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Vivaldi’s Winter — L’Inverno (1st Movement) #6
6 Vivaldi’s Winter — L’Inverno (1st Movement) Prologue for the Deaf Listener: This project (multi-part) is written with the deaf reader in mind. It translates orchestral movement into embodied language. These words are the sound of cold becoming a lash. Bring on the wind with teeth of glass, biting bare branches into prayers of splinter.…
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2602: MicroDosing 100 µg
In the forest’s throatthe oldest voice is root-deep.Slow.Patiently churning. It speaks in a languageof decayand renewal.Unhurriedand whispering —what we never thought to hear. Its green voice, thinand light, softlysusurrusleaf against leaf,tiny tonguesdebatingthe wind’s direction. It quickens —a shrew’s panicked prayer,a beetle’s silent counting,an owl’s velveteen questionsthat need no answer. And holding it all,a voice that…
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2602: 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. I’ve trawled through my photos and found a few to share. ©Misky 2022-2026 Shared on X #amwriting @bushboywhotweet and @DAntion
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Vivaldi’s Winter — L’Inverno (1st Movement) #5
5 Vivaldi’s Winter — L’Inverno (1st Movement) Prologue for the Deaf Listener: This project (multi-part) is written with the deaf reader in mind. It translates orchestral movement into embodied language. These words are the sound of cold becoming a lash. Bring on the wind with teeth of glass, biting bare branches into prayers of splinter.…
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2602: Ten Things of Thankful
1) I am thankful that when he woke in the middle of the night, hungry, and prepared an apple—leaving the core and knife on the kitchen countertop overnight—that it was an apple rather than ice cream. 2) Never turn your back on the dead. That orchid that I declared dead a few weeks ago, is…
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2502: MicroDosing 70µg
One Heron It came from the river’s grey throat,one syllable of stillnesswritten against moving sky. On the neighbour’s ridge,it folds its long prayersinto the shape of patience.Legs like reeds.Neck like questions.Waiting for the world to offer somethingworthy of its hunger. But know:the soul does not arrive.It alights.And stays only as long asthe heart can bear…
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2502: dVerse Hunger
Hunger for the Quiet of Stars Not for bread. Not for knowing.This hunger has no mouth. It pulls toward the hourwhen clocks forget purpose,when the sky’s deep bruiseoffers its cold, patient pulse. To fold inward like a held breath.To be,the star no one names. Written for DVerse Poets Quadrille “hunger” Image from Nasa: Cat Eye Nebula.…
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2402: Brigid’s Diary – A Six
Part 3, Lyon, December 1834 Cathédrale Saint-Jean-Baptiste de Lyon The Diligence carriage delivered us to Lyon in pieces, every rut a verdict, every mile a lesson in endurance. But we had arrived, met with December’s Festival of Lights, the Rhône’s river-stink, and brightness laid over hunger like Lyon’s silk over a bruise. Felreil and I…
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2302: Tessaly
A Cat Named Thessaly She came because she chose to.A small black defiance of gravity,fur electric with purpose,already naming herself into their hearts. They say grief is a flickering.A light that won’t decide,the house breathing differentlyin the spaces she used to fill. He held her at the end.Let that land.He held her while the asthmatook…
It's Still Life 