Category: Twiglets
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Twiglet #62
A Disquiet The air is disquiet, and I’m cut short by my own apostrophes. It’s a temper of my own making. Pages torn, words ripped, drawn, quartered and dying, and rising like saints toward heaven. My head is full of their noise. For Twiglet #62 “Air Full of Sound” Image is from Unsplash.
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Remixing “Found” Text from De’s Journal
Remixing Text from De’s Journal Indifferent Noise I am every flit and bay; a scavenger of pale skies, make my soul snow-white. I am that puzzle; a sit, a spill of ink, pale black blowing in the breeze. For Twiglet #62 “Air Full of Sound” The original text is at De’s “I Once…
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Twiglet #60
Deep It’s the last finger of winter scouring the moon full and flat. I swept tongue-cold spiderwebs from the air this morning. Wisps of meadow fog on the drift, cat-whisker soft. It’s a boundless deep. Twiglet #60: a boundless deep
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Twiglet #59
Luisa She collects white feathers in the garden, scolds bees as they steal nectar from purple clover. She keeps cookie crumbs in her pockets, ketchup stains on her favourite dress. One shoe’s always untied, she’s not sure how to re-tie it, hair clips hang loose in her long black curls, those curls are from her…
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Twiglet #55
His Own Parody A new pencil can’t rewrite his narrative. His swagger. Stagger. Maniacal grin. He’s a skilled ghost with sticky fingers and muddy waters. Nevertheless, Happy birthday, Keith. Twiglet #55 “New Pencils” Keith Richards is 66-years old today.
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Twiglet #54
Brass-Knuckle Rain Not that I understand such things as water. Water, like a spill on petals, a rip and razored rain. It’s a dark ask of the sun. for Twiglet #54 “Water Water”
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dVerse Quadrille #46
A Too Brief Moment Did you listen to morning dew glisten, alas did you hear my footfall, shoeless, crunching grass. Ask yourself when you last heard silence. Last night we stood in Leicester Square, where fairy-lights dazzled the air, and I caught your still shadow next to mine. dVerse Quadrille #46 “crunch” and…
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Day 27 NovPAD
A Skirt of Sky (revised 1.12.17) I have a recurring dream. A red house with views that never end, and broad sky with a heart of wind, ventriloquist gulls pale as clouds, and for white, for bleached bone blurs of snow fine as endless dust. A Skirt of Sky I have a recurring…
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Twiglet #47
Running Parallel Mum has a dark edge, like sun in and out of clouds, but every story has a bit of meat. I’d know hers anywhere. In one or two of my lives, she’s been my root – roots run parallel. I look like Mum. Mum looks like her father. Same eyes. Jaw. Same frown.…
It's Still Life 