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Ghosts by Poetrymann, literature
Literature
Ghosts
No one believes in ghosts I said -
no sweet wisps lingering
in the breath between dusk and dawn.
No fragile thinlings pulling at the doors
or making the curtains shimmy
with an uncle’s last breath.
They do not balk at flowers -
lilies and hibiscus clawing the corners,
or ungathered words that spill under doorframes.
But sometimes late at night
I feel the pinch of air -
the scent of ashes dancing in the garden
where she once held court
and the mirrors going dark.
fig. 01: the angel by gliitchlord, literature
Literature
fig. 01: the angel
a.
silent, 'neath
surface turbulent,
and aware
of the shipwreck;
an impossible grace
that flickers within eyes
panicked.
b.
she blacked out before she hit the water,
thrown violently overboard by the tempest.
submerged for some seconds before
a gravity reversed, dragging her body
to shore.
c.
where they meet,
eyes locked with flushed cheeks.
she can't believe this bright angelic scene.
silk hand on her throat, she does not scream,
she hopes her thanks radiates
to this being.
d.
myth lips glide closer to her,
humans are such strong reflections
when not armed; belligerent shapes
of water asking for more, for god,
for mercy.
e.
for this pass
last breaths from the hearse by gliitchlord, literature
Literature
last breaths from the hearse
groan out a year, too long to log proper; what a copper-veined god corpse is offered us. healing not possible, non-potable tears in torrents. the abhorrence of the common man, lest be damned the chorus. speak back to us, sickly dais, strung out weakly; mouth the prayers of a calendar cursed. i will die, but you first.
life could be a dream by gliitchlord, literature
Literature
life could be a dream
i. if i could take you up in paradise, up above my love, would we see what we're made of? ii. i think, therefore the world spins? you're telling me these endorphins and this warmth in my chest are my own design? who taught me how to ache for the divine? iii. can a dream be satisfied? iv. if i confide in you— let flood my selfish undeserving feelings, if i prove and reprove my dealings with the devil, if i'm truthful— then what are you? it is not my dream to be a sound, especially if i drown. v. out of sight, out of my life, outside of twilight and finite space i might be. vi. vying to keep the curtains lit; i think, therefore the record spins with no clue of the end of it. the repetition is elegant. vii. the repetition is the elephant in the room. you're telling me that you dont feel the same and that this warmth in my chest must also wane? who died and made you god? viii. can a life be satisfied? ix. if only all of my precious plans would come true, my love, could
Crushing Dark and Seeds of Light - Two Collections by BlackBowfin, journal
Crushing Dark and Seeds of Light - Two Collections
Welcome to this Lit Community Block Party Poetry Feature!
We all write for the same/different reasons, just as dark & light both move in very nebulous same/different ways. I put this feature together with two categories in mind: dark and light. As I selected the pieces, re-reading them, I noticed that many could have just as easily been sorted into the other pile... depending on my current mood or the type of day I was having.
Just as a painful ache reminds you that you're alive, a bright hopeful spark can remind you how few and far between they occur. I find comfort in the sense of familiarity I find in darker aching poetry, but als
neither theists nor atheists CAN know by alapip, literature
Literature
neither theists nor atheists CAN know
[the story as perhaps believed by some]
satisfied - He wiped His hands
He shrugged - He strode away
good or bad results - no fault
not His - no more He'll say
just one explosive word - just one
"Evolve!" - His uttered rubric
so began expanding morphing
space - the cosmic fabric
molecules from atoms form
exploding into elements
gravity and light - and dark
and time - allowing all of THIS
as eon's trial came self-aware
new mind supposed a quest of Him
long gone and doing other things
as if He'd never even been?
contriving reasons more than cause
evolving nuance - asking "why?"
that He ever truly was
our grasping need before WE die
all tim
From Where the Sun Sits by BlackBowfin, literature
Literature
From Where the Sun Sits
there are no people left here
and i realize
how off-center from true
our clock spindles turn
how there's no division of time
even remotely, ever-enough
to convey a day
from where the sun sits
and i have to wonder
if beneficent stars
form their own networks
of social celestial tribes
joking that each cultivates
the next great innovator
while the other nurtures
a next wave of mass destruction
and to what they've seen
and all the times they've seen it
i ask, just how far behind the curve
our leanings toward genocide
position us
and their patient silence
hangs only warm light
between our void and our being
where its quiet answer finds us
th
