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Miz Quickly’s Triplets
Sometimes the Sun Shines This is not paradise – it just rained, the humidity is on the rise, again. An ascension. It’s not a great saviour. I miss hummingbirds. Seagulls, that’s all we have. A few blue tits. Don’t forget slugs – it’s the rain, again. Clear. Warm. Clouds of true white silk. The beech…
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Miz Quickly’s Alchemy
Egg Alchemy It’s all about that last egg. Stashed like a pearl, a gem hurled like a ball to the back of the fridge. In the outfield. And so I fried it. On toast it sits with bits of ham. A spill of golden yolk. Oh man. Oh man, now we’re talking. Wow. Pass the…
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Miz Quickly Day 21
Iced Tea and Hot Beef Broth This is an ugly duckling summer. Dim set and pallid as December. We are drowning in sweaters. Steaming beef broth in mugs. There’s thunder in the wind, and rain thorny sharp. But still, hope lives long, that summer soon swans gently into July. for Miz Quickly’s Day…
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Country Life and Other Myths Created by Katie Melua
Country Life and Other Myths Created by Katie Melua There aren’t 9-million bicycles in Beijing, and we’re not 12-billion light years from the edge. However, there are 7,843 steps as you walk on cobblestones that threaten to roll your ankle like cigarette paper. I’m strolling the weathered planks of the pier at Bandholm harbour. The…
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Ars Poetica Views Over the Marstal Bugt
Ars Poetica Views Over the Marstal Bugt A poem is sitting on this bench It’s mostly green. Except for Seagull guano Looks Ars Poetica. A poem needs strategic placement. A swan in the reeds. Two blackbirds in the elm tree. A poem is a breeze in my right ear. A poem is a ferry crossing.…
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Miz Quickly Day 13
A Prayer To you, and you and him and her, to them and those that I do not know, to those who’ve passed and those yet to come, to you, and you, I bid you peace. for Miz Quickly: Day 13 ©️ Misky 2019
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Miz Quickly Day 10
It Takes One to Know One There’s a woman who’s watching flashes of gold koi in a pond. They swarm and nibble cubes of bread that she offers. And the water hums and vibrates. She has that smell of poetics about her. Not flowery. More like fried onions. It settles and seeps in deep. Takes…
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Flash Fiction Prosery
Flash Fiction: Prosery 144 words Dead I am dead. I don’t know the how or the why of it. Or even the when of it. Details. Details. These things are unimportant. That information is in the past, it’s for the living to unravel, they want to know how it happened, they need the science of…
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Double Quadrille #81
A Dragon’s Dream I’m dwarfed by mountains rising from the shore. I’m watched over by the moon. My centre point in the sky. Watch me. I can fly. Milky clouds stretch like a python in the night, and I walk warm shallows of waves that recoil at my touch. I can fly. The sun rises,…
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Refrains
From One Refrain to the Next Back then, when I lived life as if it were a song, when each minute was a note, each day its refrain, when a rude suggestion could make me blush red, back then I thought I’d be content to reach 50, maybe die blowing out my birthday candles. Back…
It's Still Life 