Tag: RDP
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27 June: A Thameslink Elegy
This poem is best read accompanied by “Spiegel im Spiegel” by Arvo Pärt. Let the music hold the silence between the lines. The Unspooling: A Thameslink Elegy The morning began folded into metal wings,Calder’s mobiles turning the gallery airinto a cantata of pivots—my ears catching what my eyescouldn’t hold. (I listened, a recording, your voice,…
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for RDP “Identity”
The Fibre of Water some days I want toempty myself on the tableand see who sits down. some daysI use long as a verb. some days I wishI had been allowedto be left-handed. some days I counteating ice cream as exercise. some days I walk in the rain,and walk back home in the rain.some days…
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7 July: Oats in the Water (#rdp)
Oats in the Water he sleeps as stars align,grey beard, bristled by light.a voice in my ear sings an evening song, it comeswith dinner’s washing uppots, pans in the sink and it’s Oats in the Water.I cease to think aboutif the moon has a name. Written for RDP “wash” Music “Oats in the Water” by Ben Howard. Some…
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21 August: The Art of Queueing
The A.I. Midjourney art of queueing in the style of Edward Gorey. View each full size image by clicking on it. Created for Ragtag Daily Prompt “queue” – created using Midjourney. ©Misky 2023.
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18 May: Ragtag Daily Prompt
Light as Bees Wings The morning sun iswarm as a peal of bells.Grey squirrels spiral upand down a tree trunk,and the sky’s bursting blue. This pétillant spring airis as light as bees wings. Written for Brian’s Ragtag Daily Prompt: Pétillant . AI Digital Artwork is my own, created using AI Midjourney. Imagery and poems ©Misky 2023.
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13 May: Not Bothered
Not Bothered My neighbour just hurled herself into a taxi.Going on holiday. Somewhere warm, she says. I walk out the back door on to the patio. Into the rain. It’s mid-May, and too cold for bees. Apple treesare in bloom, but timing’s all wrong this year. That thin skin of vibrant green that comesat the…
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14 April: for Ragtag Daily Prompts
Music Ripe as Raspberries A cigar, he says, is like narration, it sets the scene, and he’s playing his fiddle as if it’s a woman, fingers an insatiable eternal hunger, and the air’s upbeat with scratchy voices, words fast and a finger-width apart, and his teeth, the colour of walnutand chrome, gnash on that cigar…
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7 April: NaPoWriMo and RDP Day 7
On the Kitchen Windowsill There’s a finger-length silver shoe with a notch, it’s an ashtray but never used as such, and next to it a small terra cotta chicken with a wooden spoon protruding from the back of its neck, for salsa I’m told, bought it in Cartagena on a hot day after a miserable…
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6 April: NaPoWriMo and RDP Day 6
A Spoonful of Urban White In the echoes of distance, all there, gathered in this milky night, were destined to sombre lament. Their footsteps, a river of invadingsecrets flooding these gritty streets,and dazzled by night’s watery lights. And the milky moon, sharp as a knifebroke through clouds, and thenfaded back into echoes again. A poem…
It's Still Life 