He comes the other way, a belly of puffing in his mouth. A child’s floral sun hat rests on his bald head and he carries an oven rack that swings with his stride. My mind dandles oddities knowing he’s done my work for me. dVerse Quadrille "work" hosted by msjadeli
Ron Hicks Unwanted our child my belly and you list losses... tears of griffins couldn’t salt my heart like your face now blank as the steel sky oh grant me some bloody sun Written for K. Hartless' Petite Pen Ekphrasis - Ron Hicks' artwork and Misky's Twiglet #283 (steel sky)
Dear Blogger Friends, Today I received word that Picaro Press (an offshoot of Ginninderra Press in South Australia) have agreed to publish a chapbook of 24 of my poems. It is themed around my year of cancer treatment and the loss of my friend to cancer. I am so excited that they have agreed to … Continue reading News
Regard the sliver moon: she cloaks herself in royal purple and smiles to the east, and so we must look that way too, for romance and secret notes and the unhurried chivalry of a rising sun. Listen to the colours of wakening, their flesh, their breath... And pen those words: Love and wilt and the … Continue reading Turn to where the moon is smiling…
After Misky's post: 29.1.22: I've Been Thinking In the morning still the quiet stamp of rain and chickens crooning. I take out my fiction examine the creases in half one way and then flip i chew my bottom lip afraid of tearing... such fragile invention but this morning there's a feeling that Icarus' flight might … Continue reading Ikebana Writing
(i) the moon with patina of mushroom skin premieres in a stodgy sky she’s shrouded in the feathers of candles’ breezy death. (ii) imagine if one galaxy were a grapefruit: dimpled skin and the mirrored arching through soft amber caverns what colour is the sun? (iii) a pomegranate between the flesh-white stars disguises itself as … Continue reading Still Life with Night Sky
Some say we’re all star dust and I get it now, how we’re set by the exquisite geometry of constellations Flowers built around the houses of exacting pentagons or an eagle's flight feathers their sprayed precision, the acute explosion of wattle blossom tendrils, or my own hand, its splayed fingers and the triangles between. Water's … Continue reading Sky Ink
I want to know if frogs (between small throat booms and balloon eye blinks) plait star beams with reed blades making mattresses for their frothy spawn. Or perhaps, their sixth sense skin demands shiny nova caresses ... shouldn’t we all? A masseuse for our dreaming. The background to this post is long and complicated. It … Continue reading Frog Wisdom
Three men in baseball caps on Sunday’s oval: this sublime morning (like Vivaldi’s violins) elongates their shadow legs while the leashes of the three small dogs tangle calves in random wind until grown men must hop and wobble. Spring’s tickling breeze, its infinite busy fingers, plucks browned blossoms and drops them butterfly flitting to ground … Continue reading Sunday with Dogs
(the best place for a bee) a cathedral the ceiling incandescent tangerine webbed with translucent veins in liminal reds and oranges this cocooning space clad coolly in rubber-like sheaths opening full impetuous lips to the tossing blue here the bee's humble palace Reposted from January 12, 2021 for Miz Quickly's "Best Place" Prompt
Out of the Cave 