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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…
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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…
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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…
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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,…
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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.…
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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
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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
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Poetic Bloomings: 20 July
Wednesday, 20 July I listened to the timbre of crows last night — fighting over scraps. I chased them off into the drizzle. Into the trees. I can’t forgive their charred voices. I can’t forgive the end of peace. © Misky 2016 for Poetic Bloomings: “Last Days“
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dVerse Quadrille #13
A Fluttering Folly Time’s not making this any easier; I wear your memory like a ring. Twist it when it’s too tight, curse it like a floundering rite when it aches. Memories of all my failures, fluttering follies like sails on little boats fleeing this journey. © Misky 2016. For dVerse Quadrille #13…
It's Still Life 