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14 Aug: Short Verses from the Garden
Drought.I betyou never thoughtsuch a blue skywould send your eyeing moodplunging. Image: my own from the garden. Poem form: Elevenie or Elfchen. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting #micro-poetry on Twitter
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13 August: An Octelle
Waiting for the Words to Come It will come, what I want to say.Paper. Pen. Held a certain way.Inspired by that full moonWhose light fills an empty room.Those amber and scarlet leaves.Creek. River. Or ocean breeze.It will come, what I want to say.Paper. Pen. Held a certain way. for dVerse Poets: Poetry Form Octelle. The syllable…
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12 August: Petite Pen
A Day Bronzed by August It was a day spinning in my ear,unbothered by rain or regretor lost love or virtue, there wasjust pale light and the call of gullssinging like plucked piano wires,and a child with a kite coaxingthe last breeze out of daylight. for K’s A Petite Pen. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting on Twitter
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11 August: dVerse Quadrilles
Two Quadrilles I.The sun rises,white as truthshining down on us,and we feel a typeof fearless freedom, even though one dayour ashes will be freeunder its watchful eye,so we’ll let the sun fill us up,like green refills a forest. II.No two clouds are the same.No two leaves.No two trees or drops of rain.No two thoughtsare quite…
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10 August: My Road
My road is at the top of a hill. It drops steep, turns here and there, and ends at a footbridge over a creek where boys with bare legs catch crayfish, and the local cats prowl the boys’ buckets, and the crayfish snap at the cats’ noses, and beyond the creek is the village school…
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9 August: An Ekphrastic Poem
The Return of the Flame I am stopped dead, clutching a water bottle again. A hostage to withered rivers. Burnt faces. This scotch bonnet heat empties my head. I will never get used to this sort of thing. Heat unleashed from some- where else, and spilling on you. A barbarous soak. Phaethon’s set the air…
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7 August: A Cadralor Poem
Thrown: A Cadralor Poem It all started because we werethrowing snowballs into hell. What were the chances thatwe’d actually break a window. We pitched pennies at the wallin the coat room. My coat was red. Mum knitted my mittens. Also red.She stitched them to my coat sleeves. Why can’t girls throw like boys –Are their…
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7 August: A Sailing Tanka
A Sinking Star Me and this sea realm,and a fickle wind sneezingagainst the sailslike the Hesperus intofistfuls of dark inked water A tanka 31-syllables (5.7.5.7.7). Written for Poetic Bloomings “sailing”. Image from Unsplash. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting on Twitter
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5 August: Twiglet 290
On the Hottest Day of the Year It’s round as a melonor my shoulders.Feels ancient in my hands.Long enduring as that winterfour years ago.A snowball –we keep it in the freezer.Strong as a rock andlight as wind through a dream.And we take it out, and oooooh and ahhhh over it,like I said,on the hottest day…
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4 August: For the Petite Pen
It’s Just After Dawn When a person can be reborn by the shine and glimmer of it all. The sea.The bluff.Seagulls and terns.Thistles and grass. A blue-veined smear of waterrounds on the middle deep, daybreak lifting and lighteningthe water, the cliffs scrawled by wind. And on the ridge above the beachnext to an August-hardened dirt…
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