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2 September 2019
AND ONE POTATO, TWO POTATOES, THREE And I say, 3 for you and 2 for me, and I’m serving up dinner, and you ask, Why do I get 3 and you only get 2, and I say, Because that’s the way it’s always been – Because I don’t need as much as you, and then…
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1 September 2019
Originally posted on The Journal: A RETURN TO SOCKS it’s morning, and I hear the train down in the valley. no clickety-clack or pull from a long whistle. we’re electrified. it’s the sound of speed slicing air that I hear, morning, noon, and night, until my ears hummm with sleep. fill with the sounds of…
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Twiglet #141
Biting Roots The weight of light is on my shoulders, this foreign land from where I came. Pale cliffs and alien air. This is where I am. for Twiglets #141 “Questionable Ancestry” ©️ Misky 2019
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for dVerse Quadrille
Tasseomancy I. In a teacup where leaves twirl a dervish in golden fluid of circular skirts, rolling and roiling from a devotional pot of clay deeply red from where life began evergreen, and fortunes foretold from depths of bone china, tranquil tea. A gypsy’s fortune told. II. In a teacup where leaves twirl a dervish…
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Found Simple
SIMPLE And no, for anyone wondering, I left out things which haven’t been … left out. Things not included. For example – freshness. And the fridge. Getting ice cream rolled on your thigh, well, a chicken then. O’ joy – a crazy-person for supper. That being said, you might as well be a lazy cook,…
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Twiglet #139 & #140
…in a field of salty brown wheat you stand you wish your heart was as open as this mile wide view Twiglet #139 and #140 and dVerse “Smoke and Mirrors” ©️ Misky 2019
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20 August 2019
Originally posted on The Journal: Dogwood I still hear her sticky voice in the tree near my bedroom window. Words tangling in the limbs and twigs, the leaves twitch. Mum is a breeze of complaints, “That girl couldn’t find her way out of a dead end.” And the neighbour nods, adding it isn’t easy being…
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12 August 2019
Originally posted on The Journal: Recollections of the Washington State Fair And as I recall, the sunrise was the colour of ripe cherries, and the clouds drifted like woodstove smoke, and Dad was shouting at us Get a move on, the engine is running, and if you want to get a spot to park without…
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for VV ‘s August Submission
To Those Proud Mums and Those Kids of Theirs For 8 years, I pretended to swim. Their kids, their mothers said, can swim in the deep end. Well this was too much for my mother, and she’d heard enough of what her kid couldn’t do, and that, she said, was going to change. So I’m…
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6 August 2019
Cows under the oak tree Grass cool as a spring day It feels like Sunday ©️ Misky 2019 – Poetic form: Ginsberg’s American Sentence (17-syllables)
It's Still Life 