Turn away from the resuscitations there the dream warrants the saplings, she in the lithology of life, the posies leach in mother’s touch, stands retracted in the tears from the ocean, weeping in the enchant as I feel the shame of the eventide; the last breath to the inhabited throes of the shore if swallowed… Read More Let it die.
the blackest feather in the sky chokes delirium to the stars; our bodies glaze white under the willows, and water sat her mistress of spindrift wombs, the sun fed the death tree; give our bones the wispy velvet vein of our blood, becoming mother. © 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved. Written for the dVerse prompt: “Show… Read More blackest feather.
paraphernaliaflowers; the frozen nailsof Mars, lest I leavein lunula wombsto no death of our wormsand our licking wings;I’ve dreamt no morethan the coquette black rose,and her absinthe skin,wormwood, dead at our feet,to the insomniacocktails of phantasm,setting down the metaphysical poetrythrough my blood-flow, and the paraphernaliaof rocks, incubated with the skull-shapedhills; is it thenso ancient?the last… Read More always.
the moon kissesus both; knowingthe white tumuli of bloodat our feetis ours; in a dream,I’ve been the meronymyof ocean to ocean; I would see the black starsand their explosionsinto a sea of pareidolia but these dreamsa fidelity of bloodthe first of the blinded eyeto see the bone-white frostand thorns at duskswayed in thebroken troughof skin… Read More Hellebores.
deepens / the eye / and mawkish suckle the moon’s breast to the tree and their leaf white fingers dead / to broken bone and dust to a fitful dreaming / oxbow shores I leave like the foot of a spore / and a sea dying finds me alone. © 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.
i. black coat / I see death / in the moon / and hawks nest / one worm / New York drinks the flowers, I could imagine, if I ever had a dream it was not like this / bone split open and blooms / ii. it’s the snow, it’s the / cold / two… Read More ii.
This is a collaborative poem between me and Ryan Hair. I wrote the lines in italics, while his lines are in regular font. I do hope you enjoy our poem; it was quite thrilling to write it together. As well, if you’re interested in collaborating on a poem, reach out to me via my contact page and we… Read More I can not find any way alone (ft. Ryan Hair).
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.
in the echoes to the moonrise and flowers they look like hand-bones, eclipsed into cursive cold-blooded writ; lucent dream a pilgrimed father at the seabed of darkness, his bones touch the skull-fish; the ghost of owl forgets his repetitions it holds its wings into the winter moon blood-red, it rooks the dying and the tree,… Read More moon.
a foot, a foot eddies in the water; an albatross is glued to the sea with dark littered eyes and the keel sea swallows its feathers in the furrow of air, mouthfuls of offal red, red they eye, then eat; then the womb in cold echoers echoers of blood, blood sleep such a last trawling… Read More trees and trees.
With the clouds in front, it’s a filthy sky. With the sands flying by, it’s a dirty gust. With the drops filled unjust, it’s a muddy rain. But for the greens in pain, and the boys of vain, and the ones insane, it’s a lovely day. To check out more of adreamy1’s work, go here.
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)
While the sky is a beautiful blue Inside the house, lies a shrunken flower with a half-dead dream. To check out more of adreamy1’s work, go here.
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.
the shadows cover the sands, each finger in my hand threads liana coast blue the bodies of ephemeral god’s eye; my father holds my hand by the rope of the bridge; it, in a sense, is remote to me as a child; in memory, it architects a mist in mind, orange… Read More Bridge.
Like the Sun that shines, radiating bright light, a guru disseminates thoughts lofty and wise. Using his power, directness, and mystical might, pulls you out of every single and dangerous vice. Get closer to your guru, feel the spiritual rise, an elevation that could get you to the worlds beyond; but if you utter untruths… Read More “Ballade for the Ultimate Seeker” by Stavyah.
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.
When Moonlights I show you my demons, when Moonlights I show you my dance, when Moonlights I show you my death. Tonight your beautiful hair glitter and your irresistible light open up the first door to my mystical soul and then throw it away. I have a few more keys to work on towards your emotional journey. We are finally… Read More “Our Secret Light” by The Blue Eyed Barbarian.
A wish, these solitudes in dark wept, midnight exits in a dream, torturing you; emerges in oceans, as if the face of the sea-light is in a trance of wander, a dark mind urges this end of game; the half-lit stretch devours death quietly in hyacinth winter as we left; … Read More out of reach.
