Category: #SOCS
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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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Stream of Consciousness Saturday
STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS SATURDAY I can’t be the only one thinking morning comes too soon, and if we can put men on the moon, why can’t we change the feel of rain. It rained all night, and now there’s a magpie legging about in the gutter by the bedroom window. Magpies haven’t a clue how…
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Q9 and Stream of Consciousness Saturday
IT’S STILL LIFE In the next 72-hoursor it might be less, these things areimpossibly imprecise, this blogineum ormaybe it’s blogitsky will be renamed, andgiven a new address. The new address is misky.uk and Plumb Lines is now called It’s Still Life because most people don’t know what a plumb line is. It was likely a poor choice on my…
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1.1.22: A Stream of Consciousness
A Stream of Consciousness: The Winds of Change No, please, ladies first…Those were the days when the world held the door open for you, when a seat was proffered to a woman of a certain age, meaning that age when you shouldn’t ask because she might’ve forgotten (…like did I turn 70 this year or…
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#SoCS A Stream of Consciousness: Chickens
23 December 2021: Even if it’s naked, you can tell a chicken from a duck, even under all their feathers, they’re all and entirely chicken. All those relevant bones, recognisable remains, every scrap, always recognisable as a chicken, not a duck. Poor deliveryman. Embarrassed by it all. Said there hasn’t been a duck in the…
It's Still Life 