My public writing exercises have been sporadic (at best) since the demise of Twitter… But a critical mass of that writing community has now anointed Bluesky the heir apparent, so 2026 finally brings more short-form work.
Prompt: Unmoored (vss365)
A vessel I wrought
of intention and dream
sits scuttled below
(an inept submarine)
And all that remains
as I weep on the pier
is the mooring and rope
that once anchored her there
I’d unmoor her, I should
a gift to the sea
for the seasons have turned
and she’s anchoring me
Prompt: Thrum (vss365)
Each sibilant
sprays from your tongue
with such
vanity and vitriol
You are the stone-thrower
the self-proclaimed genius
dicksplaining from the back—
but absent for the real work
The tedious thrum of
all your ruinous rage
sickens me
Prompt: Cusp (vss365)
She liked a life less languid
so she auctioned off her soul
The demons offered riches
but adventure was her goal:
She scuffed the ritual circle
tore the veil open wide
and there upon the #cusp of worlds
’tis said she never died
Prompt: Ruse (vss365)
“It is a panacea
a balm for any ill
and yours for only P&P”
But then I got the bill
And yes it’s true, I didn’t dwell
on bodily distress
poring over fine print
untangling the mess
Confronted with my evidence
he
admitted to a fiction
apologised sincerely—
then sold me a subscription
Prompt: Ruse (vss365)
I make my bed
so why are you always
lying
in it?
Prompt: Slip (vss365)
A slip of an idea
took flight and
plunged earthward
more down than feather
But a stray eye snagged
on its fledgling form
catching it, considering…
Until once again
it was thrust from the nest
before its time
Prompt: Drizzle (vss365)
I wouldn’t consider you
a downpour
a torrent
or
even a shower
More of an
incipient drizzle
seeping into
weekend plans
and muddying
my shoes
Prompt: Wane (vss365)
Jackboots stomped
the dying fire—
crushing coals into muddy mounds
as sullen smoke
announced the end—
then shuffled away
leaving only ashes
except
except
that single ember
borne on the breeze
who still carries
the hope of flame
Prompt: Wane (vss365)
The codecs are invalid now
the audio unclear
and resolution dismal
not much to see or hear
I play it over anyway
and long for all I lack
with each repeat the memory wanes
a steady fade to black
Prompt: Bend (vss365)
You would have me bend
But I despise false idols—
and your golden lies
Prompt: Loom(vss365)
What waits beyond this utterance
Where Inattention looms?
When purpose falls to happenstance
and nihilism blooms;
So voice again
in present tense
these self-fulfilling curses—
another song of innocence
proclaims its final verses
