cliff walking next to you, next to death— the two things I love most with moonlight in your eyes is enough to make me weep fragrance of night, of churning sea lifts to me lingers with the scent of you embracing on tremulous rock, listening to it crumbling, and looking down at the stars shimmering…
Tag: poems
Wreckage
Scattered bits, smoldering Broken, jagged edges —And the carnage? The carnage— In a moment of stillness, you think This is my life. And you wonder Why you survived at all.
Caisson Disease
When I re-emerge, I bleed. Pressure- less atmosphere expands my cells. Underneath I feel the weight I feel the hate Of all their words. When I re-emerge, I bleed. Pressure builds slowly, and you have comfort, you could boil in an underwater vent and not know. When I re-emerge, I bleed. Pressure Crushes…
Dark Quotes: Poe, Alone
I was quite young, maybe third grade, when I discovered Poe on the family bookshelf in a bound compendium of his work. While my love for his stories took a bit of time to grow (they were a bit a slow burn for me), I was immediately taken with his poetry. Still today, the casual rhyme,…
#Otherworldly Words: Transilience
February is the month that benefits from a leap year, thus having 29 days this year. A Leap Year is the year we gather the fragments of the 1/4 day in our calendar and give them space. It is a way of collecting time as if over the course these fragments were lost. Three…
#Otherworldly Words: Tachyon
February is the month that benefits from a leap year, thus having 29 days this year. A Leap Year is the year we gather the fragments of the 1/4 day in our calendar and give them space. It is a way of collecting time as if over the course these fragments were lost. Time itself…
From the #QuoteGarden: November
November is a month I am, well, let’s say that I’m hard on November. It’s one of those in between months that can’t quite decide what season it is. It swirls with chill and drizzle. Some mornings awake brilliant with frost while others are simply dingy. November colludes with its brother month, March, to make days short…
Behind the hedgerow
For #WerewolfWednesday, we’re treated a full moon, a lunar eclipse, and a meteor shower. Oh, and this werewolf poem! What lurks behind the hedgerow? Crackling branches under feet As I sit upon the stone bench in the silver glow of the full moon, where my lover I did come to meet. Whose labored breaths…
leaves of memory
if I could kiss my memories and toss them to the wind as crumbled leaves, my outstretched limbs would yearn so desperately as to sprout new memories as spring. the desperate red, the shameful purple, the quivering orange cling to me against the cold. this autumn coat of my life—not always beautiful but nonetheless…
chimera
broken and stitched from many separate, now dead, pieces. the grotesquery you’ve made of me. we often imagine much worse than reality. yet not in this instance. the stiches rub raw and red and infected yet hold. oozing between branches, sunlight mottles the damp soil and leaves. where we lie. we talk of movies….
