Your name tastes like apples,
vibrant ripe and red,
golden and delicious.
Your touch feels like music:
the bass vibrating through my skin,
down to my bones,
through everything that’s hollow;
filling the chambers with choral music.
We feel like hallelujah when I give myself to you.
I tremble as you treble cleft my heart in two.
Your shadow scents the doorway,
a subtle woodsmoke…
I see the imprint of your head
upon the pillow where you
once lay next to me
in colors that have no name,
even in the dark.
I still smell your shadow,
that subtle woodsmoke…
I still remember what the hallelujah
felt like when I gave myself to you.
I still remember the pleasure of the bass—
still feel the heartbreak of the treble.
Apples will never taste the same.
I wish I were empty
To be so full
and yet so fragile
a porcelain grenade
filled with the shrapnel
that only time and pain
and silence can forge
My pin is loose
I’ve been thrown
and
jostled
and
shaken
and
still I hold myself together
I am so full
I loose my pen
but to what end
I wish I were empty
and this was just blank space
Inflection point.
I harden my skin
at your words.
— Transmutation —
My insides flame,
a thousand suns of fury
contained
within this complex vessel.
The song of sadness
surges through
these molten veins.
Tears steam
and turn
to vapor.
You
will
never
see
it.
Radiating rage
cracks the clay
down the fingers
of my right hand.
Anathema:
you armed me with fire,
I armed myself with a pen.
I will immortalize
my pain and wrath
and
incinerate your name.
———————————————-
Your eyes are gems
Set in the pommel
Of a golden sword.
You let the light in,
Left me helpless,
With nowhere to hide
From your precision.
There is Honey
And Dragon Fire
On your tongue.
My laconic Love:
I’d offer my ashes to be your priestess.
The mystery you paint
Hides the revelation on your lips - -
A chalice I can’t sup from,
Religious rites I’m not initiate to - -
A Heaven barred against this heathen soul.
If any words I leave have worth,
Bury me in your heart,
And I’ll know rest.
—————————————————————
There is a multiverse
quietly lighting up
and coloring
my gray matter,
subverting expectations
in each bespoke dimension.
Never say that I’m daydreaming
this is creating:
I’m originating worlds,
producing cosmos,
enriching detail,
supplementing subtlety
and adding flair.
Where are my fellow artists?
Raise your tools of expression.
Attest!
We speak loudest through creation.
In introversion
there are unknown worlds
upon worlds unfolding.
Our heads aren’t
”in the clouds”
they are wherever we please,
quietly lighting up
and coloring
our gray matter.
ﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌ
Adorned with new silver
from the linings
of lead clouds - -
culled and collected
in stolen slivers,
reformed for living
in a hope corrected - -
ignoring overhead shrouds.
(Supernova in a Tea Cup) by TheLunaLily, literature
Literature
(Supernova in a Tea Cup)
(Exhaling,
Birthing the breath
Conceived of
Fear and Anxiety.
Lungs on fire –
They need air,
I need air,
But it feeds the flames inside.
I am working on an exhale,
Long past due …)
(My Rabbit Heart races,
Beating seismically
In this tightening trammel
Against expanding fractures
Along the fault lines of my ribs.)
(I am breaking
And burning.)
(This cracking –
Maybe it’s my smile,
Lately its been slightly too bright,
And a little too brittle.)
(There is Maybe written in the air,
A hope for the next breath,
For the flames to cool,
Or at least be confined
And not burn my Rabbit Heart
Which in its weakness
Or strength
Can drum a seismic beat.)
(I am
a Supernova
in a Tea cup…)
“I’m fine.”
——————————————————————-
Adorned with new silver
from the linings
of lead clouds - -
culled and collected
in stolen slivers,
reformed for living
in a hope corrected - -
ignoring overhead shrouds.
I wish I were empty
To be so full
and yet so fragile
a porcelain grenade
filled with the shrapnel
that only time and pain
and silence can forge
My pin is loose
I’ve been thrown
and
jostled
and
shaken
and
still I hold myself together
I am so full
I loose my pen
but to what end
I wish I were empty
and this was just blank space
Your eyes are gems
Set in the pommel
Of a golden sword.
You let the light in,
Left me helpless,
With nowhere to hide
From your precision.
There is Honey
And Dragon Fire
On your tongue.
My laconic Love:
I’d offer my ashes to be your priestess.
The mystery you paint
Hides the revelation on your lips - -
A chalice I can’t sup from,
Religious rites I’m not initiate to - -
A Heaven barred against this heathen soul.
If any words I leave have worth,
Bury me in your heart,
And I’ll know rest.
