Tag: short form poetry
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Witnesses
a collection of moments: nothing grand or forced. just soft, slightly askew truths of ordinary days — witnessed 27 March 2026: 06:43 Two pigeons. A sharp rap to the skull,feathers drifting.Love’s old, foolish arithmetic. © MB 2026
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Witnesses
a collection of moments: nothing grand or forced. just soft, slightly askew truths of ordinary days — witnessed 24 March 2026: 07:05 Yes, this is the burdenYes, this is the blessing. To be the bridgebetween the blackbird’s throatand the world’s grey static. © MB 2026
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Witnesses
a collection of moments: nothing grand or forced. just soft, slightly askew truths of ordinary days — witnessed 21 March 2026, 07:34 I.a sparrow slipsinto the colour of barknothing left movingI look where it disappearedand cannot find it again. II.late morning lightwe stand where we can be seen,faces turned outward.Once, even we knew how todisappear…
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Witnesses
a collection of moments: nothing grand or forced. just soft, slightly askew truths of ordinary days — witnessed 20 March 2026, 09:17 I.a candle for hera candle for hima finger pressed in soil fertility in a seed sownon this day of bonfires. II.Ôstara morning light burns from our flames.warmth in the soilthe seed takes what…
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Witnesses
a collection of moments: nothing grand or forced. just soft, slightly askew truths of ordinary days — witnessed 19.03.26, 11:46 eve before equinoxwe keep to winter’s last breath,palms in cooling soil.no fire, not yet. in the fieldthe hare lifts its head, listening. Happy Ostara to all who celebrate it. © MB 2026
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Witnesses
a collection of moments: nothing grand, nothing forced. just soft, slightly askew truths of ordinary days — witnessed 18.03.26, 11:28 windows left ajarthe smell of soap and wet soildrifting through the street. first warm day of springcars washed, gardens speaking back,doors open at last.the doctor’s wife tells me:he died there, weeks ago. © MB 2026
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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.
It's Still Life 