Tag: Poetry
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10.24: MicroDosing 130µg
Walking Westport The sea breaks inches from where I stand. It’s a cannon’s rush on my ears. A tempest. The sound of purgatory. We’re walking fast along wet sand, the tide pushing us faster, the beach is paper-flat and straight into the west sky. We’re barefoot. Mum says it’s good for the arches of our…
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22.10: Briarthrest – The Liturgy
24 of 27: Briarthrest – The restlessness that follows after healing I. After the Breaking:It doesn’t come while you’re breaking.It comes afterward,the moment you find yourselfunmoored from ache. It’s not the wound.Not the grief,but a chair empty at the table.You learned to eat alone.You stopped setting a place. II. After the Healing:It is what the…
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22.10 MicroDosing 70 µg
Floriography She went barefoot into the brittle garden, the earth creaking like old knees. Dandelion nodded its tired gold; yarrow whispered of stubborn hearts. She bent and gathered what still offered itself: Queen Anne’s Lace, sage, a handful of seed, an autumn-washed grape leaf. From a chipped jug she poured moonwater, murmured gratitude to the…
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20.10: Glintmere – The Liturgy
25 of 27 Glintmere – The Hesitant Harmony of a Road Trip with My Sister I. The PreludeA road trip does not begin with music —it begins with the space between music,that heartbeat when the radio cracklesand neither of you reach to change it,when Paul Simon’s voice is a third passengerand the silence stops being…
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20.10: Kintsugi’s Language of Lacquer
This poem is inspired by Spira’s Edo era music creation, and I highly recommend that you listen to his creation. Language, here, is not a melody but a collection of lacquered shards — each word a resonant fragment. The music lives in the gaps, in the negative space (ma), and in the reader’s act of golden repair…
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19 Oct: SenHai #22
Cold Fire Senryū Bare branches claw up —The sky bleeds its wounds in hues.A cold, lonely prayer. Haiku Winter branches tracemoon’s veiled, burning palette —night’s silent, cold fire. Written for SenHai #22. Poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2025.
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18.10: MicroDosing 50 µg
The Gentlest Stalker The past is a quiet stalker. It walks beside you in the supermarket. A breath. A faint chill as you reach for peaches. It sits beside you, a silhouette you never quite see, but always feel. It’s the ghost of who you were, keeping pace with who you are. Written for Microdosing: 50µg…
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16.10: dVerse Headless
A Steed’s Lament in Sleepy Hollow They call me omen, call me curse,a shadow-mare to haul the headless hearse.He grips my flanks with knees of bone,and rides me through the mourner’s moan. I toss my mane — he cannot see.I choose the path — what use is he?I’ve borne the weight of sin and dread,but…
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15.10: MicroDosing 50 µg
Paint It Black He didn’t paint the void; he painted its memory. Like hollows left when a star collapses. Or silence after a string snaps. The shape of breath frozen midair. He mixed not pigment, but absence — until the canvas was but a door. And from the other side, something began to knock. Written…
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13.10: Wraithborne – The Liturgy
23 of 27 – Wraithborne: A glance mistaken for something else The Liturgy for Wraithborne I. The GlanceNot a ghost — just time’s stutter,a flicker where the light bends wrongand suddenly, you’re staringat a face you almost lovedin a life you almost lived.Wraithborne grins.You blink.The crow swallows the evidence. II. Its ColourAsh-lit violet is the…
It's Still Life 