kay_asmund

Hey! Call me Kay They/them pronouns pls I write stuff I'm on poetizer as Kay Åsmund Come yell at on IG @fireweedfoundation

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  • kay_asmund 90w

    Written after a night time walk at home
    #moon #nature #night @mirakee @writersnetwork

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    The Silver Eye of the Moon

    Written 24 - 11 - 18

    The silver eye of the moon
    Looms large on an ink-wash sky,
    Blue-through-grey and pricked with stars,

    And columns of clouds, twisting in spires,
    Drift over that coin, that disc,
    Behind the black stencils
    Of naked trees

    ©kay_asmund

  • kay_asmund 90w

    Parlous

    There is a word, belovèd:
    'Parlous'
    Which has some very different meanings

    In archaic terms:
    An adjective, meaning 'dangerously clever, cunning, mischievous, or shrewd'
    As an adverb, it meant 'extremely'

    In modern parlence, it means 'perilous, risky or dangerous'

    To call your beauty 'parlous'
    Belovèd
    Is correct in every aforementioned sense

    (Adapted from some notes taken 10-03-19)
    ©kay_asmund

  • kay_asmund 90w

    The Sparrow and The Macaw

    A sparrow, small and dour,
    Slipped through the bars of the aviary
    To gorge on seed and scatter fruit.

    'What are you doing here?'
    A voice sneered
    And in a bluster of wings
    A great hooked beak appeared.
    The sparrow fled to a safe distance
    To watch the macaw strut
    And eye her with distrust.

    'There's food here,' she called back,
    'More than enough
    To take my small fill
    Without affecting you much'.

    'Small or not, it's not for you'
    Hissed the parrot,
    Spreading wings of princely blue.
    'Are there sunflower seeds and banana chips in your wilderness?
    No? I thought not.
    And so you do not belong in my cage.
    You are wild because you cannot beguile
    The human folk as I can.
    What man would put you in an aviary
    To look at and treasure? None.
    And so you are destined to remain
    In that diseased state
    Of perpetual flight.'

    The sparrow had heard quite enough.
    And so, without waiting to bid him 'adieu',
    She flew out and into the endless blue.

    (Based on PΔR Suede's prompt on Poetizer)
    ©kay_asmund

  • kay_asmund 90w

    Walk in the dog park

    How should I describe the sound of winds through trees? 

    I took the dog for a walk
    (Not mine, a friend's).

    There is heat in the sun
    When it slides from the clouds,
    Promising a beating later in the season,
    But a chill breeze nips at my nape and neck
    Such that I need a coat nonetheless.

    The blossoms have passed in the park,
    The trees now resplendent in fresh young leaf.
    The foliage of  birch flashes silver through green,
    Argent pailettes of arborial currency,
    Jingling in a wind
    That rocks their gilded crowns.

    How do I describe that sound?
    Neither 'whisper' nor 'murmur'
    Quite capture its fervour
    But to call it a 'roar'
    Isn't quite right either

    It is the amplified voice of an agitated canopy,
    The susurrations of their coin-maille panoply

    This wind, I wonder, is it angry?
    Some remnant of an anguished howl
    That's built up over oceans,
    A monstrous thing run aground
    And, weakened by flight
    And the weight of its message,
    Is reduced to biting my skin for attention
    Like a dog,
    And so has called upon the trees
    To speak on its behalf?

    On the way back
    The sky spat hale
    And I breathed clouds into frozen air

    Perhaps it has always been like this in May
    And I had never though to notice
    After all, there's naught more changeful
    Than an English wind in Spring

    ©kay_asmund

  • kay_asmund 91w

    Photo credit: Me and Annabelle Lee
    (IG: meandannabellee1)
    #horror #creepy #twosentencehorrorstories

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    Two Sentence Horror Story

    ©kay_asmund

  • kay_asmund 91w

    "Oh f*ck!"

    He ejaculated
    Both literarily and literally

    ©kay_asmund

  • kay_asmund 91w

    Utopia

  • kay_asmund 91w

    Little dog, sleeping (31-12-18)

    I lie across from you at arm's length
    My hand against your chest
    Your little paws wrapped around my forearm.
    I stroke the spray of fur with one finger, gently,
    So as not to wake you.

    I watch your golden eyes
    Sometimes closed
    Sometimes open and wandering
    Vacant with sleep.

    The tiny tip of your little pink tongue peeps out
    And I watch,
    As if the entire world
    Lay at the end of your nose.
    ©kay_asmund