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Hunters in the Snow: A Bird on a Limb
A Bird on a Limb in Hunters in the Snow A bird, the colour of old paint,sings a rusty-hinge tune. Skips a note.Its song has a sticky piano key. The air waits.No reply. No chorus. No riff. There’s a sniff of change in the air.Or is it the bird’s ab lib… A bird, the colour…
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Netherlandish Proverbs: The Man with the Fake Beard
The Crutch In a thirst for a god,we fell in with a manwearing a fake beard. He was a crutch in the corner.A dark sycamore.He was horizon bound. He played the crowd, and then turned his attention on the universe. Ekphrastic poetry. Image P. Bruegel Netherlandish Proverbs cc:00 © Misky 2021
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For Twiglet #211
“Airless and unloved, in the dank basementof the mind” L. Igloria ~ A Reparation If a Puddle Was a Day of the Week, It Would be a Tuesday It’s Tuesday.It’s raining. I took my coffeeback to bed. My grandmother made coffee from rainwater.Dad refused to drink it. Feared he’d swallowa mouthful of amoebae and a…
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dVerse Quadrille #119
The Dogs of Hunters In The Snow Dogs lead the way in this cold otherworld.Stray to scents, and footprints in snow.Paws dancing dense and cold to frost clear tunes.Iced twigs.Clings to limbs.Same sameness laying a tapestry of white. There’s no sensible heatin this featureless light. dVerse Quadrille #119 “way”. Image…
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23 January 2021: Ekphrastic
Too Early First crocus.Bright as a struck match.A blinded flamein the frost, and robbedof its thin white dress. Wikiart Hope of a Condemned Man III, 1974 by Joan Miró. Shared with @Experimentsinfc #APoemADay on Twitter © Misky 2021
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22 January 2021
When We Were Young We’d runand ride the leaves, sing duetswith the breeze. We were luck, likeleprechaun green, and no thief of timeever intervened. Ekphrastic Poetry shared with @Experimentsinfc #APoemADay on Twitter © Misky 2021
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dVerse Prosery
Sometimes Sometimes weather flings itself in a tantrum at my feet. Such wild abandon in its reach. And sometimes I am lost in my own deep stare. Deep in the face of angry clouds that flood my sight, deep in rain punctuating the ground with broad, cursive raindrops. Sometimes the great bones of my life…
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20 Syllable Micro-Poetry
The Chills Deep inside a fever,he dreamt of a cold blind white place whereit was always winter. for @Experimentsinfc #APoemADay on Twitter © Misky 2021
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dVerse “Personification”
You Will Know It Is Winter When you step outsideinto blind white,and cold comes at you, not as a chill, but as a wall of blinded colour, and frost squealsunder the bite of your boots, and every step fracturesthe sound of snow falling, you will know it is winter. for dVerse “Personification” © Misky 2021. Header image…
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for Twiglet #209
The Screen Door Slammed Behind Him He left the neatly mown rural grass,and the whispers outside along withthe crows calling from their nests. Then he turned left into the kitchen,and threw his coat over the doorknob. There used to be a peg to hang coatsbehind the door, but it fell out, in muchthe same way…
It's Still Life 