worked, I worked…
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22 Sept: MicroDosing 80µg
Wind cut through the trees not like a visitor, but a thief returning to the scene of the crime — carrying scents of wet earth; petrichor’s ghosts of rain; breath of graves. Leaves fell in a slow, silent surrender, moss drank from the dark, and the roots twisted in their sleep. Decay was not an…
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20 Sept: dVerse Imagist
Black Waits (an imagist poem) Black window stares across the street.Black curtains hang, charcoal cloth.A child coughs.The mother hushes him —black sleeve across his mouth. Black rain shines.Even puddles reflect black —broken buildings,black coat flapping against wind. Black comes quiet:mail left unread,a room kept shut,a name swallowed whole. Some things root in blackness —moss in…
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19 Sept: A Six Sentence Story
Crow A crow bows its head over a weathered day, hooked beak probing this, that, and memory. Its black ribs stitch the horizon as rain threads the air, dissolving the field beyond into a smudge of ash. Crow, pilot of the deepening gloom. Crow blackness of feathers drinking in greyness — a moving void against…
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16 Sept: dVerse Prosery
Sulphur and Silence The city never learned how to be quiet — Elias liked it that way; the noise smothered his wife’s laugh. He sat in his worn armchair, the one she always called a mistake, watching the world blur past his third-floor flat. The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes moved…
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16 Sept: Liturgy for Cindertide
The Book of 27, The 20th Glyph: Cindertide – Anger that forgot what it was fighting I. The First FlameIt begins sharp—a flash of fire with a name, a face, a reason.This is for the child I lost,for the cradle I never filled,for the syrup I will never pour.But fury is a poor craftsman.It builds…
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12 Sept: The Women of Lafitte’s
A Short Story The Seamstress She leans into the clatter of the machine, foot steady, hands coaxing fabric through with a tenderness that belies the harsh steel needle. The air is heavy, close — thick with the sweetness of cotton dust and the metallic tang of oil. Outside, New Orleans sweats; inside, she stitches against…
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11 Sept: Ink In Thirds
100 Word Wednesday: prompt – image of an open palm The girl shrank from the compliment, as if it shone too bright. Her grandmother’s eyes — the weight of ages. “There once was a chalice,” she said, “cracked, scarred by flame, hollow with longing, and when the rain descended, the chalice turned aside. ‘I am…
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9 Sept: A Six Sentence Story
The Book of 27: #19 – Starvow: The Unspoken Vow The Cartography of Brigid In the hush before sunrise, Felreil remembers her — not as a person, but as light. A quiet kind of love — like the sound of a wave inhaling before it breaks, or rain sighing against warm skin — the kind…
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8 Sept: Starvow – The Liturgy
19 of 27 – Liturgy for Starvow: The Silent Exchange I. The GreetingNot a vow spoken,but a pulse exchanged —a light in an east-facing window,answeredby a presence in an old oak tree. It is a dawn ritual with no name,a breath they lend to silence,a space made sacredonly because they both tend it. II. The…
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