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for dVerse Prosery
We children had so little, although we always had just enough. Absent parenting, well more like absentminded parented, but Mum and Dad did their best. Mum said it is all about setting the right examples. Her mum was an ice cube, so she was a chip off it (or chipped, or something like that). That…
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for Twiglet #167
Say What? You say, the language of rain babbles against the windowpane, and that language is mad on fizz and wine, and that some words are simple eyes. And sometimes I don’t understand what you say. for Twiglet #167. “Won’t Translate” ©️ Misky 2020 image from unSplash CC:00
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Poetry: An Espinela
Iron on the Wall There’s the northern and the southern. Hallelujah, they sang for him, and amen ending every hymn. Brothers. Sisters. Baptist. Brethren. On the wall, a cross of iron, wooden pews so unforgiving. Discomfort. Complaint. Forbidden. God, they said, punishes living. Death, they said, is all forgiving. In that building, they’re still singing.…
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Quadrille #99 and Wordle
The Approach The barn door’s open to birds singing, and he comes into view, born out of smooth fog. The floor’s a chill. His damp stirs. Rips the fog, lifts from his heat. He’s a virus. A panic. I felt old enough. I’d just turned twenty. for dVerse Quadrille #99 and Wordle Words…
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for PB’s Personification of a Tree
And Then The Tree Said … Oh God of Green, give me strength, there’s something pecking at my neck, something other than this birdbrain poem about old barren trees & cold skin-pricked days & lichen knitting into my limbs, & hold me strong against this blowing back & forth & thresher rain that chops my…
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Her Fruit
Her Fruit She’s in the corner with the brass and bronze, like a passing thought that takes refuge in wrinkled silks of sweet grape gold and liquid purple. Arranged, liked an orange whose peel scantly exposes juice and fruit — so provocative — and arresting. There for the taking. Her fruit. Her sweet wine. An…
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Quadrille #98
The Peel And again those white chalk cliffs near Dover peeled away and crumbled into the sea. Grief feels that way, the crumbling of it. It tore my heart, and peeled my bones. Raw days in a flood. Its flawed blue horizon is now my familiar. dVerse Quadrille #98 “peeling” (constraint: 44 words)…
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Twiglet #164
A Light Remix If I were morning light, I’d slip through slatted blinds and flood across someone’s bedroom floor, and eke myself between messy bedsheets and quick hands and crushed perfume, and be sprawling as pleasure, and not like a closed-leg sunset, clumsy with its all-thumbs-jumped-up fire. Twiglet #164 “All Thumbs” ©️ Misky…
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For VV Feb 2020
Crossing the Sun’s Path When she was a girl her mother told her that ears were planted in the bushes, hidden in the trees where they waited to hear truth, and that sound you hear, the trickling from cooling fountains was water laughing at every lie they heard. She’d walk through parks, through gardens, and…
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dVerse To Be a Flower
To Be A Daisy Loves me. Loves me not. Her fingers unlock wish after wish, and she says, Absence has made my heart grow fonder — She’s waited out the white months for my return. You wish you may. You wish you might. And my summer days fall all too easy. Pluck me. Cut me.…
It's Still Life 