the corvid rises from the yellow moon,wept to a body of death, dismissal of its heartbeat to the atramental starsof unbidden dance; I know how this goes,I’ve been here before,slipping out of one’s own skin; it was memoirs hung by wings,by the man’s madness; dither nowor die in memory. The moon shall forever watchas reprieved… Read More mirrors.
the boney moon, dragged by hibiscus over the red hills.Your moth wings baby-rattling the drowning of the stars, the symmetry of our skeletons for asylum; the moon, she finds my darkness by the Katsura leaves. The atramental vagary of her lays in my hands. psithurism, algedonic to the death strokes when she flutters, how she… Read More à minuit
catalpa, heart-shaped and boneyyour daddy died years ago,in redress of his mind, where I leavemy fingers on the stone,and I’ll never see him, he is just a rockhe is just a worm;you’ve been in my mindbut never knew me,I tire; deathis half the stradivarius of the birdsand their strings of gutthan it is mystifying orinboundto… Read More In mind.
Black feathers as I dreamed,do not look at me; ebony moonthe lust of the body of the shore,as nightmares, in what I’ve neverknown at all, reflect the Artemis moon;the fat, yellow moon; it’s a blood-huntto the red-hills,and a sea,cocktails of sweatdeath at the ground. There is beauty in the death of thingsin imminent dreaming,for it’s… Read More dream (returning hand in hand).
the oscillation from Apollo’s lips
bury me, this womb of glass seas,
relief—a meronym of death’s faces
the last dream…… Read More “Oscillation” Poem Published in Visual Verse.
bare-bones / wed to abandoning in-uterofingers; the apple burstslike an appendix / and the seabreast to breast / is a mistressto the Kalahari sun/ mouthing /to my moon“death goes to the worms” / alien touch / my love has gone /threnody and dream, as if the Earth is glass /stranded / to the ghosts /of… Read More to grief.
Hello everyone. I have three published poems (“To Accede Into My Own Desires”, “Deep in my Heart”, and “Beneath”) in Variant Literature magazine, specifically in their Second Chance Anthology. My poems are credited under my pseudonym Ellie Onka. You can either order the anthology here or read the free PDF instead. You can find my… Read More Variant Literature Magazine Publication.
I’m sitting in my cafeWanting some inspireStaring at me coffeeWaiting brain to fire Hello? I feel ignition?Neurons taking offTelling me to write aboutMy cappuccino froth What a load of twaddle… Sorry readers… I am an Australian writer. In ‘Flippant, Comic, and Serious’, I focus on humour, offbeat poetry, and exploring things different.
Turn away from the resuscitations there the dream warrants the saplings, she in the lithology of life, the posies leach in mother’s touch, stands retracted in the tears from the ocean, weeping in the enchant as I feel the shame of the eventide; the last breath to the inhabited throes of the shore if swallowed… Read More Let it die.
our ghosts accompany loneliness… mirrors of distant memory find to the dusk like at sea a memento in a dream that eludes me and floats… Orange blossoms into Ophelia’s violets and the granitic rocks rush to the red dust for how quietly time has passed through the statuary of rock… Read More our ghosts.
When I die, I want to go softlyfree from the miseriesof my body breaking downorgans sickened, cutting off lifeas I suffocate, drift away When I die, I want to wakein a safer worldaway from earth’s torments& adverse emotionsgurus say we must bear When I die, I want to see Jesus’ facewash his feet, though he’d… Read More “When I Die” by Nick Pipitone.
isolate the modernities carnations touch the wind, mocking them, like a cigarette in the abandoned sunlight, the entropy, monstering god-like shores fragmenting ends of the mind, traversing the watery rock for the sea, the mouth left behind from the cave, teeming with blood; the mountain defines the reflection in your eyes, where have you been?… Read More Modernities.
Desert, her eyes are morsels to the jasmine and roses once grown from her wrists, between the flowers in each white finger, whilst the moon falls, leaves barefoot in winter, deserved for posturing an abyss this dance, like an atramentous sea; woman to the ebb and flow of flower bedded lips to firstborn… Read More bloom.
the blackest feather in the sky chokes delirium to the stars; our bodies glaze white under the willows, and water sat her mistress of spindrift wombs, the sun fed the death tree; give our bones the wispy velvet vein of our blood, becoming mother. © 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved. Written for the dVerse prompt: “Show… Read More blackest feather.
paraphernaliaflowers; the frozen nailsof Mars, lest I leavein lunula wombsto no death of our wormsand our licking wings;I’ve dreamt no morethan the coquette black rose,and her absinthe skin,wormwood, dead at our feet,to the insomniacocktails of phantasm,setting down the metaphysical poetrythrough my blood-flow, and the paraphernaliaof rocks, incubated with the skull-shapedhills; is it thenso ancient?the last… Read More always.
A five year-old was diagnosedwith terminal cancer The adults wept and wailed The child could not understandWhy are you weeping and wailing? The adults could not understandWhy are you not afraid? Because I am going to a placeI’ve never been before I’m excited. This is based on a true story I heard on the radio… Read More “A Five Year-Old” by Don Matthews.
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.
summer, pilgrimage of the ewe; the blood sun breaks upon death— is the symmetry of the flower where an ocean throws the moon’s noose, leaving to the knot of a darker azure? dream, and you might too leave in the white rose of lips; sewn a monolith exchanging, in perfidy, a child at the river… Read More This night.
Poet Don runs the FCS Childrens Education Unit He is devoted to giving the children a good grounding for their journey in life The kiddies all love him Our God first made the heavens Then earth did follow on The rest was made in China Like seats we now sit on Oooh… Poet Don can… Read More “Poet Don talks to the Class about God” by Don Matthews.
catalpa, heart-shaped and boney
your daddy died years ago,
in redress of his mind, where I leave
my fingers on the stone…… Read More “In Mind” Poem Published in Ephemeral Elegies.
will I drown? the wind twists, and we kiss the flowers; seize the backbone of the root, where our blood is ours. the tree trunk can’t see death; unparalleled, my father disintegrates. the sunsets are claret as they burst. the glass region, eyed by the ants, flourishes in the light by remembering; eyes, pressing to… Read More nothing left.
lie across the taurobolium at the motherless spring without feeling, without breath; pale mulberries infiltrate the wind in ice dark of obscured dreams by the sea-green void, vanishing by the surf, as the fresh dew slumbers in the whiteness of morning exorcised with twigs of the dying trees. flicker with the nightly, strange sea, the… Read More Ice dark (the world is dreaming).
