-
Poetic Bloomings: 26 July
Clouds I watched fugitive clouds chased across the sky. The wind was arresting. for Poetic Bloomings, 26 July
-
for dVerse: Haibun #17
Heat: To Sweat & Turn & Tick By 5 o’clock, I’m buckled into heat. Its grim tactics empty me of summer’s pleasure – no appetite for sweet cherries, no thirst for berries. And tender leaves curl in distress, shrivel into brown and brittle spines as if devoured by cruelty. And so pitiful those cankered apples…
-
Class 1: Whitman’s Civil War: Writing and Imaging Loss, Death, and Disaster
London: 7/7 We call it seven seven, the day bombs detonated. The Underground. The buses. Explosions in backpacks. We returned to the darkness, crippled as spine-broken books. But we are nowhere near dead. © Misky 2016 The response: The London Bombings of 7/7/2005. We lived in false security, a false sense of safety. So…
-
Poetic Bloomings: 25 July
Between Here and There The beach sings white. Children heard. Cries deferred to birds above, or the joyous crack of rock candy between teeth. On the rise, a breeze. Such sweet relief. We are in a momentary peacetime. Between bad news. Half way to a tide’s ebb. Half way to melting. In the grasp of…
-
Poetic Bloomings: 24 July
Here to Stay These are immortal days where my memories keep vigil to passing years. Memory-etched scenes, as if drawn from favourite books — forever loved, forever comforting, they become old friends — a kindness for resting bones. And in my late afternoons, I stretch into a feline dream, a divine summer sleep, that’s as…
-
Poetic Bloomings: 23 July
The Summer of 1966 Another regimented summer, idle hands (my mother warned), so I was never idle for fear the devil’d find me, and for eight weeks I whittled sticks, dipped matches into wax, waterproofed them, protected, and stored them in Kodak film roll cases. I sang to campfires that breathed hotter than July heat,…
-
Poetic Bloomings: 22 July
Gazing Into Puddles It’s July, and I’m star gazing at black seeds in watermelon. Gazing at rainbow sprinkles on ice cream. I count miles — 1 (one-hundred), 2 (one-hundred) … between lightning and thunder. I count fireflies; so unaware that they’ll dim and go black as those watermelon seeds. I’m gazing at miles between us.…
-
dVerse: Twitter Poetry
Tidy Mowed the grass into narrow straight lines, trimmed the edges sharp. Deadheaded roses. The apple tree needs spraying. I had my haircut today. for dVerse: Twitter-Length Poetry. 140 characters total
-
dVerse “Sevenling”
A Flinch I was smaller. Younger. Sharper. Like gravel. I spoke in consonant chords. In song. I was like earthquake weather © Misky 2016. for dVerse “Sevenling” themed music
It's Still Life 