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… Read More our ghosts.
Black feathers as I dreamed,do not look at me; ebony moonthe lust of the body of the shore,as nightmares, in what I’ve neverknown at all, reflect the Artemis moon;the fat, yellow moon; it’s a blood-huntto the red-hills,and a sea,cocktails of sweatdeath at the ground. There is beauty in the death of thingsin imminent dreaming,for it’s… Read More dream (returning hand in hand).
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… Read More A sea becomes.
“Tis I, Marie, you come to seeYou there so prim on marble benchWhat brings you here week after weekI’m now a charred and crumbling wretch You heard the tales and need adviceIn one of many hundred waysI’ve seen your kind, oh once or twiceA mouse without, but heart ablaze What spells I cast to make… Read More “Tis I, Marie” by Lisa Fox.
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.
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.
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… 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… 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… 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… 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… 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… 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… 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… Read More I am from broken images from my mind.
Lost In the cracks of the ceiling The shadows outline At night in silence The windows that raid You to look at them, Betrayed in solemnity; Waiting for the hesitant Breath Beneath hidden light In disposable silence. © 2019 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.
Keep your dead lilies, Two reared seeds. And the crisp red triste Of a cherry blossom Grows by the peas, Of the blue afterglow On the sameness of his laugh. As red wallops stifled cicada wood, The epistle chokes in the water; it’s been awhile. Scurf of a half Frost; marked their caged, primped words… Read More Half-Frost.
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)
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.