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21 August: That Old Photo
Note: this is pure fiction based on an image at Café of Imaginary Dreams. That Old Photo: Ekphrastic Prose On the right is Jeff. Granny S named him after Jefferson. Not that Jefferson. Jefferson Street, where she worked as a waitress on Saturday afternoons, where Grandpa S always came in for his regular burger with…
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19 August: White-Out Erasure
A Confession to Water The rising and falling, reflux of water, like a cataract in the abyss and idle in itself. I confessed to the thunder. Look now, said the old man. Source: “The Portable Edgar Allen Poe,” Introduction page. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting on Twitter
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18 August: dVerse Elements
The Elements I. Earth earthflung itswind at twistedbare trees. they creakedunder the bone bleached whitemoon. II. Water riserippling floodsand set sailon summer-heavy tides whilefires burnt the edge ofsleep. III. Fire lightningdoes dance,like high kickingskirt swirling puppets, theirwooden shoes raucous with Thor’sthunder. IV. Air wind,that gallopingdance that ranwith summer, singing choruseswith tolling bells, a billowingroar. Written…
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17 August: for K’s Petite Pen
Vista There’s a vague pointlessnessto rushing when you knowthere’s another ferry coming. So we admire the view. The sun stabs at our skin,as a mother, arms white as milk,shouts caution at her children. Image by Julia Rigby. Written for K’s Petite Pen. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting on Twitter
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17 Aug: Almost Always
Almost Always It’s autumn. Farmers move bales of hay on the county lanes, and almost always a bale falls free, unravels, dusty debris in the air, catching on brambles, thistles, and twiggy rib-caged hedgerows… and as it happens, you’ll regret not taking the motorway with its thick-as-bees morning traffic, because now you’re stuck behind a…
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16 Aug: Still Raging
Still Raging Ebony on amber embers. The remains, a forest scrubbed.The flame, fast as a finger’s flick.Earth’s stretched sinew and string. For P’Bloomings “Fire”. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting on Twitter
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15 Aug: Prose #FFFC
Another Song A passer-by offers confetti cubes of stale bread, casually thrown into the thicket of wings, and the air is trampled. What does it mean, all that hysterical noise that shakes the air, those elbow wings cutting sunlight, and enfolding space. Birdsong echoes against the clouds. Shrieks that cling as if by claw. Its…
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15 Aug: Short Verses from the Garden
Cat’ssat inthe shady laurelwatching birds perched stillas nails on the drybirdbath. Poem form: Elevenie. Photo by Sparks Johnson on Unsplash. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting on Twitter
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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…
