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9 November: Alone
No one should be alone,to move on a different plane,to live out these miles in rainwhere there is no end. Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Imagery and poems ©Misky 2023.
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8 November: Love’s Palace
A frame of mind without a head.Or pillar.This is to burn love’s palaceAnd question ourselves. Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Imagery and poems ©Misky 2023.
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7 November: Just the Slightest
Just the slightestImperceptibleMovement of leaves. A shiver of windThrough the dried thistles. Clouds overhead Brushing the sky,As fast as a lifetime. RDP Movement . Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Imagery and poems ©Misky 2023.
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07.11 Found Poetry
Walled She existed before agesBefore foundationsAnd she is whole She who made use of freedomAnd then walled herselfIn with dense words Images are copyright and not to used without permission, which I willingly give when asked, and when not for commercial use. Wounded by Love, The Life and Wisdom of St Porphyrious, First published in…
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06.11 Found Poetry
Syllables From time to timeI am given to falling in love Syllable by syllable I was utterly uncreatedIn his hands Images are copyright and not to used without permission, which I willingly give when asked, and when not for commercial use. Wounded by Love, The Life and Wisdom of St Porphyrious, First published in English…
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6 November: The Widow’s Stick
All year that limb hung there as if baffled by gravity’s indecision, and sometime between dark and daylight, it lost its balance, fell from the sky, and plunged to the earth. White beechwood bark peeling and curling back onto itself, lichen-poxed, and laying in the mud-soaked grass like a withered long bone. It’s what my…
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5 November: Still
Still He’s fallen asleep in his chair.The sun’s served its purpose today,it’s nearly set, and his stillness isin me. It’s not translatable. He breathes, nearly unmoving.He’s water within water.His heartbeat sounds liketiny footsteps. Running. This man of mine is a paradoxof cyclones and soft breath.Movement and salty stillness.And he burns hotter than the sun. He…
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05.11 Found Poetry
Without What is pleasing to you and What is pleasing to your sight And I was still of sound mindwithout realising desire Images are copyright and not to used without permission, which I willingly give when asked, and when not for commercial use. Wounded by Love, The Life and Wisdom of St Porphyrious, First published…
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4 November: Twenty-Two Seconds in 1974
Twenty-Two Seconds in 1974 Wake up, he whispers in her ear.She turns over, her eyes unwilling to release the last dusting of sleep.Those brown eyes of his; those brown eyes.And he says “Do you trust me?”“Do I trust the man who drugged me last night? No.” she says.And then she grins that sort of grin…
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04.11 Found Poetry
Slaves All things are slaves to sun.The sky.The stars.Trees.Birds.It’s Wisdom of Solomon, gone mad. Images are copyright and not to used without permission, which I willingly give when asked, and when not for commercial use. Wounded by Love, The Life and Wisdom of St Porphyrious, First published in English 2005. ISBN 978-960-7120-19-9. A concise explanation…
It's Still Life 