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24 Aug: dVerse Scents
The Scent … of Mum’s best table linen,the long runners, and napkinsstored in Grandma’s rosewood chest,pressed to a razor-edge whilst damp,fouled by the scent of naphthalene,yes, quite toxic, and lavender,not toxic but sickly, and very possiblythose non-drip Christmas candlesthat melted while Mum and Dad argued over whether the turkeywas thoroughly cooked or not.There was always…
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24 August: The Garden
Not everything in the garden is dead! All photos ©Misky 2022 Shared on Twitter
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24 August: An Elevenie Poem
Leavesare falling.Heat drained themdry. A crumble fromgreen exposing their brown skeletalend. Poem form: Elevenie. The image is mine. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting on Twitter
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23 August: A Destination
A Destination Some days this town made him feelsmall. As if he’d lost himself. Other times, he felt both dead and alive.So he boarded a bus for anywhere else. And with each departure,he swore it would be his last. Written for Poetic Bloomings “Going Solo”. Image from WikiArt (Public Domain) by Jan Toorup 1858, The…
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23 August: dVerse Quadrille
That In-between Time It’s early morning,half-light dark,those minutes before dawn rises, when the sky hangs lowand shortsighted.Blue heron colour.Starless. Washedentirely empty by a shockof overnight rain –perfection, how rain cleans air. Clears drought from your laststill pervasive thought. for Twiglets “the sky leans” and dVerse Quadrille “morning”. Photo by Sebastian Molina fotografía on Unsplash. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting on…
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22 August: They’d Only Eat Pasta …
They’d Only Eat Pasta … so she ground leftover hamwith some onion, mixed itwith mayo and mustard, and pushed a grape deepinto the bottom of the bowl, sort of like 2 o’clock fromwhere she was standing, and then told the childrenit was called Pasta Surprise, and when they all askedWhat’s the surprise, she justwinked, and…
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21 August: That Old Photo
Note: this is pure fiction based on an image at Café of Imaginary Dreams. That Old Photo: Ekphrastic Prose On the right is Jeff. Granny S named him after Jefferson. Not that Jefferson. Jefferson Street, where she worked as a waitress on Saturday afternoons, where Grandpa S always came in for his regular burger with…
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19 August: White-Out Erasure
A Confession to Water The rising and falling, reflux of water, like a cataract in the abyss and idle in itself. I confessed to the thunder. Look now, said the old man. Source: “The Portable Edgar Allen Poe,” Introduction page. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting on Twitter
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18 August: dVerse Elements
The Elements I. Earth earthflung itswind at twistedbare trees. they creakedunder the bone bleached whitemoon. II. Water riserippling floodsand set sailon summer-heavy tides whilefires burnt the edge ofsleep. III. Fire lightningdoes dance,like high kickingskirt swirling puppets, theirwooden shoes raucous with Thor’sthunder. IV. Air wind,that gallopingdance that ranwith summer, singing choruseswith tolling bells, a billowingroar. Written…
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17 August: for K’s Petite Pen
Vista There’s a vague pointlessnessto rushing when you knowthere’s another ferry coming. So we admire the view. The sun stabs at our skin,as a mother, arms white as milk,shouts caution at her children. Image by Julia Rigby. Written for K’s Petite Pen. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting on Twitter
It's Still Life 