Skip to main content

160 quirky moments caught in my virtual ink




148
From the kitchen a memory spell
Of scents trickles upwards
Honeymoon musings of candle wax
Lime zest, fresh coriander

149
Sleep and recollections splice
Warm rain falls knee deep
Flip flops float off, pagoda roof
Cuts a wake through the water

150
Cut to drinking coconut
On a boat, the boat has
Eyes painted on the prow
And legs, amphibious legs

151
Aware that she is dreaming
She takes the reins of the walking boat
Steers it to a mountain hideout
Takes a swim in the clear lake

152
Not every house has
Two kitchens, this house is
Bolted together like Frankenstein’s
Monster, uniquely clumsy

153
Surfaces meet at odd angles
Some of this house seems to have
Been drawn by a child
In cheerful inaccurate crayons

154
Cloud cover differentiates, slightly
Lighter than the background
Night sky, barely perceptible
Perpetual flux

155
Under cloud cover the air
Temperature warms, enough to
Disperse the forming frost
The washing line unbobbles in drips

156
Morning is forming, cell by cell
The dawn is created. From the
Dark the day evolves, grows
Legs, lungs, opposable thumb

157
Heartbeat the size of
A thumbnail, this life is
Not ready, tiny brave heart-thumps
Fingers like fronds of sea anemone

158
Hope in the dark, prayers
Even acceptance to let him go
He sleeps, he breathes
The incubator keeps him safe

159
It is feasible that amino acids
Arrived on Earth from the
Melting water content of a
Glancing chance-met comet

160
Clouds have no DNA, the
Echo of form is pure chance
A quirk of water
Molecules variable density 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Contact Pants Conundrum

There is weather today, I do note it: take a few moments to reckon the size of a cloud (big) and the frequency of rain (sporadic.) Centre of my interest though is a stack of magazines. Not the fashion kind. This is martial arts research. I'm not even sure what it is I'm looking for, but intuition calls loud. A range of old adverts skew some amusement. Contact pants, for example. Pants are not trousers where I come from. They are underwear. Professional contact pants: improved smirk value. But why would a person be likely to purchase a grappling hook and a lock pick set? For specialists and hobbyists only, the blurb assures. Guidance on the pheromone spray that attracts women against their better judgement? I doubt it works any more proficiently than the mysterious potion that defines your muscles while you sleep. But, then: I wonder is some sprayed on this paper? What was my intuition thinking, making this ghastly shout… Tea break time. There's a lot of words...

Back From The Future Blog Party

Another joint blog adventure- if you want to see who else said what the list of participants is here . The premise is this: 'You're up before dawn on a Saturday when the doorbell rings. You haven't brewed your coffee so you wonder if you imagined the sound. Plonking the half-filled carafe in the sink, you go to the front door and cautiously swing it open. No one there. As you cast your eyes to the ground, you see a parcel addressed to you ... from you. You scoop it up and haul it inside, sensing something legitimate despite the extreme oddness of the situation. Carefully, you pry it open. Inside is a shoebox -- sent from ten years in the future -- and it's filled with items you have sent yourself. What's in it?' Here's how I imagined it: Before dawn? Shadows outside, first forming. Sleep has gone, I don't know where. Coffee I can find. All the way from Machu Pichu, this fair-traded pack. Scissors are in the drawer, which ...

A Glitch Or Two

My Chromebook has been crumbling. It seems a little like dementia, this inability to upgrade its powers of communication, it makes me sad, even for an object. It's one of the reasons my posts here have been put aside, that and generally being tumbled by tiredness. I have saved up money for a replacement, also I have spent that money on trees and shrubs. I have two novels to sort out however, and this will be the reason I save up again. I don't stop writing, even if I don't tell anyone. In the meantime should you need a calm place to go, I have begun a substack account. Please do drop by. If the kettle crumbles we can make tea (or soup) on the firepit. Me on substack:  Lisa Southard