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Quadrille #96
Fevered It’s a fevered dream, you stumble sidewise into a wild place, and you think, God, don’t let me die here, not now, not here, and you ignore that you’re feeling very small, and half ruined, and that’s when your fever breaks into rain. for dVerse Quadrille #96 “Wild” ©️ Misky 2019
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dVerse Quadrille #94
That Small and Darkest There what angers streams to overflow and flood to mud like clouds that drown the sky. and what causes a small lake to rage and fume inky volcanic ash. this roar from darkest age. and there we stood, mud stuck to our shoes. there. standing. for dVerse Quadrille #94…
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for Visual Verse Vol 7 Ch 3
Magdalena She was named after the valley where she was born: Magdalena. Her mother was also born here, as was her grandmother — all of them named Magdalena. Each had second names though, so as to not be confused one with another, even though age differences should’ve sorted this. Magdalena’s second name was Muisca, meaning…
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for Poets United
On the Road Again A piece of gravel wedged deep in the tyre, a rhythmic percussion, clip-clop-and-clicking on the road as I drove into twilight’s warmth. The sky filled with blood-colour amaryllis sunset, and I could only think — “Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight”. ©️ Misky 2010-2020. It’s been a very…
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Blackdamp
Blackdamp Picture, if you will, a brief surge of engine steam that glitters with pyrite dirt. It churns the still night air – They work the old coal pits, shuffle down damp tunnels, black dust kisses the skin. The canary trips no concern. And up above this blackdamp, in the crisp clean air, there in…
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Twiglet #156
CHILLED the winter fields are flat and cold snow clouds stretching long as banners Dad hated this time of year. He’d come home, and soak his feet in a dishpan of hot water and epson salts.. He was a postman. this weather rushes on us with its wild eyes ice pecking our face I always…
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dVerse Prosery #7
She never sleeps on her back. Her wings, you know, her wings. Curves in a Sparrow’s Voice Bedlam’s silencing her sawtooth edges, her bark and howl, but it can’t bend curves into a sparrow’s voice that’s cracked and shattered like bird seed. Listen to the wind against the windows, rattling like loose teeth. Wind blowing…
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for Twiglet #155
A Study in Geometry Reigning on Picnics I arranged myself on that rickety old three legged stool, my feet rooted on the ground for balance, my knees pressed together for geometry, and on my lap I propped a paper plate with Heinz baked beans bleeding into my hotdog bun. ©️ Misky 2019 Twiglet…
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dVerse Poetics
Ivy As if three suns shine on me, I grow that fast. Groping the fence, I climb razor cuts into the bark of trees, spread like a summer wind, or fire across the coolness of soil. Sticking to willows, weeding up the house, scarring brick like sin on a soul. I’m a … tangled Medusa.…
It's Still Life 