Tag: Poetry
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Day 14: #JusJoJan “Freckled”
A FRECKLED SKY OF STARS There’s a flute in the trees.Did you hear its song.It’s as short as a dream. A whispered lullaby.A cellar into sleep. Close your itchy eyeson night’s freckled stars.Dream across the sky. Written for Day 14: JusJoJan “Freckled” ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting #apoemaday on Twitter
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Q14: A Journey of Limited Space
A JOURNEY OF LIMITED SPACE I’ll pack a bag,lock out thoseleathery tongues ofnews and politics. Packa bag full of memoriesfor a long journey into light. I’ll close my eyes and close my lips,hold the world between two fingers. Yesterday, I opened a drawerand discovered I’ve beencollecting elastic rubber bands. A box of them.And a jar…
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dVerse: Tuesday Poetics Haibun
The Table of Imaginary Dreams Until we knocked walls down, this was the dining room. Now it’s a bright corner with a heavy oak table, chairs that won’t slide easily under the table when you’re sitting on them. And there, an old milk bottle with a few flowers bending from the stem. Even in winter…
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Q13: Body Memory
BODY MEMORY I.We sat crosslegged, our fingersstrolling through the lawn,searching out four leaf clover. II.The chill from grass climbedup our legs – summer’s leanas cotton shorts and skirts. III.I turned my back to the sun,but in truth all I wanted wasto hold its long gaze on me. IV.Lemonade, sharp as the sun,fit for an old…
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Miz Quickly’s Day 12 Words
A Book Called: WE DO THIS ‘TIL WE FREE US (so we can walk with snowdrops again) Rain and sop. A walk homein a wet reddish twilight,and watched overby a corroded moon. It felt too warm for January,this passive rain that tugs meunderfoot. This lilting suckof mud, and a…
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Day 12: The Mirror and the Palette
Look how winter rearranges things. Leaves. Life. Debris. It dances deranged around trees, strips then bare, and thenknocks them down. Written for GoDogGo Café. A Book called “The Mirror and The Palette” – Constraint: The title of a book is included in the title or the body of your poem. ©Misky 2022. Shared with #amwriting #GoDOGGoCafe #GreatReadsPromptChallenge on…
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Q2 & Q6: The Sheepish Side of Imaginary Dreams
THE SHEEPISH SIDE OF IMAGINARY DREAMS We’re on the old roadto the sea.An afternoon driveagainst sharp winter sun. Dressed warm,a woolly jumper,thick socks, and old bootswith knotted laces. County roads and potholes. It’s like driving on a dinosaur’s back. And the car’s developed a chirp. It’s a prick in my ear, the sort of sound…
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Miz Q’s 8 June and Twiglet #230
A Thin Moon Stings This thin moon hangs in a void with itsinaudible hush. Wanders about on a breezy cosmic pulley. Rises up clearand as bright as blackbird’s song. Thin moon stings the sky, pale and veiled,sings over our muted voice. Takes our secrets to the grave. Old moon free ofmy worry. On a rope…
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for PB Day 2
A Sonnet to a Lemon Drop It’s like this, I said, you know when you walk through Lynch Gate at St Nicholas’s church, with the old yew tree leaning toward you, and every parishioner for a 1,000 years is buried underfoot, and tombstones lean just like that yew tree, and you open those church doors, heavy…
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PB Day 1
A Spectre Mum was the space between fragile and forever, between fierce and a cheek-swept kiss. There was once a memory with her name, a spectre now. I heard it once, it tugged at my sleep, and then scattered off my fingertips when I woke. If I forget will you forgive me? I passed a shop window today. My world’s closed, windows soaped…
It's Still Life 