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Off-Season for Miz Quickly
Winter at Fjellebroen Havn It clings. The ice is thick on the masts, thick in ropey skeins, and the riggings whine with the singing wind. Straight out of the north. It’s come. It’s lost. Diamond hard. It bites. Feels white as bone, this snow howling across our backs. The air is a carnival swirl. And…
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A Sestina for Miz Quickly
Battered Clouds Shallow grass of fluid green, flows broad, old river Narrow as shadows that slip between bridge and roots. So softly spoken as you drift, fall, these leaves That tumble everywhere, thirsty as the clear blue sky. You shape a daydream, of home, of battered clouds, Your right hand holds tight the last curls…
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dVerse Quadrille #61
Puzzles The neighbour has a white rabbit, and a terrier that yaps all day long (at that rabbit) — and there’s an empty vase set on the windowsill, shaped like an over-ripe woman (desirous of sex). It’s like a puzzle, that’s missing a few vital pieces. for dVerse Quadrille #61 and Punctuation & Enjambment
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A Study in Repetition for Miz Quickly
A Study In Repetition I dreamt the world was an indefinite wobble, days became months and years. I dreamt the world was an indefinite wobble, stinking and broken from within. I dreamt the world was an indefinite wobble, clouds were chiseled by the wind. I dreamt the world was an indefinite wobble, while words teased…
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dVerse Rooms
Grandpa was autumn. That’s how I saw him. In his brown trousers and rusty-red shirt and a folded paper hat on his head that looked like an origami boat, and he’d stand there in his basement workshop sawing up some piece of driftwood, sawdust flying about like a blizzard. A lightbulb hung from a cord…
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Twiglet #86
games we played games with little words, round and small as pebbles. Poop, she said and fell into laughter. never mind the extra O. we kept it spare as change. For Twiglets #86
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dVerse Quadrille #60
The Art of Scratching I’m an itcher, perfected as a child. Mum made me a coat from Dad’s old peacoat – worn during the war, only war worth fighting (he said), claimed every shot since was political mischief. Hated that coat. Scratched my neck raw. Like rope burn. dVerse Quadrille #60
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Haibun and a Twiglet
I. It’s hot. Like record-breaking hot. I want to chill my skin across cold marble. Like shortcrust pastry needs. Or submerge myself into a wave, into the sequinned imagination of a mermaid. Like a cold water fish. Like a big old lazy cod. I want to hibernate in a green grassy mirage before I falter…
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Three Thoughts on a Saturday Afternoon
Three Thoughts on a Saturday Afternoon I. As seen from Those folds and rolls Of clouds that skate The sky, a slate puzzle Fitted and tucked Jigged and jointed Like words strung Into long sentences Into a bridge from This horizon to where, I am your audience. [inspired by dVerse “Solstice Couplets” and…
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A Freedom Haibun for dVerse
A Last Gasp Breath I learned today that he died on Saturday. Liver cancer. He didn’t want to live in that soon-gone-body any more. Didn’t want those same wiry eyebrows that knitted together, a spiky caterpillar, when he frowned in pain. Didn’t want those same weak legs. Weak creaky knees that refused to hold his…
It's Still Life 