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23 September: 20 Pieces of a Poem
Day 7. Change Direction or Digress from the Last Thing You Said Her back’s against driftwood, a tree trunk that the ocean scooped up during a storm, white and smoothly slick, and she’s wearing a swimsuit, eating a packed lunch of bread and cheese, pickle, and a white globe-of-an-egg, still slightly warm and peeled bald, except…
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for Twiglet #245
Going Mad Eyes.There’s something about anadult baby-face.It’s empty. A baby facein a uniform,bootstrap on a foot on the slaughterand capableof anything. He loved Red Riding Hood. Nobody knewthat he wantedto be the wolf. He wasmagnificently mercurial and mad as an ebony cat.Or sneering black marble. Written for Twiglet #245 “Let me go mad”. Image from Unsplash…
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The Imprint of Northleach Church
The Imprint of Northleach Church It seems to methe weight of years,your deedsyour tears arepressed against your back. Do they stillpress?Do you stillbend to the will of worms? By day, your shadow is yourcover, and by nightlights are lit, andyour shadow hovers. Do you hear ourlaughter,footsteps,lover’s whispersas you wait for God’s return, that promise ofa…
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Stream of Consciousness Saturday: I Smell Saltwater
I smell saltwater, and just like that, I’m 10-years old again, and we’re driving past that cranberry processing plant where berries roll and float in salty pools, the tidal waters renewed twice a day, and we’re a mile or so away from the marina where once a year Dad goes deep-sea fishing. That’s our summer…
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A Few Photos From The Cotswolds
A few photos from our trip to the Cotswolds. If you view the photos through the slide show, give them a bit of time to load. ©Misky 2021
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11 September: Somewhere #socs
Somewhere That’s the way of things, isn’t it,the past.Always waiting there. It’s a long shadow, likeboarded-up windows to keep out the sun and salt air, or like cold rooms where youdon’t dare breathe becausethe air is damp and…
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dVerse Derivatives
It’s That Shade of Brown Again.It’s a rustling of memory. You bring me to this doorway,day after day, into our minutes. My dad, into dreams and dusk, and precise piles of crispy leaves.Our cat, a goat, and fertile land. A forest’s umbrage. Morning frost.Chocolate melting on my fingers. It’s a colour that can …
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8 September: 20 Pieces of a Poem
Day 6. The One Full of Contradictions If something has no name, then how do we know what it is, if it’s nameless. Ida’s Youngest was like one of those concrete noun things. Like a brick. Or a statue. The Big Bang. A thing on to itself. Himself being himself. And he called himself Effortless,…
It's Still Life 