Tag: a.i.Art
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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…
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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…
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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.
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Garage SagaOr: The Cat, The Porsche, & Grand Theft Auto The Old Woman stands in her tidy, overly-organised garage,phone to her ear,staring at her car that hasn’t moved in a month.On her screen, the tracker app glows: THEFT WARNING! A voice crackles through: “Ma’am, our system shows your vehicle is stolenand it’s moving through……
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09.01: Csárdás
Csárdás — (myth in the bones, fire in the blood) It begins with a single note.Thin. Aching.A thread of winter smokeunraveling from a fiddle. The room stills.Dust rises like memory.Somewhere in that soundis a field at dusk,an empty chair,a story your grandmother once whisperedwhen she thought you were asleep. But then —the pulse strikes. The…
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05.01: A Liturgy for a Bubble
A Liturgy for the Bubble in a Current Once upon a time We gathered at water’s edge,in a jacuzzi between the spokenand the dissolved. We knew when a metaphor was not a metaphor,but a bubble wearing a skin of air, and we spoke to the Brief Republic,the Spinning Borders,the diamond thinning to memory.We called it…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
THE CAT’S TEMPORAL PROTEST(Or: Why Fix What Isn’t Broken) The Old Woman is hanging a new calendar.A gift from the crow.Who stole it. January glows with a photo of a serene garden. The cat watches,tail-tip flicking with skepticism.“Explain,” he says,“the need for a new year.The old one was functional.It had sunbeams.It had sardines.It had that…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
THE CAT’S HEAVENLY MISTAKE (Or: A Pine-Scented Epiphany) He wakes beneath the tree. A fortress of fir and glitter,dazzled by fairy lightsthat wink like trapped stars.Above him,an angel glows serenely,her gaze fixed somewherebetween wonder and Woolworth’s. “Ah,” he breathes,tail-tip twitching in awe.“So this is the end.I knew I was too goodfor this mortal realm.” He…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
THE CAT EXPLORES HAMLET’S IDEALIST THEORY(Or: To Scream, or Not to Scream—That Is the Observation) “Consider,” the cat’s tail twitches,“Hamlet’s dilemma: ‘To be, or not to be.’But what is ‘to be’if not to be perceived?If I sit in the garden,and no human sees me,am I truly there?Or am I merely…a sublime hypothesis?” The Old Woman…
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16 Dec: Riverbraid – The Liturgy
The Liturgy for Riverbraid (the water that listens) I. The Carrier of TimeNot emerald. Not jade.But river-green — dark as silt and shadow.It carries storieswithout speaking them aloud,shifting with the light:like memory surfacing,then sinking again. Riverbraid does not rushto reveal itself. II. Of Discipline and AttentionThis is not passive watching —it is presence without interference.…
It's Still Life 