and the people floated away.

A red boudoir

in the earth’s ax to bruit upon her branches

leaving in skull-white redress, neck

covered in frost; shyness is halved

in father’s seed from his to his daughter;

in the cherry tree slaught with black doves

arched in mad gaze, the fire flower from

firethorns strayed like ossification in

a pomegranate womb, and shook with death,

sobered in sea-

sick with the heir of our ghosts

for the sleeping black rose, thorns

as whispering monarchies wearing their human suits,

kenning blood into their blood, fathers of daughters,

mothers of seas then buried,

leapt to death in ocean oasis,

why tear the head off of the bird?

too brutal for me when we

can watch instead like the madmen we are.

© 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.


Written for the dVerse prompt:

Tonight, I want to give you the title for your poem, and let you do the rest.

I want you to choose from one of these titles:

  • Travelling in the wilderness
  • She said if a red fox had crossed somewhere, that area was safe
  • They say only the south wind flattens grass
  • We are teachers to our grandchildren
  • Lead dogs are very smart
  • Squirrel hunting in the mountains
  • A story of when the ice detached and the people floated away.

This is a very horrific poem to me in what I describe. The meaning, to me, as I base off of emotion is in the final two lines.

For something not as depressing, feel free to look at this picture of my Haji:

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43 Comments

  1. “in the cherry tree slaught with black doves arched in mad gaze, the fire flower from firethorns strayed like ossification in a pomegranate womb,”…. this poem is incredibly rich in imagery! 😀 Wow! 💝💝

    Liked by 1 person

  2. There’s so much interest here! For example:

    ‘as whispering monarchies wearing their human suits,

    kenning blood into their blood, fathers of daughters,

    mothers of seas then buried,’

    Wow! I think you understand the undertow of our age…

    Liked by 1 person

  3. The part of the title you chose works so well, Lucy, as a title for your poem, which is indeed horrific. I love the clever word- and winter-colour-play in the opening lines, with the ‘red boudoir’, the ‘skull-white redress’ and ‘neck covered in frost’, and the way it turns darker in the ‘cherry tree slaught with black doves’. I also like the ‘pomegranate womb’.

    Liked by 1 person

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