It happened again the dead sea full of dried emotions and the charm to write about withering winters happened again, from my arms to my toe nails with colors and with a paint- brush the knuckles are red due to migraine, the bosoms are sagging due to age. The concept of time throws my memory [...]
silent to my blood along the bone garden I have known the women, living and dead, eyes seized the one moon, (a ghost sleeps) in my body dissociating a star at my spring bones my garden, my home a sparse death in my hair the wind. © 2021 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.
Hello all. My friend, Gabby, is the co-founder of a rising literature magazine called EPTIRE and they are currently accepting submissions for their first magazine edition. EPTIRE is now accepting submissions for poetry, prose, fiction, non-fiction, articles, artwork, and photography. They are a youth-led magazine and are based more politically, as well with a focus [...]
If I was the poet with a thorn in my side, I was; I brought another drop from the gardens on these hands and this body of stone; I ripen in her arms I bleed in the wind to hide like a coward; the moon-born bedsheets call, twisting vines in the thorns of youth until [...]
In two moons, a pseudoknot is in my blood begging to close about my last breath it wasn’t the echoing of gargoyles in our death-beds wandering our roots taken more by wiles and gutted solstice endless in your eyes I know you’re killing me © 2021 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved. Written for the dVerse quadrille [...]
Lauren grit her teeth, trying to ignore Artemis. Of catastrophic darkness, she could see eyes watching her in motion. She sank into internal refuge as the shadows held the branches above them.
Back in November 2020, I had three poems that appeared in the Scarlet Leaf Review under my pseudonym Ellie Onka. Many thanks to EIC Roxana Nastase for accepting "I wondered when I first remembered...", "Hidden", and the first poem that I could be proud of, "To Accede Into My Own Desires" (that had appeared before [...]
My work was featured on a podcast called A Poetic Slice of Life. This episode delves into discussion of poetry and Game of Thrones: “Join us on storyboards. Each Saturday night the theme of the show is different from sci fi, cult classic movies, to comic book heaven with a side of entertainment that carries [...]
A kaleidoscope in death take me where the poet lays for I should never see again the final act; halcyon; like the esplanades I once walked upon at the thunderous chaos of my ghost; have we met in the aches and laughs woefully of all that is strange; orgasmic ambrosia dissociation chuckles into the bloodlust [...]
is it pseudopsychosis? ask me when the moon is stripped to her feet
Phantasmagoric red gold, last breath to bind them or myself–I’m not sure; a shadow is a shadow then so am I until I vanish into the winter of the bears, I ask that you do not find me; I want to be played by tragic lutes, the first scene like the half of bread the [...]
"For the listener, who listens in the snow, And, nothing himself, beholds Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is." – Wallace Stevens, The Snow Man.
“And what else after? Some cinnamon pie? A nice Moscow mule? We can’t have those luxuries here so I don’t owe you shit except survival.”
Dedicated to camp counselor Mushki.
an opus eyea moon in the hood of a rose, my hibernation once every few weeks;if I wake,an eye cracks; many stonesand cold-blooded treeswhat a thrillI know it’s in the windif I shame the childless snakesin my bed. Opus rubies split alongThe street.© 2021 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.
with summons, I sit alone; I was tired of my penetralium and id frozen in aureoled chokes, harassing me to the shadows; each eye abstract, to the phantom of stone; I snipped my garden bones of the rose-beds, felt the hidden moon into the thorns, a baby’s opus, the dying game. © 2021 lucysworks.com All [...]
https://twitter.com/RealisticPoetry/status/1359391674653417472 a dehisce to the moonrise an abandon in amnesia rooted between honesty and a lie; eerie strange dreams in the mouth betraying, vomiting words w/o consequence shimmering as a child in the growing year of winter; whispers in art death, knowing it could be better. © 2021 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.
from the air swallowed I fertilizegarden bones as if I would my childrenpreparing first lifeand then the subtletythe pagala death;I’m on my kneesfragmented; so, a graveI stir in my bedsheets, knowing nonethe woman in my skin or the woman I am.© 2021 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.
damp upon the tree’s beckoning, my feet bleed and kiss the ground upon you, sprouting from silhouettes; it beguiles the hassock leaves, hidden in an accident of rain-fall. Without the fools in airstreams of halcyon when roots pinch my fingers, uncurling like a dagger; a bean fed from the poet’s words or buckling swords, I [...]
she slips to winter’s underclothing and embrace; as if a prowl of death in the sun’s hands is unseen to the bed of bruised gardenias. taken into stone, of the poet, the wonders of silhouettes dancing in orgasmical tragedy, hypnotically then with shared suffering. © 2021 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved. Written for the dVerse prompt: [...]