Category: #SOCS
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31 July: #socs Wash
I just read a full page article in The Sunday Telegraph about how to wash Birkenstocks. I don’t own a pair of Birkenstocks, so why I read it … I don’t know. I tried a pair on once, and it was like sliding my foot into a brick. Birkenstocks have cork soles – I didn’t […]
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12 June: #SOCS Spring Green
The Grassy Margins Nature’s apparitionis a green garb,blissful colourspilling from itself.We tangle into itsbouquet margins,we, who find ourselvesin a cuckoo’s shoes,displaced in green. for Linda Hill’s #SOCS, prompt: write a piece based on an image. Image by Thomas Hart Benton, Spring Cave, 1955. A new musical find for me, Cosmo Sheldrake, who’s producing some very interesting […]
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8 May: Stream of Consciousness
Mum used to say that I had a hollow leg. I thought bits of myself had broke away inside me, snapped off and were rattling around in my own air, like spare change, and I never wondered why I didn’t hear my own hollowness inside my head. Like an echo when I walked. And this […]
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31.03.22 Stream of Consciousness
Hum It’s Bees.Like when I walkedpast the laurels.Bees.A roiling key of F. Call it humming.Buzzing.Whatever. It buildscrescendo fright. So would you,if you’d steppedin a nest of mud waspswhen you’re 8. Electric toothbrushesall sound likepissed-off mud wasps. Sketch by Pieter Bruegel the Elder, The Beekeepers and the Birdnester 1568 on WikiArt. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting on Twitter
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Stream of Consciousness Saturday
In Search of Wild Garlic Spring ends on Thursday.Or it might be Friday. That’s what the weatherman says. Wintery showers.Maybe snow.Nonsense.It’s 19º and sunny today. I’m foragingfor wild garlicon the creek embankment. Maybe it’s too early, althoughmagazines are fullof wild garlic. Soup. Pasta. Pesto. Avoiding stuff by the footpath,or the road. The county spraysweird-smelling stuff […]
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12.03.22 #SOCS Trip
My first impression: the hand of catastrophe slapped us, and we are its remnants. It’s 11am. Where are the people? Bond Street is nearly empty. A man is laughing with his girl friend, must be a girl friend, their limbs are entangled like ivy. He’s strapped into a backpack with words LONDON in bold letters. […]
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06.03.22 #SOCS
One Minute and Thirty Seconds of Voyeurism She’s out there crouched betweenthe winter twigs, climbing roses thatover-reach the wall, and tangles ofbrittle-scented heather, and she’sdown there with weeds, nose-to-nosewith that electronic cat deterrentguaranteed (or all your money back)to scare away the cats, but the cats keep coming back, spines archinglike soup spoons, the way cats […]
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Stream of Consciousness Saturday
Watching My eyeis a lonely creature.Watching.Watching as I listento the hum of living.Watchingmy inner shadows.My eyeis dim at its centre.Blindthought crashing against walls.All this ricochetingin my head.What becomes of wakingwhen sleepingis the better part of me.Where is restwhile the clockis full of ticking.Watchingmyself go blind.That eyecasts no shadow.That eyeis a lonely creature. Stream of Consciousness […]
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13.02.22: Stream of Consciousness Saturday “fortune”
How Long Is Your Length of String How long is a length of windthat gusts in gallops. Does itblow longer than childhood. Pity that mother slicing a loafthin enough to last 4 or 5 days longer. Or is it longer than build-up to war. Longerthan peace that never lasts. A hungry wolf’s in this wind,beating […]
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5.02.22 Stream of Consciousness Saturday #socs
A Little Night Music The clock’s ticking toward midnight,and it ticks forward and forwardand still forward morelike some shimmering starsending signals to the moon, and time is a minute longand eighty-nine years wide,and another pageof someone’s past is writteninto this colour-blind night. Stream of Consciousness Saturday “Pages” Image February Frost by William Ogilvie. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting […]
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