Sky Collection Prompt #35: A Dizain — Once, Art Club was my fervent heart’s desire Unkindly overlooked, came home in tears Mother, on my side, took action dire: The consequence would echo down the years. Next day, with barely hidden eye-roll sneers, The teacher acquiesced; but I could see I was not welcome: she made clear to…

A Dizain Duet: Poetry from The Junkman’s Widow — Vintage Print 1: On my grandad’s mantel, back in the day Was a print he favoured, illegibly signed My nana was blind, and when I would stay She taught me to travel, using my mind Explorers we two, our world unconfined. As afternoon passed, together we’d rock, In her brown fuzzy chair, travel…

Poetry from The Junk Man’s Widow: It turns out that clocks refuse to stop, no matter how we feel… — Shortly after Dave’s death, I came across the poem ‘Funeral Blues’ by W.H. Auden, one of my favourite poets. It was exactly how I felt: “…The stars are not wanted now; put out every one, Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,” You are familiar with this poem if…

A prose-poem by The Junk Man’s Widow — Insinuation began with an unavoidable visit, arranged by the dead husband's friend, who considers himself best. He ingratiates with promises of help, for the myriad tasks left incomplete, by her husband, her Dear, departed. At first, it seems a mutual support, a similar grief, lessened by sharing. In the Aftermath…

Widowhood, on the day you should have turned 63 — Blank days of silence. I’m a ghost in my own house. Not the ghost I’m hoping for: Just me, here alone, haunting the remains of my own life. Seems like it’s three down, one up: Today is down. Black Sea-bottom down. Can’t seem to get anything started, voice of the…

Uncommon poetic forms: a Dizain — Shifting, remaking, old clay into new, bitter reward, all the arguments won, shapes unimagined, this world without you. Your loss left me broken, splintered, undone. Still, I’m so grateful, for your gift: Our son. Don’t know how anyone does this, alone; try to keep busy, my heart like a stone. With one last breath, you flew off…

An Ottava Rima — Star-gazing last night, in the yard, alone Fragments of light for my dark, tattered soul Wishing to follow wherever you’ve flown Broken, in pieces where once, I was whole Memory haunts me, my heart like a stone Sorrow that only your ghost could console Sharp is the pain, of my…

Diagnosis Day, and beyond — When autumn, unexpected becomes nuclear winter, a tsunami of pain descends to wash away our plans, to destroy the future we desired: Only hope remains. Hold tight to hope: although it comes with layers, each day peeling back a skin of loss, with bitter tears cascade of pain, riptide of despair…

An acolyte’s lament — I must swallow fear and forge ahead; a gifted ear is not sufficient: Despite my panic and my dread, I need much more, to be proficient. Like music, I must learn to read, metre, scansion, rhythm and rhyme: Editing skills are what I need to elevate my muse sublime. To…