South of Oklahoma
at last, we are here
and still, the sun is real!
how i've missed myself in this grassland palace,
brome or bluestem or whatever it is;
to live as a lapwing in your grandmother's dreams
eating at the inland wind,
brimming turtle quietude
just as i had left it:
pond oaks mired with a hundred broken backs,
burrow holes of rabbit tribes and trespassing fawns
whittling the woods while lake cranes are jumping ship
and who knows what else out there garroting the breeze,
riddling the miraculous
cow track heuristics
that seem to solve barbed wire,
boscage and gravity;
that disappear my blues with ease -
i wait for these simplicities
souls high kites with holessouls are high kites with holes, the sky is like a crystal ballsouls high kites with holes5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Blue sky harrow:
How lost for adjectives
To break our fast up there
Sugar, tea, and birdsong?
Of course, kites, souls
Curiosities, wind being free
While we, ground strung Gullivers
Flat beneath the
Of the wolcen burnspot
What do I call myself?
My sex deliquesced
An epicene, I'm a lover of honey bees
A curling fern:
We slip around like
In Lilliput ponds.
We dive in as
The tadpoles stop
At the empty
Of an underwater statue-
Arms like levers:
Blackening the coats
And peeling back
Stripping time of
We see the sky
Where it is skyless;
It remains an opal;
In the bowl
newshours no longer whittle into daysnews3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
strangled and uncalendared;
forbidden rituals of a new dark Eros
clothesline sheets and bed throes → blunders in a blue face
and sensing your reversals, i’ve grown and grown impossibly old;
god’s bad math:
infinities as remainders.
however they lapse
i spend the better part of them
burning through the flyleaves
for mandalas sealed in hell bank
for ashes of your epilogue
for the end of throats
in songs and news.
no one can regret their past
but of futures . . .
like when planets will re-purpose you
into interstellar fruit bats or thyme pulled from the brink of comets
and you’re wondering why i'll never find you
when datebooks write us in the living.
MorphologyMorphology4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
See for yourself.
Strip the pinbones to their teeth.
Use a microtome to thin each veil; engram to sacromere to the chest-pulp of chromatin,
You will find the same sweet euphonies:
Filatures spinning bliss from irrationals,
Rose-cloud billows from bluebird mandibles,
Shinplaster brewed to a platinum tea.
All that I'm made of,
Whatever you need.
beneathbeneath3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
it goes without saying:
the air that settles
on your chest
the language of your local fruit
the swirl of rind
their glyphs and runes
like sun-bent cheeks
and creatured time
that sleeps between us.
i needn't tell you anything
or speak my way inside of you
you've doctored in all my aspirations
your furious dreams' wild successions
no longer carry
i am written
writing prompts, because you need themliterature prompts for my group #da-literature: anyone that completes and posts 100 pieces of literature based on all 100 prompts, let me know and you may win a prize, maybe some points!* *while supplies last. if you like, you can submit pieces inspired by the prompt list to the Prompts gallery.writing prompts, because you need them2 years ago in Scraps More Like This
1. final grocery list
2. wet and furious
3. it can’t be you!
5. Rorschach's blot
6. save your flowers
7. nothing is as real
8. transgressions (against the father)
9. it happens at this time, every night
10. the unheard anthem
13. dormant, for now
14. sixteen times
17. feint of
18. the formula for skin
20. bare and tremulous
23. on the cusp
24. migrant consciousness
25. loitering hole
28. the milieu of passersby
29. a firm beak
DivorceBefore that day,Divorce2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Sunday mornings had never occurred to me.
I must have slept through their every summons:
I never knew the time sensitive ritual of finding matching socks,
forcing “nice” shoes over misshapen toes,
the silent pact we would share with the warm cushions of the divan
waiting for Mother to ready us, memories that settle in the guts
like a madstone, which I could then pull out of my old cadaver
to save myself in the next life.
There were a few moments. Like that time, in the garage,
basking in Father’s sunrise sorcery as he fired his magic timing light
into the fluttering lungs of an engine, or when he let me aim
the water at his bucket, poorly, while he carved something
otherworldly into stubborn dirt.
