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22 June: Three Lines #TLT
I.plungea spoon into rippling citrus creamsnow in June II.this teasmells like slugsand stings III.summer is floweringgoldenrod, and switchbladesthrough the paving stones IV.diamond lighta pool of morningin the hallway Three Line Thursday for Ink In Thirds. The word: yellow (but you can’t include that word). ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting on Twitter
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21 June: That House
That House it’s for sale now,a wooden stake hammeredinto the ghost of pink climbing roses. she married a butcher.he did that thing that you alwayshope happens to someone else. he went out one afternoonfor a pack of smokes,and never returned. heart attack. a year later – she jumped,right off a multi-story carpark in town. nobody…
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20 June: A contrapuntal poem
In This Moment a breeze tempersthe heat pulsing off brick poppy petalspaper thin – disengage flutterfalland fail in the heat a bumblebee’s lastchance before hot rainthunders down Spain arriveson the wind and fillsthe open windows A contrapuntal poem. More info is available at MasterClasses. Image from WikiArt Poppy Fields by Claude Money Date 1885, ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting…
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19 June: dVerse Quadrille
Mis-Spellings I’m named after Mum’s childhood friend who sat on some scissors, slicing her buttocks open, and Mum was green as envy – that girl excused from school for 3-months, sitting being a for-sure impossibility, and it’s odd, how brainiest people mis-spell our name … for dVerse Poets. Quadrille (44-words) including the word spell. ©Misky 2022 Shared…
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18 June: A Haibun
A Time for Dreaming I’m doing that breathing thingy where you breathe into yourself, helps you sleep in this heat, which has traveled over half a dozen foreign tongues. This sort of heat could sink a boat. And right before I drop into deep sleep, I dream that I pull down the loft ladder, and…
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17 June: Those Weeds
Overgrown Weeds The rain is hot, and he says – he’s goingto take off his shoes ’causehe shoots hoops better that way, andthe ball crashes against the fence,and he cusses the way 10-year old boysfrom his side of town cuss,and two girls on a swing giggle, kick their feet up to the steel sky,and the…
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16 June: dVerse Last Words
“A certain butterfly is already on the wing.” Vladimir Nabokov. To Dwindle A butterfly leaves its past behind, flies south for winter and then dies. But its children, well on a wing return to their parents’ past. I am a butterfly, returned to empty my mother’s flat, to my mother’s spartan life of 4 plates,…
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15 June: Petite Pen
Wilt Nothing happens – and yeteverythingwilts at her feet. for Petite Pen image by Ron Hicks ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting on Twitter
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15 June: A Byr a Thoddard Poem
Feels Like A Warm Stone It’s the one I always think of – as home. That house of childhood Where distance was a horizon And the bedsheets breathed my return. A non-rhyming (Welsh) Byr a Thoddard, 10.6.8.8. ©Misky 2022 Image: “Homeward bound in a horse-drawn carriage“, by David Burliuk, Original Title: Возвращение на родину в конном…
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14 June: dVerse Prosery
Prosery Thinking There are places I’ll never reach because my feet ache, and there are mornings when I see a sunrise and it feels ancient and seamless, and it saddens me to see its oxygen-rich colours bleeding across the world, and sometimes the sound of new day reminds me that I’m minus one more, and…
