In their dying in their shadows I will see your eyes. As the blood-flow of living things, dear white shells and white bone fall into the ground, mama’s bony fingers whiten the earth, where all else fades and leaves; daddy glissades in the ice picking flowers for us all, and soon… Read More in their dying, in their shadows.
I am very happy to have a guest post on here by poet Kevin Morris. It not only features his amazing work but as well a bit of background on how nature influences his poetry. Please continue reading below, and do check out his links to find more of his publications and work. As well,… Read More Kevin Morris Guest Post.
drown in egoism. how we forget – don’t. for flicker- shift this shell ashore, revive the rolling carcass and dissect, drag that black heart with the colour waves, bleaching comatose vanity that presses with weight of our bodies- we sunk like sinking stripping skin for river, it rowed, it rowed, wrapped with those oars wallow,… Read More “Redemption in the Water” by Hannah Faulkner.
The roads, the valleys, the ripened dreams in solidarity, To a handful weaved of a ghost aubade in speech Evoking contingent flames unmourned, and embraced As the shaken birth from the morning, I starve the feathered dreams, As I no longer follow through with the nightlong autumn near the glass, I hope we don’t forget… Read More For that is only what we seek.
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.
Solitude arrayed in language unnoticed in its death, as the leaves survive the siege of winter, taloned with wounds rejoicing in the wind. In my dreams, there is silence as the flowers die through our eyes; whispers held, empty, beneath our feet of the grey stone, leave a rock after death they exist unlike flowers… Read More Eyes.
tyranny blinded by the ghost of an isthmus, dark eyes fed upon your laugh like a poison to surge, the chill when you look at me; the dust of the horizon shapes cruelty. Reaped in the quiet like a violent beast as solitude precedes covering the ashes blistering on the pale shore this void of… Read More Tyranny.
you’ll always be alone in the city; gone, the final breath in the icy mouths the secret of a lover, in the absence of morning and the affinity of dark at night; a fucked up dream stares left in its presence in the old city lights, warmer than the protestation that rebels against animal bones… Read More City.
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.
lament in autumn grief, a shadow of a touch leafing as bones; empty windows and shops, isolation of sense when there is none left for you or I, for you or I as the river leaves in the wind it is a paradox in the cold. © 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.
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.
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.
desire sails the salt winds in the dark sleep of eternity within the bloodshed of the sea effusion de sang dans les océans chantez votre chanson between the recluse of cherry dark blossoms, sleep shatters memories through the sea. © 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.
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.
The fields sluiced with rain on the leafing of memory, On each rock and scree living in the Appalachian breeze. The mind of frost crusted in the corbeil undressing in the air. Where is our consciousness? The bluster of stone streaked in corrupt minds on the last… Read More The last mask of winter.
The dark winged wisp in the cold, into the silence of the sea. The ocean awakes into the shapes of light gone, part of one sipping the rain there’s one season alone. There’s glory into the sun winding the red into the willows lost into the mind of cool light, Writhing into the present blue… Read More Into the cold.
Dirty rain Upon the feathers; it is April, Among the years broken in winter When it was not winter, And we could not have been alone; This is where we dream And it is where we no longer relent In sorrow and regret; The teeming of ice chips Beneath our feet—moved like blood, We occlude… Read More April.
