Do not tell me what I was to redraw that cold war face, to see a woman of what I bleed
Tag: Family
My father was a man like Augustus.
Blood doesn’t mean anything on my bosom, and loneliness was refracted by my memory.
Silent to my blood.
silent to my blood along the bone garden I have known the women, living and dead
Three Raven.
God’s moon, leavetaking from the garden, the wildling from its fruit I’ve killed
I moved in the effervesce of the sea. (Prose)
It would always end this way.
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
Modernities.
isolate the modernities
carnations touch the wind, mocking them,
like a cigarette in the abandoned sunlight
Planetary motion.
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
Man of war (Draft).
into the ghost egg to root a shape like a python eye
I’ve lived as a statue. (Prose)
I’ve lived as a statue, a quiet child.
to in a dream.
has died, beautiful dreamer
into loneliness.
dream from dream godly fields of life then lassitude of the shunt of death. Father listens to what I read, Noveau waves in homemade poetry; dream from dream godly fields of life then lassitude of the shunt of death. Father listens to what I read, Noveau waves in homemade poetry;
te amo.
asleep, the ice-fields of your memory they go into the throes of the dark ocean floor
“Who cares what we eat?” by Navnidhi Vyas.
Who cares what we eat? Overweight is common sight Glucose, lipids are at heights Are we losing our health rights?
His eyes.
Leopard’s paws white like scolecite stones faceted to fingernails to the death of the wild, a resemblance to a beast
“The Box” by Kimberly Ray.
“This friendship will self-destruct when you open that box"
“Renee By A Thread” by Tom Alexander.
Down the corridor, comes a scream
Was it physical pain
or the horror of finally learning
the way this game is turning
Mother.
I am adjunct to birth and death.
Undraped, I emerge from womb—a pupa
I barely cried
Poem Collaboration! (Closed).
I’m holding a collaboration open for all to create a group poem together. It is not a contest, but rather an event we can all do together during these dark times of the world. Perhaps, this could help promote positivity in the midst of it all. Perhaps, we can meet new writers here from this collaboration and discover different pieces of writing. In a way, it doesn’t have to feel so socially distant.
Traces by the horizon.
alone; the serpent’s blood
betrays the sea of lovers
that fall upon
the memory
one by one.
Pseudopsychosis. 