No Gods, No Monsters, Just The Mother of Dragons – Misky

Is that you, Daenerys Targaryen, in a flame-red frock, and riding the air like a dragon? Is that you burning down the place? What I know of her comes from catching that final episode of Game of Thrones. For eight years, I watched something else. Or nothing else. But I saw that last episode, and it was bloody well worth waiting eight years for. This, for me, is proof that if you play with fire, expect things to burn. Like my neighbour who incinerated her kitchen with a blow torch. Aimed it at a meringue, and set light the net curtains. Fire brigade. Hoses. Water. Foam everywhere. Being a good friend, I invited her over for dinner that night, so she didn’t have to burn anything else. And as for those mothers of dragons, my mum had two. But that’s a story for another time.

It burns bright and loud
Fire from a person’s heart
So save what’s worthy


Misky lives in the UK, surrounded by fields and hills, flowers, and vineyards. She never buys clothing without pockets. Her poetry and prose are widely published, and regularly featured in Ten Penny Players monthly publications. Her photography is published with Unsplash. 

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