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Glo/NaPoWriMo: Day 1
Written as prose: The Fall When old women fall, they lose their voice. Their legs go funny angles, all catawampus like Bambi on that frozen lake. And when they call for help, their voice shrinks, an echo in their porous bones, a wobble sound that no one hears . . . . . h.h.h.help. And…
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31.03.22 Stream of Consciousness
Hum It’s Bees.Like when I walkedpast the laurels.Bees.A roiling key of F. Call it humming.Buzzing.Whatever. It buildscrescendo fright. So would you,if you’d steppedin a nest of mud waspswhen you’re 8. Electric toothbrushesall sound likepissed-off mud wasps. Sketch by Pieter Bruegel the Elder, The Beekeepers and the Birdnester 1568 on WikiArt. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting on Twitter
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GloPoWriMo: Day 1
GloPoWriMo: Day 1 The first half of joy is a wave,rolling in, it curls on itself,soft as lip balm. The second half is the same waverolling out, or summer gone, gone kisses chapped and cracked. For GloPoWriMo Day 1. Inspired by the phrase “The second half of joy is shorter than the first” by Emily Dickinson’s poem …
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31.03.22: I Could Only Think
I Could Only Think … this unlovable land wheregardens are a summer thing, where snow shimmersand the air finds freedom and our language was inparsnips and potatoes,beetroot with its leaves boiled ‘til soft and eatenwith a vinegar’s mother, and I remember the skywas open and wise, neverclosing in on my world as we set maps…
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28.03.22: Child Labour
The Breaker Boys This is the way of it,black dust andgritty lungs and spending daysbent to other mindsand other lives. Time is an early old age,emblazoned on their spine. There’s a constant coughlike wild dogsat ones throat, and they fall to pieces,like a stoneunder a hammer. Photo US Library of Congress, Flickr Commons, Public Domain, US…
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29.03.22: Clowns
Enlightened A laugh is the wisest of words.Words,they’ll bounce off you,if you let them. A big word. A little word.A ruckus.A clown-car-paradeon high-beams and octane.A wave of your tongue, andhere come those clowns. Dedicated to poets who’ve spread laughter through the past two years. © Misky 2022
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dVerse Haibun Monday
A View of the Cherry Tree in Moonlight The cherry tree is kissed by moonlight, it wakes as I sleep, as silver slides between its limbs, as my heart gently knocks against my ribs like uneven stairs. It wakes me from soundlessness and breathing, and even in first hours after midnight, I see moonbeams spread…
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Sidestepping
SIDESTEPPING (poem form: Synchronicity) I can parse a crowd and walk rightthrough it, but now I live in thisvillage with its uneven pavements andnarrow framed walls, and it’s filled withpolite people who deferentiallystep aside, nod with forensicsurvey, and when the cobbles slip intoquiet dusk and low hung street lampsfill the air, and night comes into…
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Stream of Consciousness Saturday
In Search of Wild Garlic Spring ends on Thursday.Or it might be Friday. That’s what the weatherman says. Wintery showers.Maybe snow.Nonsense.It’s 19º and sunny today. I’m foragingfor wild garlicon the creek embankment. Maybe it’s too early, althoughmagazines are fullof wild garlic. Soup. Pasta. Pesto. Avoiding stuff by the footpath,or the road. The county spraysweird-smelling stuff…
