the sea barrows in half- cigarettes, burnt in untombed words, as I spin lies to the dust father made before I left to my ghosts atop the tears under the moon. Soon, soon I will lay among the stead, the flesh pulled back to its sanctum of blood; the grave cave like a hood made of white petals ate the sun and the moon; it should be, it will be enough for me to linger as I once was, at home, in the bed of snakes, bleeding flowers on me. In castles the shores do nothing, wine flutes grab at my wrists; in their spire, I was again a child, drowning and innocent, like death, knowing none of all things. © 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved
Written for the final dVerse prompt of 2020:
Let’s write something on endings:
- it could be a poem that plays with endings – where your lines don’t end properly but run off into the next line creating ambiguity and doubt.
- it could be a golden shovel – find a poem (or indeed any other text) that annoyed you or that you loved, that spoke about change or resisted change, and use your golden shovel to comment, critique or cheer (don’t forget to tell us the poem that you’re quoting).
- it could be a villanelle, pantoum, ghazal or any other repeating form which resists endings in favour of recurrence of emotion and memory (or obsession).
- it could be a poem with the good old ‘repeating the word just in case you missed it’ ending, or a surprise ending.
I wrote a golden shovel poem where I used lines from Sylvia Plath’s Lady Lazarus:
“Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me…”