Alabaster the dissociatedMoon; a blood-hunt of my dreams,death the psychosis, torment the arbitrarymind, I dreamed of the topples ofthunderbirds, medusa-ing mouths of darkness, and finalhairs of serpents to planetaryshivers; and celestial deathof the stars, they translatethe whiteness of hills,goat-herding anesthesiain the sand-cratered moonswithin the dusty womb of Marsleft me my child-selfand I was her. Written… Read More her.
While the sky is a beautiful blue Inside the house, lies a shrunken flower with a half-dead dream. To check out more of adreamy1’s work, go here.
The roads, the valleys, the ripened dreams in solidarity, To a handful weaved of a ghost aubade in speech Evoking contingent flames unmourned, and embraced As the shaken birth from the morning, I starve the feathered dreams, As I no longer follow through with the nightlong autumn near the glass, I hope we don’t forget… Read More For that is only what we seek.
Photo prompt response to Crimson’s Creative Challenge #69 Word count: 101. As though the sleep mist has trembled in my hands In the distant overflows of shadows, Descending in lament, These shadows of our lament; We walk into the light, We walk to drown in celestial darkness, Our nourishing gardens In chrome-like bowls of red… Read More Dreams we’ve never had.
Here is the slumber Indulged in black tides Stood softly forever still. © 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.
Amber sunbeams stayed in my dreams; and I recalled whispers throughout our dark minds—autumn when our eyes met; The reverie of the cold entwines us in deferred reveries, in ambrosial shadows. The planet reaps Mosaic stars in backlit born reflections; we will plant a bowl of bluets by the fireside to recollect our love. ©… Read More Throughout our dark minds.
A/N: My take on the Terza Rima poetic form… or at least my attempt at one! 😛 Upon perishable rooted wandering shores The wind’s recitation, a hectic dream Through the picturesque of yellow moors: Slick, blackened, chaste, o’er oozy silver streams. The slice of bone, inheriting shimmering Stardust, torn from rocks and ribs in unseen dreams… Read More The recitation of my dreams.
Dreams entwined, Dreams throughout false silence, Silence, a dark inscribed, Silence, a tyrannical void, Void of fierce gasp, Void of reddened wounds, Wounds that starve under snow, Wounds around weeping crisp frost, Frost over the leaves Frost upon pure caverns, Caverns of the mind like a breeze, Caverns by the blue delphiniums like crystal, Crystal… Read More Silence, a dark inscribed, silence, a tyrannical void.
On the gloaming surf of the dark shore, I lay my abled hands on the crimson darkened porcelain glass On the shadows of warmth, etched from a pale glistening scar of an ivory white that blooms in miry winter And I trace—pressing against the folds and hems of skin that caves in pearl, frail ash,… Read More Oh, Dream.
Pennies and old skeletal-like lining threads slip out from the rafters of the grey old well in the mall—search in for the coin, fiddle with it, the dirt croaks under nails, like the bridal hem that touches the base of the floral steps, patterned by the picturesque; rib of man; “leave a stone at my… Read More A Night Walk. (Prose)
An ale river Between the mountains Reels by holy mist. Dead in the Eden, The land, the land, Screaming on the Aragon valley, “Beyond fragile lips Of a bleeding, tormented river, It is lost as the seashore, And is caressed by mothering wind, In the crimson river, confined by silence Which salutes the pre-winter to… Read More Firewood.
I. The moon casts its eye, In little carts, A vaudeville into the night. II. I wake in morning River flows down Crestmore, Wounded by a psalm, expelled alone. III. Down the old university, immersed, By the cathedral with petite western virgins flowers, On revered bungalows With an old torchlight, the ruins of Rome. IV.… Read More Vaudeville (I wake as rivers run).
As the rose adorns The mourning river secedes in Yorkshire skies. I give my love to the flower of pears, In velvet array on the vineyards, A vestige in a nightly soul Passed by a little eye of the moon Darker than winston smoke. The water does flow gently Onto a ballad of the dark… Read More As I Mourn a Flower.
Light, midnight, On moorlands, summoning fate, Alone, viceroys break Every pretty tear that rises And carries wind in lone summoning fate. As scars gleam in twinkling nightfall, as they fall to rest Upon trees, a thousand feet, that dance in sunlight, And worshipped on a pretty brow, bends the river-way And worshipped on pallid rests,… Read More Viceroy.
nightfall when it’s still and ill-lit, as the moon kneels and the mist recites me a dream I fall in lowering mercy and admit as the world, unreal, and imagine the mid-stream as I fall deeper into the silent moon and I whisper into a darkened room before sleep ‘I give my words beyond the… Read More Nightfall.
Winter tear drops leave upon the white flickers in the sea, Where I’ve looked to the red droplets that were dark as geraniums, Winter beats the cold orchids into the wind that is frail as bone, Where memory passed darkly as the ocean-white dream That is the faint mesa that trails of rocky red in… Read More Mid-Dream.
River of lone which grabs the bloodied, hanging bough upon a wisp dead tree Where the darkened deep sea could bring me the tears from a shattered rock that shadows the sun, As the petals of the red, blanketed flowers that would speak to us in bloom Would fall dead at the bed of falling… Read More The Rivers of What I Can’t Forget.
And when the still heart begins, Upon the droplets of the eminent ocean That whisked dead moons, courtly, upon love, That been deaf as the tides and their faintly moments With sorrowful wind, moved. When the still heart begins, The dead moon could shine and sheen above, With rivers dead to the cold watchful sea,… Read More The Watchful Sea Beyond.
As I’ve forgotten between the winds, Of some strange strangers walking, And the stalk of dreams had balm the reaches Of the settled flames in the wind, With the acknowledgement, rather bothered, Of the wasted, like bones dug out of the dirt, Like soil with collective stems of a crooked rock That brushed your fingers,… Read More As I’ve Forgotten Between the Wind.
I drift further among away, Resting my eyes on plated silver dawn, Pangs of washed fatigue drench themselves to me As the gull and plumage become the taken folding life; There are those, some stammer visiting, Silence as a branch—extending its limbs; those trifle woody plants, But then I must turn again. You fear the… Read More I Drift Further Among Away (Of Myself).