-
1701: Ten Things of Thankful
1. Thankful for the warmth and comfort from a big pot of homemade soup. It’s good for all that ails. 2. The first hint of spring as crocus leaves appear through the crisp edge of frost. 3. Sunshine and blue sky on Tuesday. The fences steamed as the thawed. 4. This week’s Six Sentence Stories. I had a…
-
Csárdás Part 2
Csárdás (as the ancestors told it) First,a single note. Thin as winter smoke slips from the fiddle and winds through the roomlike an old woman’s blessing. It is the colour of duskon the Great Plain,the colour of storieswhispered beside the stovewhen wolves were still believed in. The bow drags slowly:sír a hegedű,the fiddle cries,and every…
-
1501: A Thursday Door
Bushboy (Brian Dodd) shares photos of doors, but not just any doors. Spectacular doors from his journeys. Dan’s Thursday Doors opened the door on this. I love doors of all sorts and here’s mine for this week. ©Misky 2022-2026 Shared on X #amwriting @bushboywhotweet and @DAntion
-
1501: His Weather
His Weather I know a small boy made of bottled thunder.His fingers hook into claws;his body drops to a low animal growl,a sound dragged up from somewhere older than words. His mother says her boy frightens her sometimes,that in those momentslove feels like a thing with edges. I watch his hands braid themselves into fists.When…
-
1401: dVerse Quadrille
Rainy Smile You ask why I am smiling.This grey dawnis its own kind of gift;the rain’s rhythmon the windowpane is a hymn I understand—the world,in its wet,patient way,offers itself to me again.And I say, yes,thank you. written for dVerse Poets Quadrille #239 “smile” , poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2026.
-
1301: Six Sentence Story
Dancing with Lions She anchors her black stiletto heel to the bar stool; the ritual wait for a man that doesn’t exist, polishing the fantasy of him until it shines. A muffled laugh works loose, a private rebellion echoing in her throat — the kind you make when a voice you invent leans in and…
-
1201: The Voice, A Six Liturgy
A Liturgy for the Hollow & the Heel The Invocation This is the hook on the polished stool,the calling of lacquered lightand murmuring ghosts. This is not emptiness,this is a chamber.The Bistro.The Stiletto.The Anchor.The Hook of the Night. The Invented Whisper. Of Anchors and Architecture This is sacred geometry.This is waiting.The black heel,the spike of…
-
120126: Calarcá
Calarcá, Colombia: Two Days Before Christmas I.Night View The village square is a wound stitched with fairylights.Luminous sutureson the velvet of night. The plastic kings in earnest ride,the donkey, a cow,and Godnewborn abide. And from the church,a martial woven pleamarches forward in lockstep harmony. But turn your eye,just turn your head,the alley breathes beside the…
-
110126: Japanese Short Form Poetry
Senryuleaves frame the old homessomeone lives here, quietlymending the day Haikustone learning stillnessmoss writes its slow green letterswhere rain remembers Senryuleaves cling, moss clingsin the window, a single lampclings to its warmth. Haikubrick wall, stone housesall framed by the patient mossof time letting go. SenHai #34 poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2026.
It's Still Life 