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02.03.22: Haibun: Ode to Billy
Mum was always saying “pipe-down” or “quiet about that” – but my sister and I had a blind spot of affection for him. This distant, and long dead relative that Mum said was a smudge on a line. Billy was his name. A wind-grazed face, rocky as a landscape. Dusty as death. Those eyes dark…
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01.03.22 dVerse Haibun Monday
AN ODD AND UNEVEN TIME February was a dark wilderness. Floods and rain, gales that flung trees to the ground sure as they be Icarus. We tidied up after, our hearts were obsessed by reordering the disorderly. And then the wars began, though no one wanted to call it a war. How dark must it…
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Twiglet #268
in a coat pocket A twiglet’s aim is to “prompt” a thought. If something comes to mind, write. A polished piece isn’t the goal; creativity is. Leave a… Twiglet #268 Come and play with us at Twiglets!
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01.03.22 An Exercise in Dialogue
Say Something We’re eating breakfast,and can I hearthe clock tick. You have to say something, I say. I’ve interrupted hisbread and cheese, and he saysin that way he has about him, Something.Why? And I tell him I have towrite something.With dialogue. He finishes his coffee,licks his fingers, and thenjust grins at me. Photo by insung yoon on Unsplash.…
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28.02.22 On Washing Dragons
A new post is available to read on That’s No Way to Wash a Dragon. You’ll find a blue “Subscribe” button on that post below the comments section (on the left-hand side). For those of you who’ve already subscribed, thank you very much. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting #apoemaday on Twitter
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Stream of Consciousness Saturday
Watching My eyeis a lonely creature.Watching.Watching as I listento the hum of living.Watchingmy inner shadows.My eyeis dim at its centre.Blindthought crashing against walls.All this ricochetingin my head.What becomes of wakingwhen sleepingis the better part of me.Where is restwhile the clockis full of ticking.Watchingmyself go blind.That eyecasts no shadow.That eyeis a lonely creature. Stream of Consciousness…
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27.02.22: Ten Steps of Grief
Ten Steps of Grief I am small.Prodded by cactus.Peeled down to my lily white.Grief. Rocked and shut.Mental doomscrolling.Sleepless beyond recovery.Eyes of black and white.Light is a crime.Winter’s coldest stones.God marked her rose. Inspired by a prompt at GoDogGo Cafe on the topic of grief. The prompt required a haibun; I took it a different route. Image…
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GoDogGo March Titles #14
And This Storm Is Called Franklin The trees bend,stoop, snap, andthe power’s gone.Candles burnsoft and stiff, wavering side to side,light flickerson yellow wallpaper,against the window,across the walls as wind wandersthe houselike a whisperingwarmth, seeking outits own joy. In the UK, we give destructive storms names. The one that hit us a few days ago was…
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25.02.22: A Poem After “Two Old Ones Eating Soup” by Goya
A Poem After “Two Old Ones Eating Soup” by Goya Held like a leash in his hand,grasped fingers at the expenseof pain and joints. Then a turn of a spoon,and golden broth from bone and stonestouches his lips like a warm kiss. The wonders of triumphfrom a thin clear broth. A bowl of soupon this…
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24.02.22 A Choka Poem
Write Me a Silver Lining The turn of a wordthat ploughs deep as the note ofsharp-toned larks, that word, that coldlike Rostock winters,but we still so love to watchthe breeze writing on birch leaves. Poetic Form: Choka (5.7.7/repeated) Photo by Simon Berger on Unsplash. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting #apoemaday on Twitter
It's Still Life 