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for dVerse Quadrille #124
Who Knew I pull out a green shoot, hoping it’s a weed. One year, I pulled outmost of the poppy seedlings, thinking they were weeds. Opium poppies, so I am told. And there next to the weedsis a worm – tied in a knot. for dVerse Poets Quadrille #124 “knots”Photo by Bruno Figueiredo on Unsplash. Shared with @Experimentsinfc…
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dVerse’s Being Human
Being Human This being human isa glance over your shoulderto see if the pastis catching up with you. Other days, it’s a drudgerythat lingers on your handsas a stain or an odour. It’s a search for wordsin the pit of your stomachthat feel odd in your mouthwhen spoken. Sometimes, it’s when rainsmells like mould insteadof…
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dVerse Prosery: 16 March 2021
The Stick All winter that limb hung there as if baffled by gravity’s indecision, and sometime between dark and daylight it fell from the sky and plunged to the earth. The white beechwood bark peeling, and curling back onto itself, lichen-poxed, and laying in the mud-soaked grass like a diseased long bone. It’s what my…
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For Sunday’s Wordle No. 494
Rise I love a sugar-spun dawn,earth unable to ignore the sky. It’s that moment when a thoughtmakes its mark. Opens the skin. It’s self-explanatory, and simpleas following a straight line road. It’s a singed dry leaf, an edged ghostfringe, foreign to its landscape, or a new thought that’s lying in waitright around the corner, where…
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Miz Quickly’s Word List #2
The Quilt When her husband died she torehis shirts into tiny squares andstitched the squares together again. She made a quilt to cover the bedwhere she and her husband slept. All’s fair where there’s small love.She turned her grief to art. Unpicking her grief, restitching it with death it’s-natural tonal thread as she coped with…
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For VV’s March Image Prompt
Winter’s in the Sky Winter sleeps in the sky. Up there,a frozen swamp. A shock of wet. It douses summer leaves and doesstrange things. It can send a bitterchill in July, act odd as a full moon. It’ll leave you standing on a street,condemned to shivering in June. Winter doesn’t seems to grow old.Summer does…
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This Might Be The Most Depressing Thing Ever Written
This Might Be The Most Depressing Thing I’ve Ever Written For pen. For paper. I fumble the nightto write these stammered words. I grievefor its loss. Its misuse. This deluded lightthat I might write, and pretend to believe myself poetic. A witless froth at any age,I know not grammar, my words are awaylike disjointed vertebrae.…
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For dVerse: Verse Epistle
We Always Said After the summer hadturned fields of cut wheatto brooms, and those littlegestures of rain beckoned to winter, and as we saton the dry October lawn,and said we’d always writeeach other fond letters of Dear dearest, and wordsfor wishing on falling stars,after all that, I’m sleeplessand feeling the drift of dark, and wondering…
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A dVerse Quadrille
I Am In The Shadow of highbrick archeswalls ofchipped stuccorendering heated dust rainingfrom bellspealing namesof vanished saintsand talesof moonstruckswallowscoaxed fromnesting cliffsswift as lighton wingsthat cutclouds and sky.our shadowswere justflutteringlips. for dVerse Poets, Quadrille Monday “Swift” and 44 words sans title. © Misky 2021 Image WikiCommons California State Archive. A poem based on recollections of a…
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For International Women’s Day: IWD 2021
The Mystique of Copper Penny I’m 5. Almost 6.I’m watching my mother. How do you do that, Mum? She’s putting on lipstickwithout looking in the mirror. Avon. Copper Penny.When Avon discontinued that colour,Mum cried. Then ordered two dozen. Practice, she said, like whenyou learned to tie your shoesbefore going to kindergarten. Using the word “mirror”…
It's Still Life 