my fingers trace / against the stone my flowers do die; ephialtes / in the shadows of / a deathbed / baby’s breath / a dream / threnody / & breast my flowers die in my garden, / mouthing / pseudo-ashes of the moonrise. © 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved. This piece was inspired by… Read More my flowers do die.
i. black coat / I see death / in the moon / and hawks nest / one worm / New York drinks the flowers, I could imagine, if I ever had a dream it was not like this / bone split open and blooms / ii. it’s the snow, it’s the / cold / two… Read More ii.
Wept in the death of Gods, darker still in the gathering ocean, with only tears that fall to them, in the red hyssop of the frost inclined to the penetralium of desire, as the ocean slips no fate by its sea song to kill empty, the abscission of leaf falls like glass we could not… Read More Planetary motion.
Of one memory, one for the end of the dark does not lie, I will not lie in it; darkness perfused I shut the window; here he bleeds, here he lies, though nothing is there. In furrows, mercy, it is laughable. The Earth succinct in waves in a lonely larva the dead poet’s dreams. Stand… Read More A sea becomes.
dust / to the dream /flowers fall to the glass moonand her fingertips/ in the/ ephialtes /light and / cosmic touch; you tried to /ruin me / but I’m notAtë or Ares. Spume of the oceanI will not drown /you / in my threnody / war feet / burst like the applein the trench /… Read More dust to dream.
umbilicus / of this shore / and shattered fingers like clamshells reddened to the body of death / to veteran-ed paralysis / / of beauty / the few fingers of mist / and seas are in pot-lids of darkness; my hands / laboring / are ants to the / father sea / and the stone… Read More epicedium to the sea
Display the perfection of your beauty. Hiding the flaws and the issues that it brings. For the masquerade is a ball, and life it’s dance floor. The beauty that you have, is the tool for seduction. Past it – there is nothing to take in. Just dark roads, and light less life. A/N: I free… Read More “Light Less Life” by Ruptes.
Dancing in the night, you and I, And laughing in delight. You only recently became a Daydream but have always been here, Running beside me as I Escape the reality around me, And chase the dreams that Mock my deepest fears. A/N: Not my most brilliant piece of work, but hey, writing this poem inspired… Read More “Daydream” by C. Wesley Tanner.
Hello everyone. Remember that poll? 🦗 …With the collaboration and challenge topics? 🦗 Well then. This is awkward. To recall, we had a poll to vote on for the next collaboration or challenge project. The topic that polled the highest was the worst sentence challenge. What else was interesting were the topics that tied in… Read More Worst Sentence Challenge & New Collaboration Project. (Challenge Ends in One Week!)
Here are the guidelines and rules if you are interested in participating in this project: Leave a comment expressing direct interest in writing or claiming a chapter. First come, first serve. You must comment your interest in writing a chapter. If you, however, send in a chapter without expressing interest beforehand, the submission will not be accepted,… Read More Novel Collaboration (“Identify”): Chapter 2. Who wants to write Chapter 3?
I, memory, I, a membrane and ghost meronym to memory and free— I am the thorn of flowers in your mouth, and the foot of the leaf between the limbs of a small tree halved like quarters, and still dying, I, memory, I, a membrane and ghost meronym to memory and free— Ancestress of loss… Read More I
my own deathvineyards of moons,a shallow depthof the sea, Venus sinks,I drowned and criedin my sleep, died like the ocean,born in splitminds,like the magentaof mother’s womb; a vortex of nothingfair and bonyfor the ghostof mine does not grieve these amputations of mind;absence of the moon’s bare-bones, I see the lizard limbsof the moonrise as I… Read More Five A.M.
death / split bone / a fish vomits / dream; heir or heiress, the yellow trees are fatherless; I remember the troubadour trees and their infant skeletons his blood to each leaf no seduction of the moon when there was no moon to run the drumming of tree molars and the caw of moon-eyed birds,… Read More street art
first nor last beneath the surface of the night the technical waves slam and whiten the wails of the fingers of each moon and tomb; I dreamed I wanted nothing at all not the moon and its ebony rings of blood, nor the lips of preamble’s breath to embryo fingers of a crescent moon; I… Read More first, nor last.
Ophelia flowers leaving to the excessive blindness by the fingernails of psithurism, and trees that inherit the blood red; ankles sink into the ocean stars come to the end of light—the angry light that feasts beyond the last bone from the tree, and dark waves beyond the terminus of the skies familiar in graveyard shifts… Read More Ocean to Ocean.
sea foam / moonrise / troughs of white petals / revivalist skulls of breath from a blistered wind / I lied on the floor / the window had twig elbows / the ancient fall, I bled white like the ants on the window-ledge. I tire; tree fingers tie their umbilical cords onto the late birds;… Read More two of the sea.
This is a collaborative poem between me and Ryan Hair. I wrote the lines in italics, while his lines are in regular font. I do hope you enjoy our poem; it was quite thrilling to write it together. As well, if you’re interested in collaborating on a poem, reach out to me via my contact page and we… Read More I can not find any way alone (ft. Ryan Hair).
I’m fat, I’m big, I’m huge, I’m dark, I’m lean, I’m skinny, I’m subtle too, terms of comparison seems irrational Earth is diverse ranges in color, creed, ethnic, and race. We distinguish ourselves as an outcome of minute peculiar change. But end up Emphasizing condescension on all antonyms. Did you ever ponder the implication of… Read More “Episodes of Distress” by Kevin Davis.
Marion steadily drummed her fingers on the metal desktop. It was a trick that she had picked up many years ago, something that kept her grounded and relaxed in tense situations. Marion had always found rhythms and patterns to be calming. Of course, some people around her found it a little annoying. It certainly seemed… Read More “Book-Covers” by The Magpie Fancier.
stalk the ankles in the feast and death of the earth, man of war treetop ghost; the moon shines onto your bones drinking the falling of every fury and kingdoms of blood into the ghost egg to root a shape like a python eye while fingers lie in the comets, where to find a universe… Read More Man of war (Draft).