Then, was enslaved in your sheathin a bosom of appearing angelic roars;hosting daringly with perfectlygroomed verses, ofyour patterns of inflictionsUnfold me; mold me!I am available for yourdesiring wraths.Untame me, hold me,I am yearning whollyto see your demogorgonsSuspended in waves I shook my petalsbrightly fair to raid your waging pedalsConsole my hungerto behold in your slumberConsole… Read More “My Symphony of Angelical Pain” by Benyin.
flowers for you bursting like a ghost; red and white violets that were in a market shop your eyes hunted them and they were yours; as the street calls out in loneliness the telephone replays with your voice engraved in a blue marble vase by the sea gone. © 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.
She must be a queen of innocent eyesShe must’ve sweet smell of incenseShe must be a stunning beautyShe must be a quiet music of all your poetry. But she chose her own path, not with you, might be with someone elseI’m sure you must’ve helped her in that alsoAnd masked your scratched, bleeding heart with… Read More “Closed Eyes” by Navnidhi Vyas.
lie across the taurobolium at the motherless spring without feeling, without breath; pale mulberries infiltrate the wind in ice dark of obscured dreams by the sea-green void, vanishing by the surf, as the fresh dew slumbers in the whiteness of morning exorcised with twigs of the dying trees. flicker with the nightly, strange sea, the… Read More Ice dark (the world is dreaming).
Fly, fly, my little Raven, Reach, reach for the sky. See the world from the air, My little Raven, and show it to me. It’s a big world, little Raven, But I promise I’ll find always find you. Fly, fly, my little Raven, Reach, reach for the stars. Let their beauty surround you, My… Read More Raven by Mark Borne.
Look at all the eyes of humanity and light cry into blood-welling forgotten in unbridled free verse; around the corner that last breath in the mirror moves in dream and desire nigh to each taraxcum dandelion flowering over mother’s relics; another death under the stars. Into the darkest shadows, in murderous torpor, times of the… Read More Look at all the eyes.
Sweet soul, I can see you, smile As we hike in rugged beauty Pausing to touch fingertips I step away as you call me back as my response to regard you Huff and that smile For our souls would touch the rushing waters to take a breath When the rush has faded love and hands… Read More “From This Voice” By Brand.
Over a month ago, I wrote a post about collaborating together on a poem project with the theme freedom. I provided the first four lines, leaving the rest of the poem up to you. The collaboration has ended and I’m beyond excited to share the results of our work together. It is a beautiful piece… Read More Collaboration Poem Completed.
at mind’s end, the winter sets the dawn, coffee and creamer, while the silent encroachment blossoms in the ripe mist. © 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.
Blue fog, derived from the morning, Dancing alone in an orchard with the breeze, In a world torn with a hunt—a slow death for us all, Then don’t let us go then. We walk alone into the arterial landscape… Read more here. You can also find more of my work here.
lost in mania traffic the struggle of mind teeming with cigarettes escaping the birdsong as the dark leaves fall onto the cherry blossoms silently with bloodshed, caressed to dreams in the awakened winter, arak trees. © 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved. A/N: Title derived from this poem.
dreams in the Sahara insanity in the flamenco acedia, I linger in the ocean floor, stripped in fertile silence as frost knows death better than I. the typhoon, the sailor it festers the dying beast of the albatross and the ocean sea. she’ll kiss the divine blue waves with fury, summoning the wind’s womb; in… Read More Ocean.
nude into the enraptured forbidden sea, behalf the whisper, its madness in autumn at its wake, unknown into the burial of yellow roses, in the tears of ghostly sands, tossing from forgotten sea light silhouetted against torn anamnesis these shadows of our time, in etiolated remembrance, our memories are hidden. the sanctity of blood that… Read More Exist.
isolate the modernities carnations touch the wind, mocking them, like a cigarette in the abandoned sunlight, the entropy, monstering god-like shores fragmenting ends of the mind, traversing the watery rock for the sea, the mouth left behind from the cave, teeming with blood; the mountain defines the reflection in your eyes, where have you been?… Read More Modernities.
the waves in the dying of the dark by frozen, alluring dreams when you’ve never dreamt unsheathed upon each layer of rock that bleeds out by daylight where we see the blood drift, sliced in a sleepwalking geyser the dispensation of mid-summer, choked upon the shoreline ‘where have you been?’ I say, ’nowhere. It could… Read More The tree of apricot.
the dark slithers, betraying the scarlet moon into the mellifluous hunger in each haze, a new mother of spring, the hills, the silence of untiring wanton blood broken between each finger and bone, nesting in the shadows in immense maddened breath across the perennial wound that dispels with the rain and alluvium struck with the… Read More Dissonance of a dream.
Rocks lay before the last thought and solipsism; Inside a frost stillness, decaying by the tree; Forbidden—the serpent’s blood betrays the bone fingers that lay upon stone. Feral. What happened? Illusory dreams are mere being. Devising a relent to emerge outside to the city, deprived of… Read More The last thought.
In an age of watching… through a mind suffice in icy tombs; What word through our own, to have finally sought the black star that was the world we lived sleepless. And, awake. Drifting… Silence bare on the dark mid-sea. The peony masking light… Read More Awake (Draft).
A leaf falls Into the monsoon shadows. I turn by the grazed branches Trembling by the dark windows Into the blustering Of frost and the muzzled crystals that lay Into the black linen on the ground. We are alone in the patters of wind, Hear; each turn of the rock, And see our hands Restless… Read More Ghost street.
Of the April wind the distant perdu world, persists with the evening sea shore conducts in sleep the phase of light. There is no sun. There are no wings in the abyss with black fruit, beautified in the sacrificial breath. Fall, fall. Amnesiac in the… Read More Amnesiac.