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2908: Journal of Thoughts
Pygmalion it is a quiet,deliberate working: the moment you open your mouth,someone begins decidingwhat you are worth. Londoner.east end.cockney.midlands.northern. foreigner. a life reducedto the shape of a vowel,as though birthplacewere evidence,as though the mouthcould confess a classbefore the hearthas said a word. it is a flimsy mechanism,yet it survives. audible,inherited,almost polite. and so easilywe mistake…
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Ten Things of Thankful
1. Thankful that I’m still being sent recipes (prior to publication) from America’s Test Kitchen to test. This week’s was delicious. They aren’t always. A Chicken Caesar Wrap. 2. Temperatures returned to normal, and I’m outdoors and breathing fresh air again. 3. I love the way hay is baled into spiral rounds. It’s harvest time,…
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2808: dVerse Landscapes
Hay Brown this cruel heat that frames us,this persisting dry, return me to English summers, the scent of chlorophyll, and the sight of dew’s lustre. he longs to mow stripes againthrough grassgone hay-brown. this persisting dryis an old man’s cough. I remember the pink glowof the hydrangea, it filled the window,axed the sunof its heatfrom…
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2708: A Thursday Door
Dan’s Thursday Doors opened the way to share my love of doors — of all sorts. I’ve trawled through my photos and found a few to share. Bushboy (Brian Dodd) also shares photos of doors from his his journeys. ©Misky 2022-2026 Shared on X #amwriting @bushboywhotweet and @DAntion
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2708: The Colour of Elsewhere
The Colour of Elsewhere — Poems from the Periphery An Afternoon in the Museum two mummified catsin a dust-free glass casesmudged with prints of childhood, and a right handin formaldehyde. I stand there staringat someone else’s hand, never mind that mineis equally miraculousand still attached, still warm, and I wonder how longthose two cats have…
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2608: Journal of Thoughts
Before the Bleaching mortality’s breathis in your salt-bleached bones whiteas inevitability something took you here a grip at the sinewed neckperhaps pressurewhere breath should pass the body knowswhen it is being ended the air may have smelledof metal the sky may have been blueor perhaps you blinkedagainst the rain none of thisis for the telling…
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2508: Protesting Quadrilles
Two Protesting Quadrilles I.she is one among a hundredsandaled feet,leather slappinglate-August streets. heat risesto regimented metre,chanting voices,summer-tanned skin. the street becomesa wilderness of protest,placards ticking,senses wiredto explosion. police draw a line.skin presses skin. paniccrosses it. II.she came with sandals,August skin,a placard.nothing more. then protest foundits marching metre: slap of leather,chant and answer,heat risingfrom a hundred…
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2508: Six Sentence Poem
They Left This morning four beeslay quietlyon the patio stones. not sleeping. the sunhad simply askedtoo much of them. I carried each oneto the shade, where lavenderstill remembersword for word,their names. I’d rather believethey’ve gone somewhere cooler,where foxglovesnever wilt, and cloverkeeps flowering. somewherewhere no beeneed choosebetween thirstand sunlight. Written for Denise’s Six Sentence Story Poetry…
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2408: Journal of Thoughts
From a Sea-Salted Dock We wore black.Wore our pearlsand affection, spoke in whispered wordsthat left us tongue-tied. The sky watched, tasted our tears,and stirred our petrichor, calm-scentedour grey-fringed hair. We stood on a sea-salted dock,and released his ashesto the airon the coldest day February had ever seen. Fishing boats iced and rocking,frayed sails wind-stiff,and slapping…
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A Six: The Law of Finders
This “Framed Poem” is written for Denise’s Six Sentence Story, Poetry Slam on 27 August I had been content to sit and listen as one poet after another stepped into the small pool of light, when the woman at the microphone looked directly at me, smiled as though we had already shared some confidence, and…
It's Still Life 