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Literature
Confluence
According to the old religion, a scribe
must bathe in natural running water
before she draws what is dictated to her,
because writing's just like cleaning a mirror,
she says, it's like rearranging stains
left on wholesome rivers. For three nights,
I drew geometric shapes in the margins;
I had been instructed to take notes on
the underside of snow, and how it colonized
the lithosphere, musically and without hurt.
It felt like a call, but it wasn't a calling.
The paper was made in Himalayan foothills
by a woman who had cleansed knots from fibrous bark
and dipped her bleached hands into boiling water.
I mangled the page into a cottage, then
Literature
helium balloon lungs
i. You write me notes scribbled on sandpaper
and I run them across my face,
scraping away layers of saccharine skin,
ii. Your eyes, made of cookie crumbs,
I'd like to dip them in milk
and watch them melt,
smoking like dry ice,
iii. You churn my childish heart
in circles and in circles
till I slip into cardiac arrest,
iv. I just remembered that time you
wrapped your arms around me like vines
and held me until you couldn't,
v. Oh what I'd give for a pair of
fortune cookie lungs,
inhaling intuition,
exhaling self-fulfilling prophecy,
vi. I've been fishing for horoscopes,
pasting them onto my bedroom walls
and on the backs
Literature
Calea
She's brewing that tea
from the island
that grabs your hair
and pulls you into
the street. I'd drink
it to get rid of
my wild dogs; all that
lonely guilt and
happy memories,
with more in my year
before the steam catches
our senses. Time is less
of a straight line
and more of a blowtorch.
It seals us up before
we can flaunt our disease.
A paranoid schizophrenic
doesn't know he's sick; the junkie
believes what he says.
We nakedly trust our eyes
we nakedly trust our bodies.
It's all enough to kill a storm
and make a coat
from its hair.
My blue-green iris
grows with my mouth
on tiny strings
and tiny thoughts
as my body drinks,
and drinks,
and dri
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Entry for =dreamsinstatic's
Third Annual Poetry Screams Prompt Contest [link]
Prompt: Alone with a madman
Third Annual Poetry Screams Prompt Contest [link]
Prompt: Alone with a madman
Mature
© 2011 - 2024 TheLunaLily
Comments48
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This is probably one of your most powerful pieces yet. Sorry for my long waits in responding/commenting on your other pieces, they are on my tab bar and when I have the time to devote to them I will give you a proper response deserving of your literary genius. As for this piece, it was so powerful I had to talk about it the moment I read it.
I think it's correct to say, grammatically at least, that I feel nauseated. I knew from the movies and news that some men can act in such a brazen manner, yet I tried to block it out of my mind, the thought of it too much to bear. I think I'm going to be sick, but don't think this a negative response to your piece, my response is, I think, fitting to his crimes. That any man would think/act/dare to behave like that is beyond my comprehension, but you have (so very) successfully highlighted the root issue that causes such distress in society, a chauvinistic attitude which sickens any and all who encounter it! Thank you, dear Shanna, thank you for that ending, it worked to satisfy some small part of the inner rage you have helped let loose in your reader, again demonstrating how skillful a poet you are! I do hope you win this contest, few pieces, in my imagination, could conjure such realistic terror in a reader, and had the poem finished at the end of his inner-soliloquy, these tears of anger and helplessness would not have been quenched so easily, so once again I say thank you! You'll notice, dear Shanna, I ramble, but it is beyond my ability to form a coherent analysis of this text when you already have me so emotionally involved... I just pray that men who would otherwise act like this read your poem, and that this may offer to them a looking glass into their own lives that might shame them into not going on to commit such atrocities, well, one can hope...
Once again, excellent workmanship on this piece, your poetical flare will have you fly high, like dear Lucy... you'd better not forget your diamonds
I think it's correct to say, grammatically at least, that I feel nauseated. I knew from the movies and news that some men can act in such a brazen manner, yet I tried to block it out of my mind, the thought of it too much to bear. I think I'm going to be sick, but don't think this a negative response to your piece, my response is, I think, fitting to his crimes. That any man would think/act/dare to behave like that is beyond my comprehension, but you have (so very) successfully highlighted the root issue that causes such distress in society, a chauvinistic attitude which sickens any and all who encounter it! Thank you, dear Shanna, thank you for that ending, it worked to satisfy some small part of the inner rage you have helped let loose in your reader, again demonstrating how skillful a poet you are! I do hope you win this contest, few pieces, in my imagination, could conjure such realistic terror in a reader, and had the poem finished at the end of his inner-soliloquy, these tears of anger and helplessness would not have been quenched so easily, so once again I say thank you! You'll notice, dear Shanna, I ramble, but it is beyond my ability to form a coherent analysis of this text when you already have me so emotionally involved... I just pray that men who would otherwise act like this read your poem, and that this may offer to them a looking glass into their own lives that might shame them into not going on to commit such atrocities, well, one can hope...
Once again, excellent workmanship on this piece, your poetical flare will have you fly high, like dear Lucy... you'd better not forget your diamonds