Mirakee
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
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
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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)
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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 -
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
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Photo credit: Me and Annabelle Lee
(IG: meandannabellee1)
#horror #creepy #twosentencehorrorstoriesTwo Sentence Horror Story
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"Oh f*ck!"
He ejaculated
Both literarily and literally
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Utopia
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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
