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.
A View By The Sea .. . The dead die young Ernest Albert Bett your concrete grave is a trough with no pigs yet in it just convolvulus and ivy I stepped across your withered torso the silence of the dogs I walk death in spades around me shadows of oak walk past me Gravelled [...]
Guilt O' guilty ~ here take my hands, my teeth, my voice! ... In Memory of Jesse Washington (1897 - 1916) I am crawling on my knees rolling in the dust and the cinder ashes of this tragedy, coals to my feet Spittle hanging from my chin my eyes swelling in their shrinking sockets of [...]
I am a droplet off the sun. A madman huntingTaunting roots of a clockwork rain.© 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved. Found this in my drafts for a long prose piece I’ve since abandoned. Funny, how looking back, I didn’t see much to it until I recently changed the final line.
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 [...]
I was standing on the hillbilly side watching and wonderingHow'd they get them black boys up, the sun was setting?I wonder what they did or why they hanging so grotesqueThem trees, a black silhouette against an orange sky so fine One of them boys wassa' friend of mine we met while fishingNow that silhouette won't [...]
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 [...]
Shadows on the grass Mistook for an old friend. All things pass, However much we pretend Otherwise. You closed your eyes, And left your mark Upon my heart.
infinite in papery moons why must I lay under your foot in the voluptuous sea? madcaps and glassed eyes her next death in a million moons I’ve yet to meet; god’s leavetaking, nothing left for you but a ghost of gardens. © 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved. Reposted for the dVerse Open Link Night.
"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.
I, memory, I, a membrane and ghost meronym to memory and free— I am the thorn of flowers in your mouth, and the foot of the leaf between the limbs of a small tree halved like quarters, and still dying, I, memory, I, a membrane and ghost meronym to memory and free— Ancestress of loss [...]
Drinking from another mismatched moon-eye in another, should I have loved, then only with my garden should I climb to my roots vowels sparse like bones miraculous stone and hair holding ultima, eating man to the fuchsia, death of all things, skin, a dollhouse of nicks. © 2021 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved
Disturbs in grave repentance cracking upon the ocean’s rattle, buckling swords like a python’s tongue, madness I billow in the dusk, drysalter’s poison that pierces me in battle a fool’s dance sparred, soon falling as a leaf of willow; the razor edge of fate, wearing bone and caitiff dust in father’s displease, death tantrums veins [...]
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 [...]
red moon’s peculiar night climbing a cricket eye; Lazarus the dead, fingers of the moon colder than the dust of a poet I leave to hide my wind-wept ghosts, and plead to the shattering in star-death to star-death; I fall, dying, broken off the spore like mold. a charred moon's vining velvets winding around the [...]
skin on handlavender riseshugged by madsunsin whiteandyellow; the moonflutes the rain, abandoned byalltheflowers and the rainis deathflutteringi fear, the spine toits leaf that blows etceteraetceteraladyleafofLazarusdoes not leave © 2021 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved. I tried (emphasis on tried) to do an E.E. Cummings style/format here, so if you were wondering about that, guilty as charged. [...]
i carry the small roselike a moon of your bodya syntax of fools,that if the sun and the sky and the rosesfall to the garden i will let your name climb upon my bodyand head until iam no more. © 2021 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.
Mistress, bone-lacedaround my fingersmerciless as the moon-hungwith cigarette burns and stars;what I’d giveto billow smoketwirling lips throughthe telephone, a bloodbath in star or rainwinter was farand died,lady-footed with bone © 2021 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.
Gardenia, like death,I laugh as the moon criesto confuse the rain, midnightswims for I’d hopeI would die of dreamingas to killthe moon to give it a kiss. © 2021 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.