in the echoes
to the moonrise
and flowers
they look like hand-bones,
eclipsed into cursive
cold-blooded writ;
lucent dream
a pilgrimed father
at the seabed of darkness,
his bones
touch
the skull-fish;
the ghost of owl
forgets his repetitions
it holds its wings
into the winter moon
blood-red, it rooks
the dying
and the tree,
you are merely mind, if not memory
into a lungless wind.
Β© 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.
Written for the Go Dog Go Cafe Prompt: Write a piece of prose or poetry around the words cursive, touch, and forget.
Epic verse, Lucy π€πβ€οΈ
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you, dear and amazing poetess! That means a lot to me. β€
LikeLiked by 2 people
You are welcome, dear one π€
LikeLiked by 2 people
Beautiful and serene. Gentle words forming a strong poem indeed.
LikeLiked by 4 people
Thank you so much, Shanyu.
LikeLiked by 1 person
My absolute pleasure!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Wonderful!
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you, friend. β€
LikeLiked by 1 person
You are most welcome π
LikeLiked by 1 person
kaykuala
the ghost of owl forgets his repetitions
it holds its wings into the winter moon
The ghost of the owl can do their twitting the way different from their normal. A good twist in story-line Lucy!
Hank
LikeLiked by 3 people
Thank you! I’m so glad you enjoyed this piece, and as well, those two lines. Thank you for your thoughts and analyses. π
LikeLike
Well done, Lucy! It’s wonderful π
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you! π
LikeLike
Beautiful poem π
LikeLiked by 3 people
Thank you. β€
LikeLiked by 1 person
Where do you come up with such elegant words? You are amazing. Truly.
LikeLiked by 4 people
I read a lot of poetry that inspires me to write. Thank you for your kindness. β€
LikeLiked by 1 person
Great π
LikeLiked by 3 people
Thanks!
LikeLike