Story Once upon a time Is how stories usually begin Promising adventures In worlds unknown Even though it’s just paper Markings And ink It can take you across the world And back In time for dinner Pull out a flashlight For late at night Get hooked on the characters And love them And cry for them Wishing that you could be with them You … Read More “Story” by Elle Wilson.
Poet Don reporting From the weath bureau Rain is falling up today Thought you’d like to know Thanks. Good to know…. You’re welcome…. Poet Don is from the illustrious Poets Society We are honoured to have him here with us today To check out more of Don Matthews’s work, go here. Want to submit something? Just 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, an echo, a bang in aqueous shivers, bled … Read More into loneliness.
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.
lie across the taurobolium at the motherless spring without feeling, without breath; pale mulberries infiltrate the wind in ice dark of obscured dreams by the sea-green void, vanishing by the surf, as the fresh dew slumbers in the whiteness of morning exorcised with twigs of the dying trees. flicker with the nightly, strange sea, the augur bleeds madly onto the sand behind the betrayed … Read More Ice dark (the world is dreaming).
Your spiritDrawn across the skiesVeiled in silver laceBeyond secret shadowsOn darkened peaksWhose granite walls echoThe voices of my heartJoined in constant songAnd cascadeBreaking away impermanenceAs the only rhythms of the nightWashing across synapses branching. Watching the wheel of new crescentPulling away cirrus crystal mistsMy feet rest in the flames of the earthAdding scent to my hairSpark to ashAnd lifting to the nightA gentle flakeUnnoticed … Read More “Thick Voices of Repose” by Brand.
Memory elides into the eyes there (let it die) in the sloth of dreams, it is a protest against the ice shadow of what the fuck were we thinking under the frail permanence of memory, this stir dislocated into cracked lilacs red born as species, the earth moves the rock. The ocean shivers each broken bone, come to the blood of desire … Read More Memory.
the dark slithers, betraying the scarlet moon into the mellifluous hunger in each haze, a new mother of spring, the hills, the silence of untiring wanton blood broken between each finger and bone, nesting in the shadows in immense maddened breath across the perennial wound that dispels with the rain and alluvium struck with the heavy winter, a shell to bind me to you, … Read More Dissonance of a dream.
Rocks lay before the last thought and solipsism; Inside a frost stillness, decaying by the tree; Forbidden—the serpent’s blood betrays the bone fingers that lay upon stone. Feral. What happened? Illusory dreams are mere being. Devising a relent to emerge outside to the city, deprived of life deprived of streetlight. the lonely catkins … Read More The last thought.