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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…
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dVerse Clowning Around
Just Cousins We packed the car so nothing would rattle,that sort of thing set Dad’s teeth on edge,and we headed for our vacation. The lake. The lake, where you and I would go to hidefrom the little ones who wanted to stickto us like ceiling paint, where you’d drink beer, and I drank grape Nehi…
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Prosery: 18 August 2020
Mausoleum Marble My hand is on the oblong flatness of white marble where you sleep. Your death sleep. Your soul’s rest. And I expect the marble to be cold, but it’s not. It’s warm. Though not by the low November sun, perhaps it’s your eternal warmth. I think heaven opened its door when it saw…
It's Still Life 