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22 April: NaPoWriMo (a haibun)
It’s lazy-hot for mid-May. A few days before she finishes 6th grade, and she can hear her mother talking, voices slipping in and out of her open bedroom window, “somethingsomethingsometimes she makes my flesh crawl,” so she knows what she’s telling the neighbour. She swings her feet off the bed, she’s wearing white cotton socks…
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22 April: Found Poetry (Remixed)
22 April page 83.2 Your hours are wings, the wind and sun tear at skin, it’s a free song from dawn to dawn. Images are copyright and not to used without permission, which I willingly give when asked, and when not for commercial use. This is the start of new series of “remixed” Found Poetry…
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21 April: NaPoWriMo
A Stark Hand I am in the strange hands of wind that reach the cliffs and pebble beach. I have come here to hear the voice of time’s sentinel, its sun-washed ancient secrets. Tell me of your lost lore, what guards your stark hand so well. I turn my face to the sky where by…
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21 April: Found Poetry (Remixed)
21 April page 81 Sap is not in furrowed bark, nor wing, nor claw, bloom or flock. You are not the veil in a mirror. You are the mirror. Images are copyright and not to used without permission, which I willingly give when asked, and when not for commercial use. This is the start of…
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20 April: NaPoWriMo
A (Prose) Poem Starting with a Line from Armageddon by T. Silverman Every time I see you, I ask if Bruce Willis is dead. For months, the days repeated and the windows were blank with winter, and then it was April – an eclipse, red-tint full moon from Sahara dust, and a devil-horned asteroid, and…
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20 April: Found Poetry (Remixed)
20 April page 80.4-5 Rise dawn from the east. Lean from windows at sunrise. Spring is leaping into summer heat. Images are copyright and not to used without permission, which I willingly give when asked, and when not for commercial use. This is the start of new series of “remixed” Found Poetry sourced from the…
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19 April: NaPoWriMo
A Blot Upon It All She calls me her blot. Her watermark. As if she’d looked directly into the sun, or a flashbulb had gone off in too close a proximity. Like January eyes – bokeh’d, fogged, a wet ache, foot-loose, if those eyes were feet. Forlorn perhaps, but not always, just as night can’t…
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19 April: Found Poetry (Remixed)
19 April page 80.1-3 She, is the weaver of speech. She, shakes the earth with soft whispering that quivers a shadow. Images are copyright and not to used without permission, which I willingly give when asked, and when not for commercial use. This is the start of new series of “remixed” Found Poetry sourced from…
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18 April: NaPoWriMo
The Old Woman Who’s Not Whistler’s Mother She’s not Whistler’s mother,but if she were, she’d describeherself as the shape of cloudson the way to a different life. And she might suggest thatshe is a dinosaur … not plasticas that’s not been invented yet,who’s bored with herself. And that her cheeks, once pink,are now the colour…
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18 April: A Thursday Door
Traitor’s Gate at the Tower of London 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 holiday snaps and found a few to share. ©Misky 2024 Shared on X #amwriting @bushboywhotweet and…
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