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dVerse Cats
A Fleck of Skin (revised version) I was blinkered-blind. Couldn’t see myself for myself. A body possessed by decades gone. Its narrow shading fled.Its memory swept aside. Those dead flies on a windowsill. But then old photos glimpsed, a reminder of luke-warm tint. I see myself as a fleck of skin. Me sitting,…
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for dVerse & Twiglet #193
A Fleck of Skin It was back when I couldn’tsee myself for myself. That body is long gone,its narrow shading fled, its memory swept awaylike dead flies on a windowsill, And then I’m reminded. I see myself in luke-warm sepia photos. I see myself as a fleck of skin. Me sitting, skeletal, at a table…
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An Ekphrasis Poem
Maakt Niets Uit – (It Does Not Matter) She asks me,what happens when someonesteals your face. Do I become a mirror?Am I more than pious dust,or exotic bric-a-brac? Am I a drip-tray colourto coax froman ancient alchemist’s text? This woman, she doesn’tmind that she’s made of crippled clay,that there’s a hole in her neck. It’s…
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A Haibun for dVerse Poets
A Haibun Poem for dVerse Poets Dust swirled behind the car and I remember thinking, I want a long white lace veil when I get married. I was 14. The road ahead was silent and empty, the woods thickly green rising up from earth’s heart, stumps like elbows and trees tall as time waiting by…
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for Sunday Whirl #471
I’m a Tide for the Moon Even better than the perfumeof jasmine on a warm night,I love the scent of cornbread. A journey of glancing breathinto a childhood memory, the impact of diced jalapeños, it’s like a note, a sharp accenton the edge of my tongue.I am forever its captive, and forever a tide for…
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dVerse 26 Aug 2020
I Kept the Music When I was not quite twelve,I stood in the middleof a green wheat field. And I heard music. I turned my hand flatagainst the breeze as itdrew notes from everythingit touched. Sometimes it was a small voice, ora burst of wild laughter,a nervous chatter. It was background music forwhite clouds chasing…
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dVerse Quadrille #110
Scrawling with Red Ink I’m writing with red ink.Shouldn’t do.It’s bad luck.Bloody ends badly. Look.Each letter slants right, like a drunk with spirits sloshingunder his skill. His keel’slisting. Speaksinsplinteredsyllables. Then falls on his bum ina scrawling scarlet haze. for dVerse Quadrille #110 “Bum” © Misky 2020 Featured image Banksy.
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Rewritten Character Study
Above and Below (Rewritten) A blackbird lands on the ground. It looks,not at the ground, but at the grass, andhears a worm slipping through the roots. But not just roots but musk scents of grubsand worms and maggots, a peaceful rotripe as perfume. But not just perfume. It’s a tune strumming through thatched roots,and a…
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Seeds for Poetic Bloomings
Seeds I.By winter,we pitched penniesat the wall.By summer,we ate watermelon,sat cross-legged,and spat seedsat the compost pile. Watermelons grewlike weedsin our garden. II.Years ago,a seedwas plantedin my head that occasional hungerwas foodfor the soul, and povertywas wealth. Nevertheless,I was still a wolfhowling at the door. for Poetic Bloomings “Planting a Seed” © Misky 2020
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Poetic Bloomings Character Study
A View Above From Below (Draft) A blackbird lands on the ground. It looks,not at the ground, but at the grass, andhears a worm slipping through the roots. Not roots, but slipping in the deep scent of grubs and worms and maggots, in rottingpeace that swims and ripens into loam from where I hear my…
It's Still Life 