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18 August: The Goatherd (a possible series)
I. The Goatherd (Draft) He has a gathering of coins in one pocket,courage in the other, a cat that chases rats,and he lives with his goats in a metal hut. His wife looks older than her age. They talkabout a poor harvest, and eat fried peanuts.He wonders who was first to fry a peanut. She…
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18 August: The Goatherd
Four AI images depicting a goatherd’s life in drought conditions. Click the image to view full size and detail. ©Misky 2023
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17 August: A Thursday Door
The side door of the Kirchengemeinde St. Marien, Osnabrück in Germany 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…
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16 August: Transitions
A Little Brouhaha All about me, they lean,dahlias the size of dinner plates.It’s a feast of decanted pinksmacked sidewise, andstrong armed in a breeze. The air twists on scents of fermenting apples, wasps behaving like angry drunks,and all their unhinged buzzingis a premonition of autumn. Written for dVerse “Transitions” and RDP “Brouhaha” (in reference to angry, buzzing wasps) and Fandango’s…
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16 August: dVerse Prosery
Vanished She’s learning about sound barriers at school. Sound. Speed. Aeroplanes. Red lights on the left. Green lights on the right. Like Christmas lanterns flashing on steel wings. “Flash. Flash. Flash,” she calls out to the hundreds of faces up there. People flying through rain coloured clouds, over roads and Tobermory-colour houses. She watches the…
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15 August: A Contemporary Sonnet
The August House For years, it was our August house,perched on a yellow sand beach,ringed by wild roses and tall grasses. Breezes drew low taffeta tones fromsummer blooms, as Dad slapped paintat canvas before the sky collapsed. There were easels, and pigments,smell of turpentine, wet swimsuits,and lemon cake in the afternoon. That was the summer…
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14 August: A Modern Sonnet (edited)
Note: I wasn’t happy with this, so I’ve tinkered with the stanzas. Only Ourselves, A Modern Sonnet Someone said heaven is in these hills.Valhalla, too, though it’s had its fill ofplundering a girl’s milk white flesh. But last rites were said, forgive his mess,him laid out flat, fingers interlaced as ifpleading, Please God take this…
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13 August: Crossing the Deep
An Elegy: Crossing the Deep Their boat sank with its music.Gone intonight’s dark yawn.The sky blind and cold,stars drowning the wearywho were rocked to sleep. Some raced to the deep.Faces and limbsscattered and sinking,mouths drinking up the sea.And still it lingers, a singing,a stillness of hymns, on the floor of boundless seathere in fathoms ……
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12 August: An Update on the Video Call
This is an update on my post The Video Call about my cousin’s operation for a large meningioma brain tumour. Oddly, I have two cousins in the past 8-months with this same diagnosis. Their doctors say it’s a coincidence. Both of them had surgery with excellent outcomes. But no surgery is without risk. One cousin…
It's Still Life 