Category: Twiglets
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for Twiglet #246
Morning It’s morning sunlight through windows,walls dazzle, andI stop in this universe of light.It warms the air, my face.It holds my shadowin its stride. And right now,there is only me.No one else.No tears, ills, or poverty. Just me in this momentof forever light. For Twiglet 246: the sun sits pretty. Shared with @Experimentsinfc #APoemADay on Twitter ©Misky…
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for Twiglet #245
Going Mad Eyes.There’s something about anadult baby-face.It’s empty. A baby facein a uniform,bootstrap on a foot on the slaughterand capableof anything. He loved Red Riding Hood. Nobody knewthat he wantedto be the wolf. He wasmagnificently mercurial and mad as an ebony cat.Or sneering black marble. Written for Twiglet #245 “Let me go mad”. Image from Unsplash…
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Twiglet #240 & Miz Quickly’s 17 August
Dawn’s Ocean That view, bright as thick-skinned lemonsand sharp as winter.The sun soon rising intoafternoon heat, and dawn’s ocean opensto its faint horizon, as if proof were needed that night is made for the burning of stars. Written for 1) Miz Quickly’s 17 August, 2) lemon photo prompt, and…
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for Twiglet #239
Corners of Thirst Thirst is a sand-drift,but when quenched,it’s as satisfied as a housewifewho’s spent her days at homewith a bowl of salted crispsand a glass of dry sherry. for Twiglets #239 “Corners of Thirst“. Shared with @Experimentsinfc #APoemADay on Twitter ©Misky 2021
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for Twiglet #237
Puppet Dance Puppet toy,boy embodied on a string. Almost human, his hop and dance.Mimicked madness as the lights dim and the strings fall off. Such a pale and wan display,a wordless apparition as he runs wild off the stage. It’s a swarm in a storm. Written for Twiglet #237 ‘Wooden Puppet’. Photo by Jose Francisco Morales on Unsplash. Shared with #APoemADay…
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22 July: 20 Pieces of a Poem
Piece #2: The One That’s Preposterous He thinks of his mum when he eatssliced white bread, the sort that stickson the back of your front teeth. Ida, that’s his mum’s name. If she hada middle name, he didn’t know it.Probably didn’t much care. A namewouldn’t change his side of the view. Ida baked a loaf…
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For Twiglet #235 Folding Paper
Somethings Just Stick, And They’re Not Even Sticky I don’t remember much of 1st grade,except my teacher’s name: Mrs. dePugh. She smelled like chicken soup. I’d giggle when Dad called her Mrs Stinky.That’s why I remember her name, that and the chicken soup smell, and every Monday we took off our socksand shoes, and she’d…
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I Dream …
I Dream of light streaming like God’s white hair,of places I’ve never been,of wet soil and warm rocks underfoot,of a stone rattling in a boiling pot,of long trails and uncertain journeys,of boundaries and geography,that fiction is sometimes fact,of books without plots,of thoughts without point,of breath and dense air and thirsty fish,of quiet faces and summer…
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In Response to Twiglet #233
It’s a Biblichor Thing Grandpa’s bookcasewith every book he ever ownedwas left to my motherwhen he died. Bevelled glass doorsand cut crystal knobsas shiny as King John’s ransom. I earned pocket moneydusting those old books,a biblichor scent giving mea pinched headache as if those books had pressedtheir fingerprints on my skull. For Twiglets #233 “Like Fingerprints” Photo by Gabriella…
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Miz Q’s 8 June and Twiglet #230
A Thin Moon Stings This thin moon hangs in a void with itsinaudible hush. Wanders about on a breezy cosmic pulley. Rises up clearand as bright as blackbird’s song. Thin moon stings the sky, pale and veiled,sings over our muted voice. Takes our secrets to the grave. Old moon free ofmy worry. On a rope…
It's Still Life 