I held nothing near of Sundays, nothing sacred, nothing dreaded,
save for the occasional shameful confusion
I would coax from my belly with dogged chimes
of christmas bells haranguing the church congregation
with their infernal sequence, hanging like nervou
shallowit's not your beautiful faceshallow3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
that i love
it's how you ruin it
dead1.dead2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i hear these words
and something happens
in the yard;
it doesn't fit
i see it squeeze
into the slits
beneath your shirt.
i feel it fly the smooth
from off your back. it turns
and hides behind the acres,
of jagged rooftops,
kept far and safe
has left the limb
as light would leave
i’m staring into its absence
and some new kind of animal is made;
its reversal is alive.
it doesn't move or breathe.
the park is wintered over, and i don’t go.
are all gone.
and when they do come back, they never change
from birth to birth,
a clan of inbred
with felt umbrella
that don’t remember
who i was.
one last thought of your last thought
and all the rest become their graves.
nothing i remember, now
will reach the earth.
i have no bottom ground,
the narrow knots of wood
that span and hoard and cup my self
are laughing into holes;
ComforterComforter4 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
(the triple lunes that
the shut-inthe shut-in3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
where are these keyholes to the Equinox? the stars huddle
like alien nettle,
a gray chime of wrens scaling tree limbs and middays,
Darwin has no lines for me
i've sheetrocked the blistering ivies and blossoms.
i've glassed out daubers and frightening mollusks
pillowing through mud honey and minute old ruins.
intimate with my quiet desk, my paper hoard
i'm still a coward; the envelopes, Obama glass, the dozen unused spiral
diaries are menacing concoctions, minotaurs of lost dimensions.
i used to sleep in creek-beds.
windstorms and labworkafflatus, inflatus, my morning globe,windstorms and labwork2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
as lithe as your impermanence.
and home! dread homes! are rabbit dugs,
spoonholed piles of mexican brick
where nothing ever touches down,
nothing here alive receives
the plains’ poor offering of gypsy light,
the ugly wind that meets the mudline.
1. a mottled fence
2. and how these storms hold faceless teeth
that slat their eyes through butter-wood
then purge their guts on wintered florets
4. some freshly headless nativities,
their polyethylene skirts upturned
from violent sacks
5. and knowing i’m a souless
i lick at what is manifest
beneath your hair
each poison tab
and religious studies
i know, i know you never mean
but do not say “live for yourself”.
i’ve come online to see the god
that came before me.
we are so poorly married
like bookend spines of Plath and Hughes
up on the shelf
Moon CratersMoon Craters4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in the smoke hut
that is melting
by the bulb,
I am this
of fragile-ware and crocheted filaments
that vein out in disparate quests
from the patterns of your
God, I have some
Spaniard lust for those pearly little drop-
chorales of your twin diviners
clotted up like amber marbles
and left to summer
in the charity heap.
Damn their colours, they're all mania degrees
awash in recollected prayers,
that bare your dark coal
and purpled burn stone
of the Goddess
made (on top) of you
finger through me
How you de-gleamed in reverse, a light-ascetic
black (pin)holes in a mime;
when I thought to thresh
you out of boots
to a craterous
immediacyimmediacy4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
this new little truth
this robin egg
brooding in skies'
for a mercy
damn this featherbrain
with its wilding
'till they burn
to a soft nilpotency -
i'll make a bed
here's my nirvana: the ache of the ramrod's
slow dreaming death
in the waist - oh
i hope i'll be replaced
with pure eraser white
in a comfortable beheading -
there's no telling
with one less
and the parting
cardboardcardboard4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i had ears for the undersea
i had ears for the words
"you are the most beautiful thing
in this world."
