Late Moon (Ft. Devika).

It happened again the dead sea full of dried emotions and the charm to write about withering winters happened again, from my arms to my toe nails with colors and with a paint- brush the knuckles are red due to migraine, the bosoms are sagging due to age. The concept of time throws my memory [...]

Killing me.

I came back again the full God, an opus of your eye; I am her mad spring—she wants to see how far we flay in our garden beds and I am your tragedy in diaphanous arms of the moon growing silhouette rising to the thunderbird; she’s killing me more than I ever could © 2021 [...]

glasspetals.

sometimes a moona snake on my head,a leaf from reapinga leaf from falling glasspetalsare fingers in the moonriseand sun-veins; i cannotbelieve in god after all thethings I’ve done, each oceanid clawreaches me so I drown © 2021 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.

hang a tree.

Flooded the daughter a d ead flower seized by the moon-Moses light in the stars a seed wasted as a poet hangs a tree was it me I don’t know a syntax clouding a mind, holding in my arms, dancing if jokers grin. © 2021 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.

the poet

Check out this wicked poem by George Ellington.

George Ellington

The words, the power, the very syntax
of your verse delights me,
says the linguist in me.

The imagery flows like molten clouds
over my aging soul,
cries the artist in me.

Your rhythm reaches into my heart
and entices me to sing,
chants the musician in me.

The sensuality of your voice caresses
my pulsating skin,
moans the lover in me.

To be a poet is to passionately embrace
so many untold selves,
says the me longing to be.

[inspired by Lucy’s “The syntax of spring“]

Me almost looking cool in Turkey (Jan 1992)

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Death is no sailor.

A voice of an ancestressfrom slightest memory, I,my ghosts on branches of April,like mice, we speak; between fingers of solace-drunkin the hills I found a voicebroken through my body, the sucking of black dressesin the wind, trees swoopingfour bones holding each other,we are holding hands, emerged a moon-maidenslack against my skull—trees mix in bloodshot starsbillowing [...]

castles of sands.

I knelt down of dreams, of seas for reaping digits against the tree-barkin absence of the moon’s tongueof Janus—sprawled out to thewails of shyness; father of bones,do not come back for me.yet I hide from my dead ghosts as they abandon me to the streamblood-relenting to the tides,idled upon the roots of a shyness bare, [...]

“Fantasie Nocturne” by Dionysius.

In my visionSpins a color wheel With fauns and gnomesWhispering to me: Give in to NightHer bacchic songs This dreamI slipped in Her choral maskHer Thyrsus to whichYour head belongs Since the movieWe saw thoseYears ago A paradiseRuled byYour constellations And your moonProtecting usIn its shadows Be like the tideSubsumed byThe gravity ofYour shadow side [...]

“Faust” by Phil Slattery.

Quiet. All is damnably quiet. I can hear the spiders spinning in the darkness, the breath of a rat against the stone walls, a cockroach crawling through the sulphur-laden air. The roaring silence fills the air like the grumble of the sea. Pitiless Eternity. But a second ago he was here, he whose eyes glowed [...]

death, a restless spirit.

Death, you are a restless spirit. Look at the moon. Two hands against the glassthe stentor sea is a violent thing, and she walksinto a dreamt-away night, tumescent and spilling; the moon watches on with cackles and sambas of her own,O’ moon, let your daughter, pithless, step into the world; The rock builds sand; tendons [...]

dream (returning hand in hand).

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 [...]

our ghosts.

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 [...]

A sea becomes.

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 [...]

“Tis I, Marie” by Lisa Fox.

Marie Laveau painting by Frank Schneider. “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 [...]

“My Symphony of Angelical Pain” by Benyin.

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 [...]

te amo.

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 [...]