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09.03.22 On Washing Dragons
A new chapter is ready to read at That’s No Way to Wash a Dragon. Poem form: Haibun. Image is from British Library Medieval Manuscripts, Digital Archive: Illuminations. Shared with #amwriting on Twitter. ©Misky 2022
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dVerse Quadrille #147
Her Dark Eyes Her eyes are pure stars,her memories too whole, … of watching ducklingsstruggle after their mother, … of watching oak seedshelicopter aimlessly through air, … of rain floodinga bird’s nest, and they think her madwhen she says this worldwill break your heart. for dVerse Poets, Quadrille #147 “Eye”. Image Portrait Of A Woman With Dark…
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07.03.22 #FOWC Limerick
Hooked There was an old troll from GdańskWith a nose he hoped to enhanceToo long, it bentNot straight, a dent,Oft’ mistook for a hook at first glance. Written for Fandango’s One-Word Challenge: today’s word is ‘Enhance’. #FOWC ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting on Twitter
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06.03.22 #SOCS
One Minute and Thirty Seconds of Voyeurism She’s out there crouched betweenthe winter twigs, climbing roses thatover-reach the wall, and tangles ofbrittle-scented heather, and she’sdown there with weeds, nose-to-nosewith that electronic cat deterrentguaranteed (or all your money back)to scare away the cats, but the cats keep coming back, spines archinglike soup spoons, the way cats…
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06.03.22 GoDogGo Café Book Titles
WHEN GOD WAS A WOMAN I’m no philosopher. But . . . Darkness is unforgiving,and wars are arrogance. I’ve lived between book coversfor much of my life, and somemight say that’s not real living, as if living is only about dying, or blood isn’t blood unlessyou’re a woman, or a god,maybe a poet, or a…
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My Favourite Community Farm
These are photos I took today during our weekly visit to Tablehurst Farm in Sussex. It’s an organic and biodiverse farm. The butchery is supplied from their own animals. The slow-ferment yogurt, unpasteurised milk, and butter use milk from cows on the farm. They have their own bakery, and fruit and vegetable from their gardens…
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05.03.22 Haibun Wednesday
5 March/22: Hope is a free-radical. It’s the beginning of loss. It exists to mark where loss begins. I’m beginning to think that hope is the beginning of every loss. The beginning of anything that we’re attached to. Freedom. Life. Liberty. Family. We get used to loss, although I tend to lose things slowly. Losing…
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04.03.22 First Daffodil Opened
The Rain Has Gone . . . see the daffodils,morning light shining through them. And there it is.Yellow. Bright as an egg yolk.The colour of ripe wheat. El Dorado. Daffodils are cherubs.Spring lambs. A child’s bright face.Tell us a story! Tell us a story! It’s a colour somewhere betweena blossom and a breeze. Yellow was…
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04.03.22 for GoDogGo Café
She Must Be Mad for “Other Voices – Other Rooms” #31 What madness edges its wayinto her reality.Causes unreasonable alarm,banging on windows,a geodesic short fuse . . . (Geeze, he says, it’s just a bloody pigeon) . . . birds pulling up her daffodils,still tight, unopened,…
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for Visual Verse Anthology March
for visual verse anthology: March The Green Room The Green Room It’s a kind of winter madness, so I thinkof it this way. It’s my own green roomwith its old brick wall that crackedduring one of those drought years, where the grass is noisy and thick withthin-legged, spotted and winged insects,and where the ferns unfurl…
It's Still Life 