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Day 25
Found Poetry from source: “Flowers In The Attic” by VC Andrews (pg 78 iBook version). I stood. There, with books enough for steady knowledge. An escape into other worlds, into books old as coal or wood, or dusty graves. for PA’s Writers’ Digest PAD, Day 25 “Exile” – Cento Poem: source “Flowers In…
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Day 24
Found Poetry from source: “Flowers In The Attic” by VC Andrews (pg 45, 52, 74-77 iBook version) and Twiglet #123. I love thick cream and satin and unfastened buttons and old hands holding small secrets and salt blue whispers and happy eyes and a simple wander here and a wander there and the wonder…
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dVerse Quadrille #78
Cold Redux. Cold and her shadow was a mimic, watched her with summer blue eyes, like wind racing through paper flora and fauna. tonight. tonight. in this house, tonight. she has risen from waxen white into raw smallness. hers was to live in a hard blue ice. dVerse Quadrille #78 Rise
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Day 19
I Didn’t Know Her All That Well, But See that cherry red VW van up ahead? It’s the same colour as the VW campervan that a woman I knew (years ago) owned, although I didn’t know her at all well, and I can’t recall her name, but she worked as a summer season live-bait girl…
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Day 22
I wrote in pursed-lip longhand Language is not an accident. Source: “Flowers In The Attic” by VC Andrews, pg 59, 66, 104-109
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Day 21
Found Poetry from source: “Flowers In The Attic” by VC Andrews (pg 62-64, 82, 84-86 iBook version). You can die in a fishbowl. What a sober-faced bad idea. ©️ Misky 2019
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Day 20
Found Poetry from source: “Flowers In The Attic” by VC Andrews (pg 53-55 iBook version). Asleep, I don’t really exist, All, in the arms of trust. Sleep is my normal oblivion, A sweet crawl in corners of endless black streaks. ©️ Misky 2019
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Day 19
Found Poetry from source: “Flowers In The Attic” by VC Andrews (pg 47-49 iBook version). With a heart for the tarnish, and eyes for rebellion, I let go. Overwhelmed, the air was too close. Too big. ©️ Misky 2019
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Day18
Found Poetry from source: “Flowers In The Attic” by VC Andrews (pg 25-31 iBook version). He was waiting. Like God. A tall tempest on tiptoes. I blinked, and we said not. We birds, perched on a clothesline. Nothing felt good in his eyes – you can’t love a cold chill, but the uneasy faces…
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Day 17
Home is my rock. My spine. A return into arms. Home is the heaviest suitcase. Found Poetry Source: “Flowers In The Attic” by VC Andrews, pg 43-47
It's Still Life 