Posted at 21:37h
in
Creative
He is warmth
trickling
through the trees;
their leaves
casting shadows
that cradle her
soft-bodied stem.
A tulip to the sun,
she unfolds
against his touch
she is no longer
grace and beauty.
She is
textured edges
and tangled roots
she unravels
herself
before him...
Posted at 21:29h
in
Creative
Oh! Vexed candle—you!
What sorrows you look into?
With your crimson heart turning blue,
Like my wounds were of you.
As a flaming soul in an oyster's shell,
In the silent wisps of air, you dwell.
Sculpting your masthead with the turn—
As you burn! As we burn!
Of the rainbow! Of the...
Posted at 21:18h
in
Creative
Words—they come out—a blazing golden
Showering refulgence upon this night
Out from the winter’s waning crescent—
An altering air of mystery.
In pebbled syllables—tossing and rippling,
Trembling and flirting—
And constantly vibrating
Upon this heart they merrily flow.
Freshly coated—some pink upon pink
Jewelry—or a painting itself
Resting upon the innocent face
A portal to the...
Posted at 20:59h
in
Creative
I rolled the cigarette paper between my thumb and forefinger,
as the Wild West blew dust and ashtray memories into my mouth.
My teeth crunched on gritty rocks,
eroded by tides of passing centuries
into desert sand.
The film coated my gums and my tongue rolled over a jagged molar,
like...
Posted at 20:56h
in
Creative
The breath of spring
births blossoms and young love.
A thief of frost:
she tongues each valley
and kisses lips of dandelions.
Watching is the weakened widow
who spies upon the mating birds.
The blood-red berries,
succulent and bare,
are plucked off one by one.
The lovers prance outside her home
lungs bathing in the lilac...
Posted at 20:41h
in
Creative
We used to live in a yellow house. It was beautiful, with white shutters on the windows and a garden in the back. We would spend every Sunday afternoon in that garden, helping Dad plant the chrysanthemums. My sister Daisy would pick which colours went...
Posted at 20:30h
in
Creative
Back to back, wrinkled and withered,
we lay in the garden
as sleeping thoughts flittered.
Crumpled in grey, bathing in dirt,
we will take to the grave
all the lessons we learnt.
But for now, who can say?
Who could ever forget?
Not us, surely,
who have mastered intellect.
The mammoth of knowledge,
a titanic of...