Category: Wordles
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A Sunday Whirl
Crow It’s out there in the trees, under the wilt of summer heat, and it’s a gnawing whistle, a tinnitus ring. Apart and pitched. The craw tone of a string plucked, broken threads falling into echoes for crushing under wheels. And then it was lost, like words never committed to print. I once heard a…
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Those Old Days
Those Old Days Those were the old days when the air was treacle-blue and stars were rancid bright. We drank to the miracle of water, walked within our own whispers, pricked our shadows with pins, and watched the world ripple. Those were our washed days when we read ourselves into a trance and ignited paper…
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Wordle #292 & Haibun #33
Those Early Years I am 60 years more than I was then, inhaling life, and out in the middle of nowhere. We fled the city for the shadows in foothills, camping under soothing stars and between the wide feet of trees. We toasted bread with licks from open flames. Made velvety stew, thick and sweetened…
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Wordle #291
Spring Bites We’ve descended into penguin weather again. We were lead into green bell-weather days, where we did a bit of gardening. A few bags of mulch are leaning against the fence, took a break from the digging with a tray of drinks on the terrace yesterday — we ate chuffins and bread, had a…
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for Sunday Whirl #289
This piece is completely depressing. It’s fiction, based entirely on a dozen random words. A Temple to Misère Ten years gone, and I’ve filled a moat around my heart. I still reach for you, expect your touch, but all I sense is a shapeless absence. An ache.I miss you. I soak in emotion, and…
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Sunday Whirl #287
And Then She Said “It’s just you and your idiot hope. The sky’s invisible,” she said, “it’s gas – like a filled balloon.” But I knew what I saw, and it seemed the real deal to me with its jet streams and vapour lines. Its noon blues and morning reds and migrating birds and flying…
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Sunday Whirl #286
This Morning’s Walk was a winter’s song, a white-faced bracing melody, and I heard a robin’s rag and all that jazz, singing half note suburban charms. And as the wind bit stiff and grey, I saw snowdrops clumped below, deep-rooted, cold and thorny bare, a resounding challenge for a bird. So flit little robin, perched…
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Sunday Whirl #285
The Lodestone In my hand a chisel, carving deep into this lodestone, into its iron-brown body releasing dreams caught, prayers said, ancient fires that once sparked and bled. A thief of fire, it burned down our open doors. And so, its return I will set to paper, recite scribo volo, repeat incantations, scribo volo, words…
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for Sunday Whirl #284
A Crooked Hole My world-wise old grandmother poked a crooked hole in the clouds, planted runner beans in the ground. First they grew up skinny lattices, then through the woodshed eaves, then up they ran, escaped this world up in the sky. And my grandmother stood there, watching, and rolling tobacco paper between her fingers.…
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Miz Quickly’s Day 8: An Unknown Man
A Partial Memory I can’t remember the street name, but there was an antique shop on one corner, can’t recall the shop name, and there was a stop sign, leaning, as if fleeing, after being hit by a feeble drunk with a baseball bat, and the shop had broad milky windows, air-tight and sealed by…
It's Still Life 