Tag: Poetry
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7 November: Just the Slightest
Just the slightestImperceptibleMovement of leaves. A shiver of windThrough the dried thistles. Clouds overhead Brushing the sky,As fast as a lifetime. RDP Movement . Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Imagery and poems ©Misky 2023.
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6 November: The Widow’s Stick
All year that limb hung there as if baffled by gravity’s indecision, and sometime between dark and daylight, it lost its balance, fell from the sky, and plunged to the earth. White beechwood bark peeling and curling back onto itself, lichen-poxed, and laying in the mud-soaked grass like a withered long bone. It’s what my…
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5 November: Still
Still He’s fallen asleep in his chair.The sun’s served its purpose today,it’s nearly set, and his stillness isin me. It’s not translatable. He breathes, nearly unmoving.He’s water within water.His heartbeat sounds liketiny footsteps. Running. This man of mine is a paradoxof cyclones and soft breath.Movement and salty stillness.And he burns hotter than the sun. He…
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3 November: A Moment
A Moment October.Is gone. It’s another new-born month with a new maskthat’s scented and presseddeep into me like a salty hook pullingme back to the sea, or windforking through dry leaveson bare branches or stuttering soundsof playing cards pegged onbicycle spokes. The sea has turned cold,the waterbites my toes, but only for a moment. Some…
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3 November: 03 Völuspá
Thunderclap Seidhr Odin, took her fra Valhöll’s shelf.He, her protector, and she is Vala who calls on the shapers of stars,for their threads of fate and sight, and she calls to south’s lay of lightand the sun’s earth-tethered moon. Her one hand holds steeds of Hel,in the other a death bell’s knell. Seidhr blood she…
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2 November: She Shapes the Wind
She Shapes the Wind From here,She feels the chalk cliffs breathe.Below her, The Atlantic exhales in waves,And inhales wild vapoursInto its kelp roots. She comes hereWhen her mind is a hive,When her heart despairs. She can leanInto a wall of wind, and holdMirrors to her soul’s window. Vigilance is here,Watching for those who seekPeace of…
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1 November: The Season Leaves Should Love
I.I really should love this season, gilt and ruby leaves that move with the wind, catch and hang in spider webs. But I don’t. People in my family always die in the winter. Every last damned one. II. We are like grass. Some always die, but most lift their veil in spring and renew. Recharge.…
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30 October: The Children’s Menu
The Children’s Menu It’s the nuggets.Always the nuggets.No sauce.He hates sauce. Can I substitute saucefor waffles, he asks.May I, says his mother.Yes you can, says the waitress. And he hates all the noise.It’s always the noise.Knives and forks and platesand the chewing chewing. May you turn off the noise, he asks.Can you, says his mother.No,…
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28 October: 02 Völuspá
Völuspá: The Stir They called her backfrom Valhöll, from green roots and stones. One hand on the rim of heaven,with no knowledgeof where she’d been. She is Vala,the seerer. She casts wordsacross her pearled stones, for those great and large,for fathers of old timesand early borne, for deeds of great recount,for their sons rearedto carrying…
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27 October: A Syzygy Poem
A Syzygy Poem A woman stands in the rain.Hat. No coat. No umbrella.No need. She won’t rust. Shovel in her hand, tendingthe soil. Bends and bows.Rain is her background. She sings around the edgesof a tune from her childhood,something about rainbows. A three-way split “Syzygy poem”. Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified…
It's Still Life 