A/N: My take on the Terza Rima poetic form... or at least my attempt at one! 😛 Upon perishable rooted wandering shores The wind’s recitation, a hectic dream Through the picturesque of yellow moors: Slick, blackened, chaste, o’er oozy silver streams. The slice of bone, inheriting shimmering Stardust, torn from rocks and ribs in unseen dreams … Continue reading The recitation of my dreams.
Thank you Katie Kay for nominating me for the Sunshine Blogger Award! I always love doing these things. They are so much fun. Rules for the Sunshine Blogger Award Thank the blogger(s) who nominated you and link back to their blog. Answer the 11 questions the blogger asked you. List the rules and display the Sunshine … Continue reading Sunshine Blogger Award #2.
Dreams entwined, Dreams throughout false silence, Silence, a dark inscribed, Silence, a tyrannical void, Void of fierce gasp, Void of reddened wounds, Wounds that starve under snow, Wounds around weeping crisp frost, Frost over the leaves Frost upon pure caverns, Caverns of the mind like a breeze, Caverns by the blue delphiniums like crystal, Crystal … Continue reading Silence, a dark inscribed, silence, a tyrannical void.
I am from wheat strips Of bread, and porch lights with fog on week mornings; I am from the mind world That restores dust at every Naked warm eye That blood rose On paper-cuts; I am from banana seeds, And reddened arches, Distorted music, Collected into one Starvation of abstract Speech—I am from the pressing of … Continue reading I am from broken images from my mind.
When the hand lays on sights, dead,
That collapsed dust from earlier time,
That acceded some time beyond the winds, lead
With the lining, cried at first breath.
Doth the rooms that kiss the gold of night
As when the mutters of veiled chance
Bested the light that silence commended, strife,
As the rivers bound to death as the unquiet light.
When thy heart withers at unborn tears,
Beyond the dressing of the sea, condemned
By the forthright waves that wallow sails
And willow them too, no more from a valley dale,
The rivers that reflected the moon
That dream for light to chill the dell
And when among the intone, it broods and dwells,
The everlasting song, thy unrest that shines the wells,
That laid the dirge of the last sight,
With unrest from the earlier time (which is change),
With the lining, alive, above a river of dead…
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The partition of light slides upon the red, pale rocks shielded by the cluster of streams, a fossilized hue of the starlight in the refusal of blustering dreams. A mere smudge of waterlogged forbidden Arcadia—tasseling a present vanishing in exile a solemn midsummer darkness prowling the streets in your memory. A moment of sense fragmented in … Continue reading A dream suspended from sanctuary.
From the hills coiled in mist dreaming alone Between the slipping isolation to touch the world where it beautifuly parts forever By the canefields at dusk hungry in the foreign twist Of the silent moon as my only light fluttering the picturesque leaves And houses with old lakes full with heaps of rain In darkened … Continue reading By the canefields at dusk.
A winter sere upon ashen cypress leaves A paradise among a ghoul of wind, a fragile river, Where I, I will stay beside a midnight tomb that rose a shiver, Alas in the time!—the entombed willows illuminate the trees, And I will wake from frail calls, lonely, enkindled by the breeze. I will wake in … Continue reading A Winter Sere.
Mercy, I summon Upon dark paradox flames To end the tempest.
Lost In the cracks of the ceiling The shadows outline At night in silence The windows that raid You to look at them, Betrayed in solemnity; Waiting for the hesitant Breath Beneath hidden light In disposable silence.
Wind dwells the dusk far Into perishable hours Frail, the light enriches Darkness in the world. The voice in sweet cities, Sleeping in dim snow. Surrender beneath The universe in this room; A flower, a dream Will lie crisp Softly with hidden laughter Summoning pure sleep.
The likeness of snow-covered heaps on desert-searing nights Of a scathing wind that cursed a name and brought it By the crook of a deserted nest sunbathed by bare hands, Seducing a whistle to the primeval waters that shoehorn rocks Reflected with an awakening flutter within a cold room With lip of ice and loitering … Continue reading Mes mots dans ce rêve.
On the gloaming surf of the dark shore, I lay my abled hands on the crimson darkened porcelain glass On the shadows of warmth, etched from a pale glistening scar of an ivory white that blooms in miry winter And I trace—pressing against the folds and hems of skin that caves in pearl, frail ash, … Continue reading Oh, Dream.
It is in the beige evening by the willows and a café restaurant with the golden leaves and their shards on the grounds, covered in a cleansed rain. It is in the illumination of shatters that broke beyond the pale sky that not only writhes among itself, but will be only among a frail sight … Continue reading Valhalla. (Prose)
As I touch the river that trembles upon my weak sunlit torrents upon a gentle lick of lilac, And I shiver upon the pale wisteria of the eventide like a wounded deer, For I wonder upon the dark lavender skies, and their cracked gentle weeping rivers That glint upon the surface below the Acrylic golden … Continue reading I’ll Remember.
Inspired by this awesome prompt. There, the shores of lonely remembrance see as to I have brought On the stirring abandoned rivers that are breathless through the shriveled drops of blood, And it is glinted from the wounding sun upon my pale skin that flutters upon the shallow surf, And I, oh, I will be … Continue reading Alone.
For the present, memory is rattled by the sorrel sobs that do not quell from my bleeding lips And I, now enclosed, in the flowers and darkened furnaces that blemished on my pale skin, I do not know, nor do I remember, but it is through the ashes in my weary palms, On the ghoul … Continue reading In The Stars.
We stopped in the primordial catacombs Waiting for the wrinkled aromas unto fresh Italy, And fog that had diverged the roots, laine with fallen roses; And I’ve heard the lonesome flow around the shore, Unrest among the madmen and women in the streets, And no more betwixt the gleaming roads, and yellow winters From before—“Let … Continue reading A Red Hyacinth.
Primordial of the language havocs the ghost, havocs the charring wood, as it hushes the daylight by the opaque fog above a motionless hillock, and I feel the strangeness of the fire arose from the bejeweled brooks, and faded, golden rivers, strung by the heat, I wander as the ocean meets the shore and I … Continue reading Morning Snow. (Prose)
Buried under the heaps of the apple pommes, The pomace piled on the path of rain, And we were on the dim stones and bloodroots And stamped, feeding fleurs de lotus; The moon pardons in a red silence, a crying reverie, And it hosts light; begot blue springs, Buried under the flickering of its flower, … Continue reading Shadow of the Dream.