lady leaf of laz.

skin on handlavender riseshugged by madsunsin whiteandyellow; the moonflutes the rain, abandoned byalltheflowers and the rainis deathflutteringi fear, the spine toits leaf that blows etceteraetceteraladyleafofLazarusdoes not leave © 2021 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved. I tried (emphasis on tried) to do an E.E. Cummings style/format here, so if you were wondering about that, guilty as charged. […]

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am i a tree?

am i a treebetween the earthfledembraced a dying thronefathered in my blood,stalked and eatenby the moon’s brigade,a kiss to the sun; a finger in the rainto la moon, i see I, and if the rosesaxethe tree,would I have dreamed of this,i woudn’t know © 2021 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.

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Novel Collaboration (“Identify”): Chapter 8 Part II.

The cave pooled on a dusty gray, its lifeless folds quietly shone, hinging to the cold darkness in the air. Intervened, footfall was prevalent and darning; she gripped onto her spear as she extended it away from her person, head merging against an animal’s snout.

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birth.

cruelly, our moon-hungancient tree fathers a poetsperm in frail autumn, born industily springlace,and eyes to this earthopened to oceanid shame, I wakesame as I was, peelingbones and eating air. © 2021 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.

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“SAN FRAN” by edenbray.

So many pieces of the puzzle, there is no need to hidebut they were lost, caught in nets on Pier 39Like an unfaithful son on the day of his bridethe colours of this city run and they rhymePollock might say its a bit of a daubuntil each piece he numberedPasted my memories in a red, […]

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the poet

Originally posted on George Ellington:
The words, the power, the very syntaxof your verse delights me,says the linguist in me. The imagery flows like molten cloudsover my aging soul,cries the artist in me. Your rhythm reaches into my heartand entices me to sing,chants the musician in me. The sensuality of your voice caressesmy pulsating skin,moans…

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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 […]

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hot suns.

breasts upon a kumquatsundown from the pied-piperin the woman’s moon, I’ve seen before I can’t even recognizewhen I rise fromthe hot sununtil a dream takesthe land in sultry menace upon the fire-flower’smouth to kiss. © 2021 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.

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Escape (An Original Poem)

Originally posted on Nexus of Writers:
I can’t escape It’s everywhere It’s part of me The pain resides Within my heart The pounding of The monotone keys I can’t hear My own heart It’s drowned out How is it that The whisper is Only heard by you?

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spinning.

I spinupon the lapissea, a foola vulturous moon which a woman bruitsher blood and lipsto the moon’s rise as it seesthe first language in ashes of god,I borrow the ring from the eucalyptusand throw it into Neptune. © 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.

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Novel Collaboration (“Identify”): Chapter 8 Part I.

She hated them, but quite at times admired them for their will to live. The bond between them only got stronger and stronger the more adversities they faced together. Only Zara was able to flicker that bond for a few moments, that fucking siblings-bond.

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The Chamber Magazine Rises Again

Yes, I am once again opening up The Chamber Magazine. Click on the photo or the link to go to its revamped homepage. Check out the submissions page … The Chamber Magazine Rises Again

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Novel Collaboration Sign-Up Form.

Since the novel collaboration I have been hosting has died down a little, I figured it might be easier for potential participants to just sign up through a form, and when it’s their turn for the chapter they choose to write, I will let them know. We are currently looking for a participant to pen […]

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“Warehouses and All” by Phil Slattery.

I met the world-weary expatriate American at a garden party in Egypt in ’89, several months after he had left the Somali oilfields. He remembered that outside his barracks near Mogadishu there had been warehouses full of rice donated by foreign charities to combat the perpetual famine. The impoverished, inept government had no trucks to […]

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“Murder by Plastic” by Phil Slattery.

When Alan Patterson awoke, he found himself naked and bound with wire to a heavy wooden chair with duct tape sealing his mouth. His head throbbed. The night was hot and humid and sweat rolled down his forehead and into his eyes, blurring his vision. He blinked a few times to clear them. He noticed […]

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Featured on Penable.

Hello everyone. I was recently featured on the Penable YouTube channel where I discussed a few creative writing tips such as developing ideas, writer’s block, and finding inspiration. You can watch the video here, if you’d like. I hope this can help anyone who has been struggling with writing whether it has been developing ideas […]

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slowdown.

Down, down, down the riverside. The air went dead. I suspended above the ivy waves in silence, entering into the belly indigo. Water had now been a cold darkness and I was trying to part myself from the waves above—that only seemed to inundate me further. I uttered few words I could remember or understand. […]

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All Poetry Contest (Ends December 3rd, 2020).

Hello everyone. I am currently hosting a contest through All Poetry, and it is centered around writing poetry inspired by Wallace Stevens. This is the first poetry contest I am doing through there and if anyone would like to participate, you must submit your entry through All Poetry. The contest ends on December 3rd, 2020 […]

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Poem On “Poetic Slice of Life” Podcast.

My work was featured on a podcast called A Poetic Slice of Life. This episode delves into discussion of poetry and Game of Thrones: “Join us on storyboards. Each Saturday night the theme of the show is different from sci fi, cult classic movies, to comic book heaven with a side of entertainment that carries […]

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eyes of the lagoon.

Father of gunmetal, fingers and sap kneeling to the blood-red of our faces from my formaldehyde Grandfather, in the black elms, a crown of sun pencils on white skin, now the eyes I find of the lagoon were treed in artichoke; father’s eyes are mine, the shore is from the foolish matriarch, babushka’s daughter and […]

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