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30 August: A Six – Part: 25 Out of Bedlam
At an Intersection Named After an English King and a SaintSix Sentence Story: Part 25: Out of Bedlam earlier this week: … and silently walk out the door, deafening myself to their words chasing after me. A letter from Bethlem Royal Hospital arrived 3 days ago; it’s still unopened, and out of frustration, Hanzō picks…
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30 August: Journal of Thoughts from Last Week (Revised)
A Journal of Thoughts from Last Week The I in Time It was a few weeks ago, over lunch. Talking about when we were young, old times and that the world seemed easier back then, although it wasn’t. Less complicated, maybe. Our husbands worked together. Wives supported each other when our insular world turned bleak,…
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29 August: A Thursday Door
Bushboy (Brian Dodd) shares photos of doors, but not just any doors. Spectacular doors from his journeys. Dan’s Thursday Doors opened the door on this. I love doors of all sorts. I’ve trawled through my holiday snaps and found a few to share. ©Misky 2023 Shared on X #amwriting @bushboywhotweet and @DAntion
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29 August: A Summer Funeral Pyre
That oak tree, the one when I looked up through its branches seemed to fill the sky in June, is now at August’s end. Leaves falling from limb and twig, its earthly-ways departing from their perfect place. Leaves the colour of a young girl’s brown eyes. Leaves blowing in through the open kitchen door, drifting…
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28 August: Ink In Thirds – 100 Words
With Outdoor Seating, Too. We’ve a bakery in the village now. A proper one – bakes their own bread. Cobs. Bloomers. Boules. Baps. It used to be a chip shop. After that a pedicure shop with fish in tubs of water that ate dead skin off feet. Then it was a dry cleaner, although the…
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28 August: A Six – Part 24 Walking the Deep Greys
At an Intersection Named After an English King and a SaintSix Sentence Story: Part 24 Walking the Deep Greys last week: Hanzō is bowing deeply before him … and Pierre asks, “Who are you?” “He’s Hanzō, he’s a relic, he’s Drake’s,” my answer is faintly audible, and Pierre’s eyes are hollowed by the weariness of…
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27 August: The Reality of Real
A Cadralor Poem The Reality of RealI.the stones aren’t real. a palette knife edgesthe cement, chipped paint stone grey matte. II.her shopping bag hangs limp. flaccid. handlehooks over her shoulder. recycled. real plastic. III.he texts women should be sweetlipped andgentle. She replies, “pillock. you’re unreal”. IV.it’s august heat but she wears a woolly scarf.her fiancé…
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26 August: Journal of Thoughts from Last Week
A Journal of Thoughts from Last Week – (a Cadralor poem) The Y In Wildfire I.August was a dry kiss of long thirstThe lean arm of a branch and root II.A dark sprawling road with no shelterfrom the torch of fire or crawling sun III.Summer’s short lived empire forgetsthe ways of a desert’s cruel trap…
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25 August: A Cadralor Poem
Of Wind and Water I.How I am blown apart by this hollow windand its shadowy choir riding a wild storm. II.It darkens wind within this dome of nightand sets sails like wings across grey seas. III.Let free my continuous thirst, let me yieldto dimples of rain on water, said the beach. IV.How the reeds rattle…
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24 August: Grassroots
Grassroots Oliver dreamed of lacing up his boots and running onto the turf at his local football stadium, but the Fates had other plans. By age 5, it was clear that one leg was slightly longer than the other, and his uneven gait made it difficult to keep pace with other children. As he grew…
It's Still Life 