Wordle #182

Week 182

You belong to the ether,
to memories eclipsed in saudade.
I cannot recover the incline of our journey
or the bittersweet implications
of your infinite meanings.

We were coruscant in our brevity,
a glitch in a continuum without fault.
I do not seek you out,
your extravagance, your fishnet tidings.
Time has rendered me lenient
and all that we were
is now alien and diffuse.

Whenever I see a field of tulips
I think of you,
how wild, how cultivated you were
as I remake you again and again
with varying inflections.

A very quick write before bed!

Writing Prompt #121 “NoEnd House Part 4″

Kenopsia

Idle spectrums swallow my breach.

(Never soften your edges at my behest)

Everything is as I remember

Only my memories have soured.

(I am alone, I am alone, I am alone)

Drunk on echoes, we are obsolete.

A fog of rage pierces my heart

And all the recipients therein.

(I found you under a ceiling of indigenous stars.)

An audience of chairs obstructs scoffing ghosts.

(Is death ever truly sense-less?)

Every prick, twitch and confabulation

Has been revisited but the course remains unknown.

(We are freestanding doors that open on the alternate.)

We are freestanding doors that close on the indefinite.

for

https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/08/23/writing-prompt-115-noend-house-part-3%E2%80%B3/

Wordle #139

140

I snatch your angels

From the waves

Of a treacherous silence,

A box apart from

The residual graves.

As simple as a moon

Fashioned of clay

My self recriminations

Spring up helter-skelter

In moments overcast.

How could I have lost you

When I held on with all my might?

What can fix perfection

And if not you

Then what can I alter

Without covering up

These essential lies,

These transparencies

Which distinguish

One void from the next.

We were quite the pair

Miscreants starved for reason,

Two perfects eggs

In a cycling bath.

My courage no longer raw

I cling to a barren science.

Your kisses thieving worms,

Your eyes retracted halos

How can I die in the cradle

Of such a gorgeous silhouette?

*

Unrelated to the poem I am having technical issues with WordPress. My notification feature does not seem to be working, so I no longer receive emails when someone likes a post. This feature is very helpful for me because I have memory issues and so I really hope that it’s not been phased out =(

Wordle #151

151

Platters of cotton

Parade over my tongue,

Clouds baked

To the consistency

Of meringue.

I catch celebratory stars

In old jelly jars,

Leaves in the skirt

Of a threadbare dress.

Dreams trip through

A college-ruled notebook

Cramped are the rows

Of parenthetical impression.

There’s never enough time

For paradise and though free

I miss most what I have never seen.

*

Not too pleased with this one reminds me of something I would have written as a child when I first began

Prompt 31 “Take me Back”

takemeback

Loss of love, friendship, employment, youth we’ve all experienced a sense of longing (even if brief) for the restoration of a relationship, state of being, or situation. Is there anything or anyone you’ve lost? Has hindsight clarified your illusions or created a crippling nostalgia? All forms of media are acceptable. Your entry can be fiction, non fiction, or a combination of the two. My entry is totally fictional and encase there is any confusion the “I” in my poem is male. The loss can be based on choice(s) you’ve made or events that were not within your control but you wish, nevertheless, to alter. You do not have to use the phrase “Take me back” but you are welcome to do so. This prompt comes from an idea given by a very talented writer whom you can visit here Summerstommy

Ghosts

scaryface

My prayers

Never quiet

The serpent’s tongue

A drawn heart

Lapping at

The blood soaked flesh

Of an excised malady

A marrow hearth

Kindling

Nostalgic visions

*

The human mind

Is too zealous

In defense

Copper coins

Stacked atop

Closed lids

The inescapable cadence

Of an indefinite fugue

A gaping black maw

That finds solace

Only on departure

We are the carrion

The shade

The forlorn howl

Of an eclipsed parade

*

This is my proof for Helen Valentina please check out her blog if you haven’t yet. You will not be disappointed she is a genius =)

*

We spend huge portions of our life unconscious and those hours where we are not physically asleep we are in a mental/emotional stupor. At war with our minds to stay awake/mindful we find ourselves suffocating trapped in habits and addictions, unable to change, replaying the same scenarios and conversations over and over. We hunger savagely but never find satiety. Our minds are wired to shut down at the slightest provocation. Automatic Pilot is more default than helpful mechanism. Perhaps those that “die” are simply moving forward to some other stage of existence or nonexistence? Perhaps we are merely ghosts?

*

The picture is of me taken with a filter and a very unflattering angle to give a creepy effect. My nose looks enormous, you will have to take my word when I say my nose is actually normal sized haha. Because of my prominent cheekbones and the set of my eyes being a bit deep the eyes came out black which is the only part I like of this photo lol. I am not wearing makeup. I have freckles and I think that may have given a weird effect.

Stray

Broken-Heart-Backgrounds-Wallpaper

Love

Is cruel

The way she

Warps truth, forges

Scars in nimble hearts

Moderates intellect

With faithless innuendo

Under her portentous spell

I have worn both the shame of scandal

And the virtue of posthumous savior

Any madness intrinsic in my psyche

She has heightened to such a degree

As to leave me fiercely deranged

Even death would disavow

One such as I’ve become

A stray scavenging

Nostalgia in

Search of a

Dream long

Past

=

This is my first ever attempt at an Etheree I got the idea from the supremely talented (if you want to see how it is really done check them out!)

B.G. Bowers and Melanie Blackwell

This submission is for

Poet’s United

Gaslight

Gaslight

I dress myself in your linens

A Vestal virgin mid service

Amidst a redolent anamnesis

I hold out every covenant

The tapestry moth-eaten

Despite amaranthine care

*

I trace each abrasion lovingly

As though defect held

An incantation

That when whispered

Would resolve all distinction

Between my life and your departure

*

I think I’ll take the shears

And cut strips for my journal

The faded prints will look beautiful

Pressed inside your love letters