I’m not a work of historical fiction My life, a haiku. A moment of stillness. My bare feet on the floor. GloPoWriMo Day 7

Honey Its sizzly hug, Its sibilants all buzzy, Like velvet on your tongue. Its taste all fuzzy. Smoldering is its home of gold, its inhabita...

  The sound of old furniture at three o’clock in the morning The clock clears its throat. It pauses dramatically. Then, with a hint of frenz...

  Of shipwrecks, safe havens and wings I am not sure what the painting represents. Maybe a shipwreck. Or a day in the life of a seagull. Or ...

  I am sure the neighbours appreciate me as a poet While the neighbours sleep like babies, I am here breaking the furniture I am here singin...

  By Klügmann Painter - Jastrow (2006), Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=668158 You know who you are You give ...

  How Mona Lisa was painted He painted her on a base of red-brown ochre. He dressed her in iron oxide and vegetable browns. The colours of h...