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31.03.22: I Could Only Think
I Could Only Think … this unlovable land wheregardens are a summer thing, where snow shimmersand the air finds freedom and our language was inparsnips and potatoes,beetroot with its leaves boiled ‘til soft and eatenwith a vinegar’s mother, and I remember the skywas open and wise, neverclosing in on my world as we set maps…
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28.03.22: Child Labour
The Breaker Boys This is the way of it,black dust andgritty lungs and spending daysbent to other mindsand other lives. Time is an early old age,emblazoned on their spine. There’s a constant coughlike wild dogsat ones throat, and they fall to pieces,like a stoneunder a hammer. Photo US Library of Congress, Flickr Commons, Public Domain, US…
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29.03.22: Clowns
Enlightened A laugh is the wisest of words.Words,they’ll bounce off you,if you let them. A big word. A little word.A ruckus.A clown-car-paradeon high-beams and octane.A wave of your tongue, andhere come those clowns. Dedicated to poets who’ve spread laughter through the past two years. © Misky 2022
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dVerse Haibun Monday
A View of the Cherry Tree in Moonlight The cherry tree is kissed by moonlight, it wakes as I sleep, as silver slides between its limbs, as my heart gently knocks against my ribs like uneven stairs. It wakes me from soundlessness and breathing, and even in first hours after midnight, I see moonbeams spread…
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Sidestepping
SIDESTEPPING (poem form: Synchronicity) I can parse a crowd and walk rightthrough it, but now I live in thisvillage with its uneven pavements andnarrow framed walls, and it’s filled withpolite people who deferentiallystep aside, nod with forensicsurvey, and when the cobbles slip intoquiet dusk and low hung street lampsfill the air, and night comes into…
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Stream of Consciousness Saturday
In Search of Wild Garlic Spring ends on Thursday.Or it might be Friday. That’s what the weatherman says. Wintery showers.Maybe snow.Nonsense.It’s 19º and sunny today. I’m foragingfor wild garlicon the creek embankment. Maybe it’s too early, althoughmagazines are fullof wild garlic. Soup. Pasta. Pesto. Avoiding stuff by the footpath,or the road. The county spraysweird-smelling stuff…
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Reunions
Reunions You and I, loosely hinged friends.You rang. In town. We met for a meal at the intersection where rain soaks the pavement and forks off. You ate minced beef, raw to ruby redwith green capers rolling on the plate.You stabbed at the raw egg mountedon top, a bulging eye staring at you, and it…
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25.03.22: Twiglet #271
Up There on a tangle-thread-limbsits a crow,an eye on its next meal,a ratweaving between traffic. for Twiglet #271 Tangled Thread. Photo by Alexander Sinn on Unsplash. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting on Twitter
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24.03.22 A Day On Foot
Sun. Fresh air. A 5k walk on the Downs around Arundel Lake. This is the old boathouse. People have carved their names on every available centimetre of wood. Nature never gives up. Knock it down, and it keeps on growing. Sunlight through the daffodils in the garden this morning.
It's Still Life 