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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.
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24.03.22: Baby Ladybird
Baby Ladybird out for a walk on the windowsill,smallas a pinhead,largerthan a mote.Loston the windowpane,sun on your belly,warmthon your legs.brushoff your wings,ladybird,ladybird,fly away home. Image is from Unsplash. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting #apoemaday on Twitter
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23.03.22 dVerse Colours
Tea With Florence It wasn’t her real namebut if I had named her,her name would’ve been Florence. Her skin was as paleas proper writing paper.Paper from Florence, undoubtedly. We sat in her garden,the magnolia blossomshanging on a last heavy scent before spring pulledgreen out of its limbs,transforming it into a proper tree. Florence drank mint…
It's Still Life 