our ghosts accompany loneliness… mirrors of distant memory find to the dusk like at sea a memento in a dream that eludes me and floats… Orange blossoms into Ophelia’s violets and the granitic rocks rush to the red dust for how quietly time has passed through the statuary of rock and forked poppies with leaves of loss it’s … Read More our ghosts.
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 in it, which un-dreams the deep dark, in the … Read More te amo.
Of one memory, one for the end of the dark does not lie, I will not lie in it; darkness perfused I shut the window; here he bleeds, here he lies, though nothing is there. In furrows, mercy, it is laughable. The Earth succinct in waves in a lonely larva the dead poet’s dreams. Stand under my umbrella, we embrace in impassioned poverty of … Read More A sea becomes.
Last week’s prompt for Horror House Wednesday was the following: “Where is your reality? Do you know where you are?” And the responses did not disappoint. It’s always hard to choose, especially when they’re all such great stories. All of them utilized the prompt in such an innovative way, but alas, I only can choose one as the winner. I chose 37297 by Just … Read More Horror House Flash Fiction Contest #2 Winner.
Well, this was not an easy decision. Quite honestly, once upon a time, I was against the idea of holding contests here because I never like having to just pick one entry as a winner. It’s akin to picking a favorite candy—there isn’t just one in mind, is there? Last week’s prompt was a quote (originating from my WIP, funny enough, that I thought … Read More Horror House Flash Fiction Contest #1 Winner.
The five sorrowful mysteries shudder within these pellicle walls, and they are not Enough Lost are the pleas upon deafened ears, what is the throat useful for Blood-sweat is fallen when waxen agony is traced with splintered fingernails The tattoos of repentance delivering languor for a broken mind, as meant to Nine tails cursing and cracking, rapaciously blinded for a statement to make Leaving … Read More “Fantasy of forgiveness” by a.d.matthias.
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 fish and times of the born a man, a … Read More Look at all the eyes.
“where the dead walked and the living were made of cardboard.”—Ezra Pound. The apparition paradise projects onto streets like death, into the turn of the mountain Forward on its side where ice fell and mingled leaf-like into the ocean In pure rhythm like a God in kinship with free tamed with the ice-cold Be it known in all hour as beauty falls alone where … Read More They had gone.
Photo prompt response to Crimson’s Creative Challenge #68 Word count: 149. A/N: Hopefully, this isn’t too morbid. Horror genres are somewhat in place. Darkness emerged. His eyes flickered helplessly at the waters. It was no dream. On his right side, he positioned his arm back, catching the waves as they curled, and he felt his shoulders spasm—the push and pull through the cold. Elliot … Read More Bridge (Flash Fiction).
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 The red quail sings to mankind, shivering— A dimension … Read More The recitation of my dreams.
I am from wheat strips Of bread, and porch lights with fog on week mornings; I am from the mind world That restores dust at every Naked warm eye That blood rose On paper-cuts; I am from banana seeds, And reddened arches, Distorted music, Collected into one Starvation of abstract Speech—I am from the pressing of wind, Blowing onto all kinds of rocks, The beaten … Read More I am from broken images from my mind.