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.
© 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 🤗👍❤️
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Thank you, dear and amazing poetess! That means a lot to me. ❤
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You are welcome, dear one 🤗
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Beautiful and serene. Gentle words forming a strong poem indeed.
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Thank you so much, Shanyu.
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My absolute pleasure!
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Wonderful!
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Thank you, friend. ❤
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You are most welcome 🙂
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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
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Thank you! I’m so glad you enjoyed this piece, and as well, those two lines. Thank you for your thoughts and analyses. 😃
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Well done, Lucy! It’s wonderful 💛
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Thank you! 😃
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Beautiful poem 💜
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Thank you. ❤
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Where do you come up with such elegant words? You are amazing. Truly.
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I read a lot of poetry that inspires me to write. Thank you for your kindness. ❤
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Great 🙂
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Thanks!
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