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Quadrille #104
These Mad Mad Days The sun shifts over these mad mad daylight hours. Lovers never long for morning, the sun rising, thirsty as salt. Hot. No use asking why fire is hot. And I keep thinking, I’ll go fishing; that’ll fix all this. Life is an invisible scar. for dVerse Quadrille 104 “Fix”…
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For Sunday Whirl #456
A Quietness Inside Did you hear shy bluebells ring? A song that begins, and dies again. Breathe white on white, frozen air and snow as a gust slips in, kills your wick and flame. Droplets of nectar is a bee’s liberty, let reason be my thirst and rhythm. Bees meet under the scent of lilacs,…
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18 May 2020
Originally posted on The Journal: Two American Sentences, and One That’s Not I. These things that fill my hours, these thinking things are my hope and heaven. II. I have rendered myself into sweat and spit; a pimple and a hump. III. I‘ll remember January for an open window on the rising sun, and a…
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for dVerse & Twiglet #176
Two Views from the woods from the lake that was the view from her bed. she woke with savaged hair and a thumping head, the sun was a knife in her blue fire eyes. and the trees from the woods by the lake with a view of her bed laughed at what she did all…
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14 May Visual Verse on Instagram
Like a Winter’s Tree Oh how time tramples your bones into shivering limbs; a bare tree of winter. for Visual Verse on Instagram and Twiglet #176 ©️ Misky 2020
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Perfecting A Stare
An American Sentence for Toni, inspired by the Found poem “Stare” below. I. Within our house of stone and wood, down the road we stare. We sit. We stare. II. (variation) Day 65: I Think It’s Wednesday The wall is loosening. We are still closed in. In the house. Of stone. Of wood. Stare…
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for Visual Verse on Instagram
The Conveyance Up and up on hot air. Hissing. Lifting. It felt like a secret, hers to keep. Flying through clouds that clung to her skin. Inhaling the sting of iced ozone, she was flushed with desire. Felt wind all round her. And so hesitating not, she removed her clothes. for Visual Verse…
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Twiglet #175
A 20.20 View of 1349 Autumn rain. Winter rain. April dry. The sheep suffer with the rot again. May drier still. Nothing will be ploughed. Crops fail, and moss hangs bare as lanky hair. Our deep discontent. The plague’s arrived. for Twiglet #175: It Hangs Bare and PB Internal Rhyme ©️ Misky…
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Quadrille for dVerse
We Dance We are intricate velvet. We are a dance at the altar. A river of our silly misfortunes. We move. We dance. Like the cold oak. Like red calla lilies. The river is the dance. And the sun cried out for respite, for Evening! Evening! for dVerse Quadrille “Silly” 44 words. This…
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2 May 2020
Only Its Moment Remains April. Is gone. It’s a yellow mask, lemon scented and pressed deep into me like a salty hook pulling me back to the sea, or yellow painted sunlight streaming in leaves of newly-born green — like bicycle spokes. Yellow that cuts through darkness, or wades in cold water biting my thighs.…
It's Still Life 