It's Still Life

A Cadralor: Bruised I. She has beginner’s legs. Ballet lessons. At the bar, each move and stretch is a foreign language. II. She feels bruised and battered. Unbalance. Pink tights and a purple tutu. She’s fallen. Upended. III. A boy is outside. Football. He practises scoring goals. Again and again. He runs, and kicks wildly…

The Gaps in Life A view between the blinds. Evergreens, so evergreen Against white birch whose Limbs, bared and tangled Pry open the snowy sky.  It’s a straight backed view, Ghostly pale, weather-beaten.  And down the hallway, a child coughs.  She wants a family photo. We stand. On the dock. You here. You there. You, too.In front of the Christmas tree.For this…

There’s a soft, ample-sized woman, who lives next to the old Norman church. She’s the landlady at the Frog’s Hole pub, where neighbours wage eternal war on Friday and Saturday nights.  Stop shovelling your snow on my roses, howls the recently widowed Joan, she’s leaning from her bedroom window. Shut up and go away, snaps the man next…

Breakfast at 2 Hours Past Noon Hash browns, white pepper, salt And ketchup, two bright-eyed eggs, Basted. Crispy bacon and Raisin toast with Blood red jam, and Cups of coffee, black and hot as Tallahassee nights. And there’s White noise From a wall-mounted TV That fills the middle ground with Conversation from a war-torn town.…

To Dream of Sleep I hear him yawning. It’s a long, sorrowful sound, like a moaning loss for whatever it is that we sleep for. AI Digital Art: created using Midjourney’s bot (v4b) Image and poem ©Misky 2022 Shared on Twitter #amwriting