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.
Wept in the death of Gods, darker still in the gathering ocean, with only tears that fall to them, in the red hyssop of the frost inclined to the penetralium of desire, as the ocean slips no fate by its sea song to kill empty, the abscission of leaf falls like glass we could not… Read More Planetary motion.
stalk the ankles in the feast and death of the earth, man of war treetop ghost; the moon shines onto your bones drinking the falling of every fury and kingdoms of blood into the ghost egg to root a shape like a python eye while fingers lie in the comets, where to find a universe… Read More Man of war (Draft).
I’ve lived as a statue, a quiet child. Overlooking the spume of glassy death— in the winds I would imagine to be like virgin snow; and in the cobalt blue of my father’s eyes, it is a glimpse of the sky in the brimming of sea to sea, ocean to ocean. Unsalted peanuts go to… Read More I’ve lived as a statue. (Prose)
has died, beautiful dreamer; the sea is a language of loneliness, legs struck in the waves to the break of oaks and I finally arrived to the holes in the ocean, to in a dream I’ve left behind. © 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved. A/N: Written in response to the Go Dog Go Cafe’s prompt:… Read More to in a dream.
I broke away from the ocean, in through our eyes, the waves at high tides, the roccia parts and splits where Moses split the Red Sea. In the womb of wind, limbs and bones outline the fading star, and the world seemed to drown in yellow velleities of loneliness. Eyes to the dream,… Read More into loneliness.
A temblor, a rock by which is drawn together by the little tree in arms of darkness May darkness; in the blue perch of the eve, to sleep in the burial of the star, A leaf falls pooled on its legs; ersatz silence in a mind with a hole… Read More te amo.
It would always end this way. The onslaught of the cold bites in my face raking silence to the foreshore to the leave-taking of winter pleas with sorrow and penances alone That trace abandoned into neurological thoughts, into weaves of ice that coalesces the ambrosial sunset (in which that dies) in father’s sea. It transmits… Read More I moved in the effervesce of the sea. (Prose)
Who cares what we eat?Just calming stomach’s heatExtra spicy , fried and sweetBe it eating or doing a cheat? Who cares what we eat?Overweight is common sightGlucose, lipids are at heightsAre we losing our health rights? Who cares what we eat?Gain cash at stake of fitDrain cash to regain itAre we fooling our intellect? Who… Read More “Who cares what we eat?” by Navnidhi Vyas.
Leopard’s paws white like scolecite stones faceted to fingernails to the death of the wild, a resemblance to a beast, a blaze of light, and to the gods, their hand in life and death; feral blood, extinction, a feeling of a dream in crystal architect reading the skylight, gathering life in the leaves during the… Read More His eyes.
“This friendship will self-destruct when you open that box,” Katie says as she hands me a box and waits for a response. I wonder what this means, what is so important in this little box. Do I dare open it? I don’t want to lose her as a friend. We’ve been through a lot together:… Read More “The Box” by Kimberly Ray.
Down the corridor, comes a scream Was it physical pain or the horror of finally learning the way this game is turning They took your clothes gave you a gown there was nothing to do but lay right down Now, the machine breathes for you hung by a thread and leaving soon Faint flashes behind… Read More “Renee By A Thread” by Tom Alexander.
A/N: This poem is dedicated to my mother, along with this instrumental I created to go along with it. I am adjunct to birth and death. Undraped, I emerge from womb—a pupa I barely cried, it was a spring birthday when it should have been an aqueous summer dream. Sense flees me before the world even… Read More Mother.
Hello everyone. First of all, I want to thank each and everyone one of you for your participation on my blog—through each like, comment, reblog, and submission—it has not been unnoticed. I thank everyone for giving me the encouragement to keep writing and posting, along with helping me keep this blog alive. I thought I… Read More Poem Collaboration! (Closed).
Winter falls away, traces never ending like the tattered twilight alone; the serpent’s blood betrays the sea of lovers that fall upon the memory one by one. In blue wailing of the sea glare white diffused with ivory bone meeting the whisper of cold silence, the exile of our ghosts, the depth of language when… Read More Traces by the horizon.
mauvaises terres. I. The Old Line. We drink red tea in the winter and summer by the pale, ocean shore with rain feeding on the sunlight with coffee beans, and spoke in broken languages to each other originating from your father in different countries of Europe, he speaks almost a dozen languages. You wished he… Read More mauvaises terres.
One memory death has fallen like the decayed fruit; the shores have frozen, and our bones are shivering dark-blue; a shadowy world with beauty as it faded there is no promise under the oak tree nor the wilderness of the flowers nor the maples on lashed dead rocks there is no promise for me or… Read More Acedia.
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.
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).