—————————————————————
There is a multiverse
quietly lighting up
and coloring
my gray matter,
subverting expectations
in each bespoke dimension.
Never say that I’m daydreaming
this is creating:
I’m originating worlds,
producing cosmos,
enriching detail,
supplementing subtlety
and adding flair.
Where are my fellow artists?
Raise your tools of expression.
Attest!
We speak loudest through creation.
In introversion
there are unknown worlds
upon worlds unfolding.
Our heads aren’t
”in the clouds”
they are wherever we please,
quietly lighting up
and coloring
our gray matter.
ﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌ
Inflection point.
I harden my skin
at your words.
— Transmutation —
My insides flame,
a thousand suns of fury
contained
within this complex vessel.
The song of sadness
surges through
these molten veins.
Tears steam
and turn
to vapor.
You
will
never
see
it.
Radiating rage
cracks the clay
down the fingers
of my right hand.
Anathema:
you armed me with fire,
I armed myself with a pen.
I will immortalize
my pain and wrath
and
incinerate your name.
———————————————-
(Supernova in a Tea Cup) by TheLunaLily, literature
Literature
(Supernova in a Tea Cup)
(Exhaling,
Birthing the breath
Conceived of
Fear and Anxiety.
Lungs on fire –
They need air,
I need air,
But it feeds the flames inside.
I am working on an exhale,
Long past due …)
(My Rabbit Heart races,
Beating seismically
In this tightening trammel
Against expanding fractures
Along the fault lines of my ribs.)
(I am breaking
And burning.)
(This cracking –
Maybe it’s my smile,
Lately its been slightly too bright,
And a little too brittle.)
(There is Maybe written in the air,
A hope for the next breath,
For the flames to cool,
Or at least be confined
And not burn my Rabbit Heart
Which in its weakness
Or strength
Can drum a seismic beat.)
(I am
a Supernova
in a Tea cup…)
“I’m fine.”
——————————————————————-
Your name tastes like apples,
vibrant ripe and red,
golden and delicious.
Your touch feels like music:
the bass vibrating through my skin,
down to my bones,
through everything that’s hollow;
filling the chambers with choral music.
We feel like hallelujah when I give myself to you.
I tremble as you treble cleft my heart in two.
Your shadow scents the doorway,
a subtle woodsmoke…
I see the imprint of your head
upon the pillow where you
once lay next to me
in colors that have no name,
even in the dark.
I still smell your shadow,
that subtle woodsmoke…
I still remember what the hallelujah
felt like when I gave myself to you.
I still remember the pleasure of the bass—
still feel the heartbreak of the treble.
Apples will never taste the same.
Those eyes.
Those eyes.
Just a look got her spinning
— but all it took was a word,
and she said, “I’m sorry,”
like a can being opened —
piercing and rending;
agonizingly, irreversibly,
she
couldn’t
stop
spilling
her
guts …
I.
It is Summer and Cecelia dreams of Magpies.
Omens flock to her at midnight -- another night, another nightmare -- dark wings crowd her and she is increasingly claustrophobic. The winged visions never let her sleep for long.
Cecelia wakes with a start, heart hammering against the walls of her chest. She still hears their croaking calls.
Buzzing about her brain is a relic from her childhood, learned and abandoned on the playground, the words emerging from the depths of time like cicadas refusing to be silenced: The Magpie Divination Rhyme.
One for sorrow,
Two for joy,
Three for a girl,
Four for a boy,
Five for silver,
Six for gold,
Seven for a secret,
Never to be told.
She looks over at her husband, and longs to wake him, to give his shoulders a shake, but pulls her hand back. What would she say that she hasn’t said already? What could she say aloud that she can’t say to herself, that only her dreams can articulate?
Infinity rolling like the tide
By silver sun and golden moon,
Conceiving worlds in my Mind’s Eye,
Birthing them upon a loom.
Ever fertile my Thoughts spin
Silk and steel intricacies.
Imagination dyes threads of ink
Unnamed colors of my fancy.
Words given a heartbeat, once set free,
Soar untamed to outlive me.
It’s a sweltering mid-summer Saturday afternoon, not unlike the day before, and the one before that. They are in their apartment, him in his plain brown recliner, her propped on the arm of her refurbished vintage loveseat, the fan spinning lazy circles like a crippled bird. Its thrumming white noise has been valiantly filling the silences, but wings can only do so much. If not for the pain, there would be comfort in the familiarity of the argument sizzling in the air.
She said:
“How could you say that? And in that way…”
He stares cold-eyed and shrugs, his ice gathering shoulders, quietly burdened, are begging for an avalanche. It has become too heavy. Any excuse will do.