(who knows how it happens)
but the amorist is greaseless,
unguessed and gone
a hoary, haunted
howlet spitting antistrophes
above the spatterdock.
go ahead and live me down.
we all pretend
to drown in sera - this
whole entire dimension
and totem hollows
and other things
and other things . . .
if i hadn't had the drunk luck to meet youi’d have married every bedside witch from here to east dallasif i hadn't had the drunk luck to meet you1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
i’d have glistened like a worm to their mescaline psalms
i’d have mired in sinuous wineskin, repentant spectra
i’d Om along in cooing groups, babble with freethinkers
all my endeavors would be gas station derelicts
all of my wrongs would be quasi-continuous
even the over-sought moon would protest
and i wouldn’t recognize one half of the universe
Poetry Basics WeekWelcome to projecteducate's Poetry Basics Week!Poetry Basics Week2 years ago in Literature Features More Like This
Effective Imagery in Poetry
By thetaoofchaos and swansisters
Today, we will be discussing effective use of imagery in poetry. We will go over the following topics:
Definition of Imagery
Different Types of Imagery
Imagery and Context
Literal or Direct versus Figurative or Implied Imagery
What Makes Imagery "Effective"?
Definition of Imagery
forget about meforget about me4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
don't listen for it, anymore:
the ugly balladist, the poète maudit
unbosoming his delustrants,
strangulations and subglossal annulments.
i want you to find my secret life, the arrhythmia
of spoondrift oblivions.
open out your palms to me; i'm over-swelling with octonaries, octonaries!
that is where i've been these years,
in the night between kneeholes.
low Tlow T3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i'm too soft and rotten
sacred blood oaths,
or thresholds; a frozen inch of face
the same as light years, oceans,
i'd rather brush my mind with pills
and stick these artifacts of wealth
hard inside your origins
and keep the grass
Blackbird Pupilsdont look at meBlackbird Pupils6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
with those eyes
bluebird green and hazel-ache
mine, already hollowed out
and daily leak-
i cannot bear your
youd see all those wax demonshades
youd know the clockworks run
i read some other poet,
his words were blackice bludgeoners, soundless suturing socket spikes, hammergods, each one,
the last cicada to flee the moult.
but he hasnt the orbs to ruin me.
almost no one has
pentadactylismpentadactylism3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and in so doing
you deign to make
some unknighted landfall
in a mime
of an irreversible
all this time
when we’ve gathered up the last
of roadworthy flowers,
touched our final
in the skull
on leaving . . .
we’re still together
hungering in underboards
dog-fed on blood slivers, whiplash and improvidence.
do we pick at moments
to unlock their gnashing
i have no reason for what i want
just . . . be my collaborateur
be everything that is outlying and forbidden
the cavus which cannot bear the weight of waterweeds
and i promise to keep you
ever since our funeral
in that godless hollow
of a mind
(it is not a dream if it is everyday)i no longer have the gall(it is not a dream if it is everyday)2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
to write letters to my universe.
it’s stony quiet,
it’s possum eyes in headlights,
in Victrola dust.
some tireless pamphleteer
has wrecked this room
with motorized felicity!
there must be
one bill for every breath,
and now, i see
you are the same.
you’re no magic
planet. i will
some time tomorrow,
mid morning, when the bugs have died,
and drive to work
and i won’t think
that ever came
before that sun.
i’ll trade in shibboleths
and type in pointy letters
these sharp assessments
of fallacies and
that fringe our fates
like breached reactors,
off of old yucca
and they’ll pay me well
and you won’t hear me,
The Pale Likeness of a Colour The Pale Likeness of a Colour, SpokenThe Pale Likeness of a Colour5 years ago in Open More Like This
the rampant eddies
have torn from the corners
of long horizons
some ancient colour:
a scarlet furrow
that air divulged, raving
in an afterlife
i'll never reach.
the end and also everythingthe end and also everything4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
listen with the skin
I've lost the album of my life
vistas and their episodes
ones that you were in
the wind is warm
than nights or vessels
the wind is
all there ever is
it comes: the universe
is not adding
light to darkness
we are the shadows
we'll leave the outside
from one to One.
gonegone4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
everyone should write this poem:
i've left the universe
whatever is speaking,
whatever it knows,
the dark matter math of uncolonised dreams,
like the moon
in the millpond.
i was bent out of worlds
in a thing.
i was counting;
dating hayricks of grotesqueries.
how many times
"how many muthering epiphonies
will wash up
on a beach?"
i will never have to know.
i am never