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 … Continue reading our ghosts.
tread for days blood pours in a drowning diving into oceans. A murmur in the stillness of the sea absent in the lunula white, weeping in the dying of the eventide may you decide to leave as the crawfish float in unyielding waters, delusional, still seeking the innocence of the … Continue reading once a tree stood.
Spooks, the ghost, was swaying in his spot, Spooks, the ghost, saw a great ink pot! Silly little Spooks wanted something to drink, Silly little Spooks gulped down the whole blue ink! And many still don’t believe it to be true, But poor little Spooks turned all blue! And do you expect Spooks to sit … Continue reading “Spooks and the Blue Ink” by Snehal Suhane.
My piece, “I leave in a deeper silence” was published in Visual Verse for their current chapter. This is my first publication with them. It is written under my main pseudonym, and you can read the poem here. My utmost gratitude and thanks to Visual Verse for accepting my piece. More so, be sure to … Continue reading Visual Verse Publication.
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 … Continue reading “Story” by Elle Wilson.
Wept in the death of Gods, darker still in the gathering ocean, with only tears that fall to them, in the red hyssop of the frost inclined to the penetralium of desire, as the ocean slips no fate by its sea song to kill empty, the abscission of leaf falls like glass we could not … Continue reading Planetary motion.
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 … Continue reading “Our Secret Light” by The Blue Eyed Barbarian.
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 … Continue reading “Poet Don Reporting” by Don Matthews.
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, … Continue reading into loneliness.
I am dream-bound to the weeping mother of an ocean shore, my shadow is darker than the prose tree of mind and desire a prospect of inner lunacy and death; the clam’s mouth is lighter between the sun, into the silence of blue willows to the inmost bones of creation … Continue reading of memory.
Sometimes You’ll just be too much of a woman Too strong Too smart Too beautiful And too much of everything! But it doesn’t mean you need to Show yourself less of a man To win his heart Be a crown to a man who accepts You’re too much of everything! Note from Offshorewriter: Visit Offshorewritings.com … Continue reading “Dear women!” by Offshorewriter.
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 … Continue reading te amo.
Death in the ocean only comes once upon the prose tree in my mind, there is a darkness in the lithe stillness of autumn oaks now gone, as olive flowers; a fantasy heartless in horizon by Rome hills, a sea of loss is what we lost before to the ebbing across the fight … Continue reading death in the ocean.
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; … Continue reading out of reach.
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 … Continue reading A sea becomes.
The sea and mind in gelid movement acquiesces to the euphoria in the distant laughter of gradual woven lines of darkness; let it die a thought in the consciousness of bare winter after dark and dark a derangement in the cold falls inside glistening we’re hiding in the silence; … Continue reading no promises.
If ever I were to meetthe dream by sea-green eyesas they sleep, a beveled glassyet a reverie, I would imposeupon those that leftin the legs of wombto a leave-taking of melancholyas death alone drownsas the darkened sunset drowns. A sway of dark weeps,the ocean bleeds in the lithe rockswaddled at the surfdebased into what is … Continue reading a dream that wasn’t mine.
Warbling, a pretty sparrow, she’s come to visit thee, to spread wonder and good tidings, perfection uttered, pure beauty to be seen. She scratches around the back garden, throwing her head back, intelligent eyes glinting occasionally, she is here with great promise, her effect is really something that needs to be felt to be believed. … Continue reading “Pretty Little Sparrow” by Lauren M. Hancock.
In a dream be it my monster in the eyrie of leave-taking be it my death for the throes into the sea; my monster in the dark lassitude unsure but illuminated in which there is the torpid leg of maple sap warmed with hisses of the sea; my monster through branches befalls me.
flowers for you bursting like a ghost; red and white violets that were in a market shop your eyes hunted them and they were yours; as the street calls out in loneliness the telephone replays with your voice engraved in a blue marble vase by the sea gone.