“Potpourri” by Ivor Steven.

I have a visiting bluebird
Standing in my potpourri bowl
Bathing in aromatic leaves
Singing a reverie
About her dying tree
And I join in, with her plea
“Trees are the air we breath
Feeding us food and seed
Nourishing land and sea
Please let us grow and breed.”

In the morning mist
Beside the potpourri dish
There, the bluebird is lying
I see her sad eyes are crying
I hear her choking, but still singing
“My fragile wings are not flying
Give me pure air to breath
Give me clean seed, in my feed
Before it is time, to begin walking
Find me holy waters, and I’ll try swimming.”


To check out more of Ivor’s work, go here.


I am the thorn of flowers in your mouth*… — A Prolific Potpourri…

I am the thorn of flowers in your mouth I am the rusty nail thrust through your heart I am the wicked laugh that tames your hide I am EVIL PERSONIFIED *thank you LUCY for such a strong line of inspiration

I am the thorn of flowers in your mouth*… — A Prolific Potpourri…

Check out Matt’s piece, inspired by one of the lines in my poem, “I“.

midnight.

The moon is bitten / like the apple

under the bleats of the corvid / the enceinte tree

my pentrailium / shuts the black heart of lilies 

do not find me, I want to be alone before I leave.

the moon / satsuma hills and mouthfuls of the noose

lay bare and wrest like a baby’s fingers / digits pass

between my hands, a discoid / a discomfort

I know too well. I see your body of glass,

And I’m stranded / like the white worms

in the soil, all tossing in the dirt

with restless leg syndrome; I only

retain a monolith of grief; desert

me now. I tell the moon / to turn away;

the bud of her breast / I’m alone,

I drank the jicama roots of grief

as I turn to leave your stone.

© 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.


Come, join us. I am guest-tending the bar over at dVerse for poetics today. The theme is dark, dark, dark in the form of a ballad.


blanket me.

Disturbs alone / a knot of darkness
in the bridle and umbrage
blanketing the red koi leaves of grass / the ambrosiac death
naked in a dance / under the moon; heart whittled / a sea sings the backbone and root of grief
remembering once the mantric lights.


Written for the dVerse prompt: Use blanket as a noun, adjective, or verb. Describe a blanket, real or imagined. Make a blanket statement. Be cozy, dark, sensual, or funny. Maybe you want to blanket us with sunshine or warmth or blanket us under snow. Your choice, as long as your poem is 44 words.


à minuit

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 rises to meet me. I tire to the maniac violets, their ribs exposed in each idiot feather; oh, in their last breaths, does the moon ever glisten? Barefooted to broken glass, the moon cuts my hands as we dance;

she dies a bit more
leave-taking in winter’s breast strokes
drowning in grief.

© 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.


Written for the dVerse prompt: Write a haibun that uses the word “moon.”


In mind.

catalpa, heart-shaped and boney
your daddy died years ago,
in redress of his mind, where I leave
my fingers on the stone,
and I’ll never see him, he is just a rock
he is just a worm;
you’ve been in my mind
but never knew me,
I tire; death
is half the stradivarius of the birds
and their strings of gut
than it is mystifying or
inbound
to limb
by limb
and the shadow of their men.
The root of rock
tree limbs near
Anchinia cristalis
their moth wings
in arias
and woodland
mincing and misplanted
in raw-boned eulogy after eulogy
and I’ve never known him
this man of earth, of war
and weedy cypress, lizards
and their fluted skins
married to the wind;
phantom epistles
from Vietnam
fed by labored tumuli,
plummeted fingers into the ground
fall and drown, fall and drown.

© 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.


Posted for the dVerse MTB prompt: Write a Protest Poem with a theme (e.g. voting, social justice, peace & war, violence, women’s rights, human rights, environment, pandemic, etc).

This is not quite a protest poem, but I think it communicates the same idea about what war takes away from us, including our loved ones who either passed in war or lived through their traumas until the end of their life.

Originally published on Ephemeral Elegies. I dedicated this to my Grandfather who fought in the Vietnam War, passing away years later in my early childhood.