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26.04: The Old Woman With No Cat
The Old Woman and the Second-Hand Spellbook – (Domestic Maleficia) the old woman drags home the tome—its spine cracked like a bad omen,its margins scribbled with “TRY THIS :)”in what might be bloodor very committed raspberry jam. the neighbour’s cat(now a black market bibliomancer)sniffs a page and sneezes:“ah. cursed. discounted. perfect.” the dead woman flips…
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26.04: Poem-a-Day Challenge
The Dark with Gold i save your voice in a jam jar—it hums when shaken.your laugh—a fireflyi release at dusk,stitching the dark with gold. the fridge still holdsyour half of the brownie—fossil-sweet,still waiting, some losses don’t grow lighter,only wider—like a treeforgiving its own roots. only 4 more days of too many poems a day 🤣…
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Felreil: The Liturgy – The Book of 27
Author’s Note – A Presence, Not a Story You’ve already met him. Felreil appears in every Six Sentence Story in the Book of 27. He is the stillness in the doorway—the witness behind the Colour. This is his name, his silence, his breath. (You may never see the stories the same way again after reading…
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25.04: Ten Things of Thankful
In no particular order: 1) I’m thankful for the brilliant spring display from the tulips and daffodils this spring. The break in their colour is caused by a virus, which made them highly prized during the 17th, causing Dutch tulip mania. The virus is spread by aphids, and settles in the bulb. 2) The grapevines…
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25.04 The Old Woman With No Cat
Part III. AN ELEGY FOR THE BLUE AND WHITE VASE(a sonnet-that’s-not for Grandmother’s shattered treasure) I. THE FALL it fell—not as a failureof hands,but as the last noteof a songher grandmotherleft unfinishedin this world. the blue and white shardsbloomed on the floor—porcelain hydrangeasplantedin sudden soil. II. THE JOURNEY’S END it was time.the vase had grownheavy…
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24.04 The Old Woman With No Cat
The Old Woman and Unsolicited Commentary The cat sprawls across the kitchen table—one paw possessively pinningthe old woman’s latest poem. It is a tiny, furry editor-in-chiefwith ruthless tasteand questionable credentials. “Hmmm,” it muses,scratching a commainto the margin with one claw.“It’s Oxford commasin this house.” The old woman arches an eyebrow,then adds a stanzaabout the cat’s…
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24.04: PAD Day 23 – Book
A poem starting with a line from Poem for Passengers by M. Zapruder and ‘writely‘ molested by Shakespeare (unlikely, but possible) A 33 Word Poem Like strangers on a trainwho find themselves movingin same directions, looking out the windowwithout downing books,thus Fate, that strumpet, doth but feignto keep our marginsfree of stain.
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24 Apr: A Thursday Door
This doorway feels like an old, steadfast guardian—quietly dignified, a little battered, but enduring. It might be an elderly caretaker, standing at the threshold with a gentle, knowing patience, the weathered wood and number plate are like wrinkles and laugh lines, telling stories of years gone by. There is a sense of resilience and quiet…
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23.04: A Letter to Yureth
FIVE SONGS FOR YURETH – Not Fire, But Forging Dawn licks the edges of what we almost know—brushstrokes and inkblots,the way a halo fractures—into 27 syllables. No Book ever taught us that. We are not making myths.We are peeling back the skyto find where we left them. FATE? (a quadrille of 44 words) To spin…
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23.04 The Old Woman With No Cat
Part II. LAST RITES FOR THE SHATTERED VASE(a personification ceremony conducted in four movements) I. EULOGY BY THE WORM you heldnot just water,but the pausebefore the spill. now you are1,001 portalsto elsewhere—each edgea newmouth,each curvea stoppedclock. (it sprinkles the shards with compost) II. CROW’S FINAL BLESSING he places the laughing-water shardatop the pile: let this…
It's Still Life 