She said:
“As if it is mathematics, equations, not conversations, with your words like numbers, reducing everything to addition and subtraction—“
He said:
“You’re doing it again, speaking in metaphors and surrealisms. You know I can’t stand it. What the hell is your problem? And what does any of it
Cracks in My Cosmos and Reshaping My Universe by TheLunaLily, literature
Literature
Cracks in My Cosmos and Reshaping My Universe
These imperfections endangering galaxies
Rippling through space
Tearing through t i m e
Altering constellations
My universe r e s h a p i n g
Binary stars blink in distress
✧ S O S ✧
Supernova! Oh! Supernova!
I tried reshaping my universe
With detached precision
Careless of consequence
Carving numerous chasms
Not creating inner kingdoms
Blinding chaos entered easily
Through the cracks in my cosmos
And settled in
It was my futile attempt
To release the dark matter
That had grown too heavy
At my center
There was a war of attrition
Battles fought
Won and lost
On this celestial body field
With desperation
Without mercy
- - Mistakes writ indelible
In casualties and scarred stars - -
A shiver, a shudder
A monumental shift
And I am left to wonder
Whether this
Resting Mona Lisa Face (R.M.L.F.) by TheLunaLily, literature
Literature
Resting Mona Lisa Face (R.M.L.F.)
Resting Mona Lisa Face,
that is what I possess.Allow me to reframe this:
I am not a work of art,
I am a work in progress,
constantly culling the chaos.I am a quiet Creatrix.This vessel of mine
contains mythos
and macrocosms;
they are the lights in my eyes,
these secret worlds in orbit.R.M.L.F.Yes,
I confess
with a curl of my lip—I’d apologize,
but I can not help it.
I am a magpie building a nest
on the rotten apple-core branch
of a vine-choked tree:
constructing a castle
with deft theft
from stranger's love letters;
from stained windows;
broken irreverently
by boys throwing stones;
and decorated with rusty watch faces
that remind me of little old men,
but never of time. It is a curious structure,
woven together with care and caution tape,
the halls decked with heartstrings
that I held on too tightly,
that I pulled with a bit too much zeal. I am taking my sweet time
with this domicile of mine,
because time is all I have
and all I do is w...
In the summertime, he keeps the windows open to let the breeze in. Every night he hears the ghost train passing by from his bed, yet it is not the steam whistle that keeps him awake. It is not the chug of the engine firing fuel to pull its weight. It is not the thought of the dead that frighten him so, nor the phantasmagorical events that would unfold during the night. It is the sound of the chains as they rattle accusingly on the iron rails. ClickClackClickClackClickClack Two coins on your eyes for my thoughts … Sentimental, hateful memories of a boy, and all that he wanted was his grandfather's watch, passed down from his father...
I measure trust by the length of my arm,
Thrust out from danger, safe-guarding from harm
The negative space where love might exist
Twixt palms and breast if I didn’t resist.
I measure love by the empty spaces,
By words I don’t read in hearts and faces;
In the silent distances I can run,
And the things that my gentle heart has done.
A Collection of Written Memories by LiterarySerenity, literature
Literature
A Collection of Written Memories
This moment divides what came before
from everything still to arrive—
like teetering on the threshold
of fresh opportunities
I gathered past fragments
into a single literary vessel—
imperfect but personal
to slip onto a shelf
Preserved and bound
as memories to share
with family and friends
They prove how far
the written word
has helped me to venture
So many memories
of ideas explored
and friendships forged
within a writing community
There are times,
[small,
inconsequential,
like the time between ticks on a clock too loud to ignore]
when you don’t feel the smoke
that’s in your lungs, too subtle to smell.Those moments:
like a clear night’s sky,
like
air you can breathe,
like light filtered through foliage--so thick
the world turns green,
and your skin green,
and you feel like you could live in the snowmelt
of the mountain streams, soak up their frigid water
like a sponge so often dry.And in those times you live in a space like a parallel world
just far enough away
that...
A Little Baby Boy Just a little baby boy, no more than a year old.
Yes his mom desperate to need, driven by greed.
Another one drawn in and trapped by wicked ways the devil crafts.
Far too blinded by lies that in her corrupt eyes she's raising him well.
Gripped by the vise, only exists by thread of an imprisoned life.
Not a change he was give, bound to the same prison.
It's a depressive sight to see that he be raised by a shattered life.Once living in hopeless streets, little one clothed in plastic, carried around cold.
No money, desperate, she did unworthy things, while her baby is cast to the side.
