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Miz Quickly’s Day 5: Limitations
A Withering Rain for example, he says, the rain drummed on small thunder, but we called the drought rain. The red ground naked by night — a fine drizzling, a withering rain. To dance, to dance, into all that falling and blowing at clouds, and men with mud faces spilling the air, and the mist…
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dVerse: New Beginnings
It’s Pleasant Enough You and I fell into this notion of newness, me tucked into your fluid surface of thought, floating away easy as water-logged idleness, and you’re a reflection in the eyes of stars, I say, and I’m a silhouette, or a ripple in the bathtub. It’s all very new, new as your touch;…
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Miz Quickly’s Day 4: Unexpected Tales
The Night I Smiled at a Fox I saw a fox in the garden last night. It was the colour of rusty iron. Or Kenyan soil. Sturdy little thing with a long thick tail, just like the tail on Daniel Boone’s hat — Fess Parker’s Daniel Boone. On telly. When I was twelve or so, I…
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Miz Quickly’s Day 3: A-Not-Ghazal
Chairs Our chairs are wooden, straight-back and Puritan. There’s godliness in discomfort, or so I’m told. And to think that chair came from deep forest green. Its nose in the clouds, feet deep as a biblical read. I dust off its rungs once in a while, when I remember. Is that sloth…
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dVerse Quadrille #23
A Cold Front The air is brisk. Engaging. Better than this day deserves. Close fog sniffs at curls of rising steam from the lake, and all I hear is the lapping of wandering waves against a metal rowboat. But summer will come; manicured lawns, yellowed by heat. dVerse Quadrille #23 “Curl”
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Visual Verse Vol. 4, Chapter 2
Brighter than Cold She was luminous, like aluminium bleachers or magnesium light. Always running hot and cold, tempered, and oblivious to her own chill. For three months, when I was 12, I thought maybe I loved her. She’d stand in the doorway, and absorb every thought, most of them about her — self-absorbed comes to…
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Day 2: Miz Quickly’s Inventive Momentum
The Momentum of a Long Thin Shadow I. It feels good to let my head go still, go quiet as dust. That’s why I walk. With direction. With momentum. Purpose. — toward a blue sky horizon, just beyond the red tiled roof of the house over there. Through a landscape damp with winter. And my…
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Day 1: A Bit More Quickly History
Into and Out of It Again Even the dogs hang on to their hunger, these wretched days of suspicion and selfish prayers. Last year we lit beacons to brighten dull skies as the news fell in and out of truth and harm. Now we hide our thoughts in our eyebrows, and long for some past…
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Day 1: A Little Music for Miz Quickly
I Made a Little Music …bought a piano, learned that my fingers no longer belong to me, but I can make a broad blade of grass whistle; it’s such a torturous sound, so I sip tea and hum delight, fold hankies into origami shapes. for Miz Quickly’s Day 1:
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A Bit of Pure Fiction for Sunday Whirl #280
It’s Never Just About a Back Door Slamming More like a mean demon wind, always bristling against my good nature, banging like iced-cruel fingers, he said, in that way he has with words… The back door slammed again, bruising the door frame. It was already hanging thin by its own echo. Damned kids can’t do anything…
It's Still Life 