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25 January: dVerse Grandmothers
Granny Eunice Granny says she’ll give mea dish of tonguesif the screen door slams. The screen door slams. Fly paper swingsand snags sunny yellowin the summer breeze. Bacon’s fryingin curls and shrinks.Spits. The flame jumps. Granny’s arms are dressedin skin and flour.Butter on her cold fingers. It’s a blessing to a baker, she says. Scones.…
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24 January: An Imagist Poem
It’s Ideal It’s small becauseit has to be small. Room for a cup of coffee, and her feet. Corner view.Two sash windows.Third floor. A wide window sillfor wildflowers.Jam jar for a vase. Desk.Chair.Lamp. Rattling traffic. The overground.Horns, and a clattering radiator. Heels and trainers.Coats and brollies.Into the wind A rabble of litter.A newsagents’ debris.A chippy…
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24 January: dVerse Quadrille
Winter Garden Winter’s moon leavesa slick of ice, agonybedded on the leaves. Touched by silence. The garden shinesstiff as starched sheets. The roses buriedwhere music has gone quiet. Summer was once herewith secret perfumes thatflew the air on iced wings. for dVerse Poets, Quadrille #168 “Ice”. AI Digital Art is mine and created using Midjourney’s bot (v4).…
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24 January: JusJoJan “Paintbrushes”
Mukluks and the Colour Blue He’s wearing his favourite slippers.Mukluks, that’s what he calls them because his aunt, who lived in Greenland, called them that. But, his mukluks have a Fair Islepattern. Not exactly Kalaallisut. And he scuffs along the floor, sohe won’t stride straight out of them, making a sh-sh sound that I just…
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23 January: for Fireblossom Wordgarden
Her Dotage some memorieslike airyou can’t hold on to themsome remainas lucid as the scent ofnewly mown grass I grew foxgloves last yearand when they bloomedI could hear Dad’s voice – Find me foxgloves, and I’ll show you blackberries. Mum wanted a magnoliasaid it reminded her ofher father’s accent – Straight off the Florida panhandle,…
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22 January: A Belligerence
A Belligerence What is it, thiscatch in my eye, thatblack ozonal identity.A fleeting shadowreflecting on the sky. What is it that offends my eye, what electrical impulse,what psychic uprooting.What phantom illnessbrewed this broken wisdom. War is a suicide foundry,a belligerence. A road to hell. written for Linda’s JusJoJan Day 20 “Phantom”. AI Digital Art is mine…
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21 January: Stream of Consciousness Saturday
Count On It ……. my eyes are pinned to workmen down the street, yellow and white stripe van with little amber lights on top, and they’re pulling thick cables from a wooden spool, the likes of which would make an interesting table for the patio, a great improvement on our wrought iron one with the…
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20 January: A Dream Again
A Dream Again Like a feather, or the grey shadeof a tree. I’m falling into myself,dropped and tossed into a dream. And I’m telling my sister thatlife’s all or nothing. And she’s quoting scripture at me,as if she’s a chip off an angel, saying Jesus fed them bread and fishes. And I’m thinking is the…
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19 January: Word of the Day: Merryneum
Word of the day is Merryneum: the blurry space between Christmas and mid-January. AI Digital Art is mine and created using Midjourney’s bot (v4). Image and poem ©Misky 2023 Shared on Twitter #jusjojan #amwriting @midjourney
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18 January: dVerse Winter
A Black Bare Twig I am whiteness and droning drear,woolly and wet,a slipped cold mask,a drumming ear. Huddle ’round your woodburners,seek that whirring fanof warmth against your skin. Garb your hat and scarf and socks.I am the ice underfoot,your skates cutand track my spine, your children embed me with laughter.I am a dark galaxy,winter’s chariot.Gather…
It's Still Life 