She'd rather fill a desper...
Thoughts sail
Down her deep, inky
Strands of silken memories-
The crescent moon of her
Profile illuminates the
Way for her devout
Pilgrims; each a
Weary, way-worn wanderer of
Their own,
Each inspired to tears that
Stream from their blinded eyes,
Each denying themselves
The honour of her worldly beauty,
Captivated instead by her words; her metaphors.
Her soul laid bare.
UN MILLIER DE PETALES - A THOUSAND PETALS by Exnihilo-nihil, literature
Literature
UN MILLIER DE PETALES - A THOUSAND PETALS
Je t'offre la pluie
Pluie douce de pétales
Pétales de rosesEt sur ton perron
Perron de lune et de lys
Lys pâle fleur nobleJe suis là ce soir
Ce soir je t'offre un déluge
- Déluge de roses. I offer you the rain
Rain of soft petals
Petals of rosesAnd on your perron
Perron of the moon and lily
Lily flower pale and nobleI'm here tonight
Tonight I offer you a deluge
- Deluge of roses. Frantz, January, 19, 2011.
What emptiness awaits
The lost, lonely sparrow,
Flittering like the last speck
Of a tungsten bulb?Half empty bottles of
Vodka litter the caverns of his
Heart, torn journals black with disdain
And unrequited sonnets stock its libraries.Tempestuous tides terrorise
Wayward emotions,
Tepid prose intoxicating
Every long drawn breath,
Every cold, agonizing rattle...But note that noble friend
The Wind, how he scolds our poor,
Sad,
Sparrow-"Chase not the waxing moon forever-more,
For with every dusk comes dawn,
Twilight's sweet grace assures us this
Liberty, there are more than one lights for you"
Dear, little, lonely sparrow...
Her pen, it drips
And then
Pleads words to the
Page. willing those who read to
Yearn and feelBrilliant she shines
In a gloomy world
Radiant, kind and good
Today we remember the day of
Her birth
Deliberately, I raise my glass
And toast to all the goodness
You bring to this place called life.
The sun bakes the skin mercilessly. It's dawn already, with the coolness of the previous night not gone entirely just yet, scattered as droplets of dew onto the grass instead. The tent is being illuminated slightly, a lonesome lantern hanging and banging from time to time onto the wooden columns of the frame construction. The wind howls across the valleys and in-between the woods encircling the small glade they found themselves sleeping this morning. The taste of the early hours spent in this country, far from their homes, away from anything they ever knew must be the taste of freedom, it seems.Freedom tastes then of Will's aftershave, Ve...
ADIEU MA SOEUR-FAREWELL MY SISTER -haiku- by Exnihilo-nihil, literature
Literature
ADIEU MA SOEUR-FAREWELL MY SISTER -haiku-
(english translation below) Adieu ma soeur - à Shanna. Une fleur de Lys
Et dans la brise du soir
J'ai vu ton sourire Naoko, 1127.
Frantz, 2011. ..................................................................................... Farewell my sister - To Shanna. A lily in bloom
And in the evening breeze
I saw your smile Naoko, 1127
Frantz, 2011
Your heart was touched by Midas
worth its weight in gold
You're truth standing naked
bearing your scars so boldYour words guide those broken
firm like an emotional crutch
An ability to relate
to crimes of self-hate
with a soft and tender touchOne by one
in the meadows of heaven
he plucks the memories of you
remembering that day
he gave a name
to his dream that came trueForget me not?
No one can
your flame it burns too hot
little flower
high upon the moon
you deserve your special spot
*☽* Come, travel my wor[l]ds & mythologies, (pack maps & star charts.) *☽*
Tools of the Trade
My quirky, capricious Muse.
Post Spotlight
Happy New Year! by TheLunaLily, journal
Happy New Year!
Hi, friends! I hope you have had a good holiday season and that next year is better than this one.
It‘s been a while, and I apologize for not being active lately, but although I’ve been hyper careful, I got Covid. My whole family did after my grandma was in the hospital. Everyone made it through and is better now. But I still am exhausted - it really took a toll. I was sick for over two months: high fever; lost my voice for that whole time from coughing so hard and having a sore throat ( it only came back a few days ago); I had headaches; body aches; sweating and chills; dizziness; chest pain; upset stomach - got down to under 100 pounds… just went through the wringer and it wasn’t even the bad Covid strain.
So I hope that you have a Happy New Year, but please, be careful and responsible, thoughtful and kind, and treat others as you wish to be treated.
Let’s make 2023 the year of Empathy.
:heart:
Shanna
🌙🪷