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17 Oct: A Six Sentence Story
Carrying the Weight The old man carried the village’s silence up the mountain each morning. Not in a sack, but in the hollow humming of his throat. It was the weight of unmade decisions, and need left unsaid. At the summit, he’d open his mouth, and let the wind take it all. The valley below…
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17.10: Journal of Thoughts
A Wednesday in October I.I am wearing long socks and music, and watching clouds turn angry. The morning’s been a car chase — after notes, after sounds. The clock’s ticking, lending the day its rhythm. II.He wears old dark colours. Wool and boots. Leaves dropping all around him. The bones of trees are bent his…
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16.10: Ten Things of Thankful
3. For those last few leaves that cling on for goodness-only-knows-why. 4. Heirlooms: a well-seasoned cast iron skillet. Thanks, Mum. 8. Homemade granola that’s beats any of the store-bought. 9. Thankful for the road home. 10. Thankful that’s not my house traveling down the motorway. You are invited to the Inlinkz link party! Click here…
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16.10: 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 photos and found a few to share. ©Misky 2022-2025 Shared on X #amwriting @bushboywhotweet and @DAntion
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16.10: dVerse Headless
A Steed’s Lament in Sleepy Hollow They call me omen, call me curse,a shadow-mare to haul the headless hearse.He grips my flanks with knees of bone,and rides me through the mourner’s moan. I toss my mane — he cannot see.I choose the path — what use is he?I’ve borne the weight of sin and dread,but…
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15.10: MicroDosing 50 µg
Paint It Black He didn’t paint the void; he painted its memory. Like hollows left when a star collapses. Or silence after a string snaps. The shape of breath frozen midair. He mixed not pigment, but absence — until the canvas was but a door. And from the other side, something began to knock. Written…
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14.10: A Six – The Book of 27
23 of 27 — Wraithborne: A Glance Mistaken for Something Else The Taste of Almost Brigid notices the smudge first — a violet-ash on her teacup’s rim, still warm, the shape of a thumbprint, the weight of an unfinished thought — and this would mean nothing, except she lives alone, and has done for many…
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13.10: Wraithborne – The Liturgy
23 of 27 – Wraithborne: A glance mistaken for something else The Liturgy for Wraithborne I. The GlanceNot a ghost — just time’s stutter,a flicker where the light bends wrongand suddenly, you’re staringat a face you almost lovedin a life you almost lived.Wraithborne grins.You blink.The crow swallows the evidence. II. Its ColourAsh-lit violet is the…
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13 Oct: The Key
The Key That soundof the lock surrendering.Of ancient fingersfinally answering. I am the keeperof the lock.Of its click.The finder of its form in its beautiful chaos.I keep turning the keys.I keep listeningfor the locks to click. Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2025.
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12 Oct: The Forgiveness of Stones
The Forgiveness of Stones Senryu The light reaches down —a blue forgiveness for allthe stones we carry. Haiku Sunlight on cold stone,drifting through silent blue hymns —the sea’s breathing glass. Written for SenHai Saturday I Write Her senyru and haiku. poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2025. Image from Unsplash
It's Still Life 