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for Miz Quickly: 13 June
Throw Down Your Tombstone I woke up in church with Holy Holy playing on the radio. Rain splashed on the streets, chanting, protests, and flames roaring into the night. Draw in the woodland’s breath, throw down your tombstone, the world’s become a grave. My brothers and sisters, said the voice on the radio, Let us…
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What Is It #4
The Weekly Prompt “What is it?“: Post a partial photo of something. Can you guess what it is? And here’s the full image to see if your guess was right. You’ll find the Weekly Prompt at https://weeklyprompts.com/2020/06/13/weekend-challenge-what-is-it-4/
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for Miz Quickly: 12 June
A Mule Bone I walked my bones between Angels. Toward a hairline horizon of molten sounds of wind. On a quiver of arrows and splintered thoughts. On sand almost sea. Where wings beat backwards and the sun shines unspent, underground and under wood. I walked with a handful of miracles, a testament to a…
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For Miz Quickly: 11th for the 12th June
Past Scents That’s me and Mum in that photo. Mum always said that I smelled like warm strawberry fields. I’d stick dandelions in my hair. It was like wearing a canary. Made me chirpy, and all flighty. All that chirping drove Mum mad. And when I said, No, I didn’t eat all the cookies, she…
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for Miz Quickly: 11 June
In the style of “Spoon River Anthology” by Edgar Lee Masters Corinna Rosetti I was born on a breeze – cleaned, polished as bright pink as roses growing fragrant, petals drifting like stars across the sky, and I loved the night. I’d stare out like a moon leaning over the lake. I lived in a house…
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dVerse Prosery
We’re sat opposite each other. She’s drowning milky foam into her coffee. I’m telling her about this poem, has this imperturbable street. She looks up from her coffee. Stares at me. Yeah, imperturbable. What does it mean, she says. I admit I didn’t know either, so I knocked bits off the word, first “im”, then…
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7 June: A Conversation
Night You are my talcum star, scarlet on your lips, it’s your shade. Swathed in black, is it your protest, or my consolation. What hides behind your mask. You are my Nyx …. Day Morning is my peach, espalier across the linens. Ripe and soaking in sunshine, fingers playing my long song. Who is…
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Miz Q 05: A Few Words
You’re 19, Drunk, and … you don’t think so now, but you, too, will grow old and die. you, squatting in your own puddled cess, pissing down your leg, and not even caring. so I praise my threes and nines, my bottle of bleach and a stiff long-handled bristled brush. 4b 05.06 and…
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dVerse & Miz Q 04: Vacation
Ferienskifahrer I remember that our ski instructor called us Die ferienskifahrer. Holiday skiers, he said. Didn’t bother disguising the sneer on his lips. Our muscles tore and bits on bones chipped as we fell on the snow. Ferienskifahrer. We, with our legs stuck under desks for 50 weeks of the year. We, conquering the Alps…
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Miz Q04: Vacation
Blowing Through Skagen I’ve been to Skagen. Once. I was young. Seems like yesterday. There was grey gritty sand blowing down the street. Danish flags snapping the air, fringed edges, flagellated by wind. We walked the beach. Licked strawberry ice cream, and chewed grit for several days after. Stayed in a hotel straight out of…
