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13 December: Flying
Time for a Christmas and New Year’s break, so I’ll wish you all a very merry Christmas and a happy and healthy New Year. We are nervous about whether our flight will depart tomorrow from Heathrow, as BA cancelled it earlier today which means aircraft will be out of position. It seems that the airport…
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12 December: The Yawn
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
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11 December: A Descent
A Descent The day before Dad diedhe said he didn’t thinkhe was going to heaven. The next day it started, my descent into that valleyof loss measured in hours. I slipped into the deep dark. That was the year I became a poet,as if there was a rise of song,or an old acquaintance born. It…
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10 December: The Piano
The Piano The piano goes in the basement.Dad insisted. He said he couldn’thear the TV when I practised. Our piano was missing two back wheels.Lost them when the piano fell downthe basement stairs. It was a laid-back thing. Looked drunkup against the cement block wall.That wall, always wet during winter. Just opposite it was a…
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9 December: Plummeting
Plummeting A bit of weather’s coming.Arctic air, sharp as a hawk’s beak, and snowcreeping down the map. Pale and shiny.White as an albatross. It melts our houses. AI Digital Art: created using Midjourney’s bot (v4b) Image and poem ©Misky 2022 Shared on Twitter #amwriting
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8 December: Opening Windows
Opening Windows The world is broken and glued,he says with a bone-grinding calm. We two are like cheques,nobody expects us to be balanced. He’s making a sandwich,bologna, or something that looks like it,and he asks if I want one. Thank you, no. I answer. And he recalls when he’d pop around the cornerfor a smoke,…
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7 December: Box
Box those scarred handssuggest age beyond numbers, oh, wondrous stories thosehands could tell, if just someone asked, but todaywith long-blade sheers in hand, he’s alonewith his thoughts and talent, silentlyclipping, snipping away strays, sculptingancient box hedges into surprising shapes. AI Digital Art: created using Midjourney’s bot (v4b) Image and poem ©Misky 2022 Shared on Twitter…
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6 December: Snow Cries Out for a Crow (Revised)
Snow Cries Out for a Crow I want to dreamsummer across the snow. Nosnow,or snowydirt. Nogrey anything. Noblue handsor quaking bones. There’s nofoothold, grip or tread. I want to drawheat across my skin. Snow cries out for a crow. Image: Digital Art in the style of L. Lowry ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting on Twitter
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5 December: Distractions
Distractions Is it dreaming where he goes,or is it somewhere quietbetween those paragraphs.Quiet is no distraction for us. We’ve been quiet for hours.I’m reading Richard Osman,he’s reading the newspaper. He reads it from front to back, and sleeps between paragraphs.Wakes, resumes reading, anddoesn’t miss a step. And I look past him to the wall, from…
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4 December: for V.V.
The Colour of Plastic Plastic is the colourof my neighbour’s left eye.Yellow is the colourof his liver. And if this were a story,it would twistlike Rubik’s cube. All the characters wouldhave their angles,and I’d give them names,like Rhombus and Scalene. But this isn’t a story,and my neighbour’s liveris apt to be the death of him,…
