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An Elegy in Six Voices
Note: Each poem is a votive offering, not only to the loved one being honoured, but to the poetic spirits of the cultures from which they come. Each culture speaks to death not as an end, but as a change.
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Cat’s Nocturnal Symphony (in 2 Acts of Chaos) ACT I: PHILOSOPHY AT 2 A.M.The cat stares into the dark garden,one paw pressed to the windowpane:“If a leaf falls in the night,and no one is around to blame me for it…did it truly fall?” ACT II: The Reply at 2:10 A.M.(The Old Woman shouts: “YES.”)…
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1701: Ten Things of Thankful
1. Thankful for the warmth and comfort from a big pot of homemade soup. It’s good for all that ails. 2. The first hint of spring as crocus leaves appear through the crisp edge of frost. 3. Sunshine and blue sky on Tuesday. The fences steamed as the thawed. 4. This week’s Six Sentence Stories. I had a…
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Csárdás Part 2
Csárdás (as the ancestors told it) First,a single note. Thin as winter smoke slips from the fiddle and winds through the roomlike an old woman’s blessing. It is the colour of duskon the Great Plain,the colour of storieswhispered beside the stovewhen wolves were still believed in. The bow drags slowly:sír a hegedű,the fiddle cries,and every…
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1501: 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 and here’s mine for this week. ©Misky 2022-2026 Shared on X #amwriting @bushboywhotweet and @DAntion
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1501: His Weather
His Weather I know a small boy made of bottled thunder.His fingers hook into claws;his body drops to a low animal growl,a sound dragged up from somewhere older than words. His mother says her boy frightens her sometimes,that in those momentslove feels like a thing with edges. I watch his hands braid themselves into fists.When…
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1401: dVerse Quadrille
Rainy Smile You ask why I am smiling.This grey dawnis its own kind of gift;the rain’s rhythmon the windowpane is a hymn I understand—the world,in its wet,patient way,offers itself to me again.And I say, yes,thank you. written for dVerse Poets Quadrille #239 “smile” , poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2026.
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1301: Six Sentence Story
Dancing with Lions She anchors her black stiletto heel to the bar stool; the ritual wait for a man that doesn’t exist, polishing the fantasy of him until it shines. A muffled laugh works loose, a private rebellion echoing in her throat — the kind you make when a voice you invent leans in and…
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1201: The Voice, A Six Liturgy
A Liturgy for the Hollow & the Heel The Invocation This is the hook on the polished stool,the calling of lacquered lightand murmuring ghosts. This is not emptiness,this is a chamber.The Bistro.The Stiletto.The Anchor.The Hook of the Night. The Invented Whisper. Of Anchors and Architecture This is sacred geometry.This is waiting.The black heel,the spike of…
It's Still Life 