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for dVerse: A Vatic Poem
A Long Story About Nothing Maybe what I say seems commonplace, but rules are a self-audit, and I hardly suppose that any confession is too late, or that a germ of good might never growMaybe no one speaks with purpose,no single sentence is a human progressAnd I hardly suppose this life is a long story…
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for dVerse Poets: A Haibun
Vanessa Redgrave is Cleopatra with her face white as winter, and her neck exhausted from the weight of thoughts, and she begins from a place of rooted pain, a rattling thunder, and then she speaks — … his face was as the heavensand therein stuck a sun and moonwhich kept their courseand lighted the earth…
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dVerse Quadrille #112
From Somewhere In My Childhood Winter airwaitsbehind the sun.It comesfrom somewherein my childhood.Hear leaves crumblebelow my step,September’s sharp tonguestings the air.Mulch and scruband skeletal limbs thatstab the sky.No direction.Without intention,approaching gloomsings to me. dVerse Quadrille #112 (44 words, excluding the title, including the word “sky”) © Misky 2020. Image from Flickr Commons Courtesy of…
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dVerse Cats
A Fleck of Skin (revised version) I was blinkered-blind. Couldn’t see myself for myself. A body possessed by decades gone. Its narrow shading fled.Its memory swept aside. Those dead flies on a windowsill. But then old photos glimpsed, a reminder of luke-warm tint. I see myself as a fleck of skin. Me sitting,…
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for dVerse & Twiglet #193
A Fleck of Skin It was back when I couldn’tsee myself for myself. That body is long gone,its narrow shading fled, its memory swept awaylike dead flies on a windowsill, And then I’m reminded. I see myself in luke-warm sepia photos. I see myself as a fleck of skin. Me sitting, skeletal, at a table…
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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.
It's Still Life 