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Literature Text
She is the perverse whispering of phobias
Shadowing each and every action I take
The capricious heat of the moment decisions
That I almost always come to regret
She is the gathering of tumultuous thunderstorms
Knowing she can bolt my world into Cimmerian
The tattooing of molten mantras on skin
That pool me from drowning in burns
She is a mouthful of psalms and lucid eulogies
Spreading her disease quicker than cancer
She is ocean-wide
She is pocket-size
I rebuke her- mountains and thread counts at a time
Shadowing each and every action I take
The capricious heat of the moment decisions
That I almost always come to regret
She is the gathering of tumultuous thunderstorms
Knowing she can bolt my world into Cimmerian
The tattooing of molten mantras on skin
That pool me from drowning in burns
She is a mouthful of psalms and lucid eulogies
Spreading her disease quicker than cancer
She is ocean-wide
She is pocket-size
I rebuke her- mountains and thread counts at a time
Literature
Twenty: I'm afraid I'm growing old
i.
Coupons and sales magazines
have become more than just junk mail
and the holes in my pants
seem more patchable
and I wonder just how much
my sparse jewelry would fetch
if I said I saw the face of Jesus
in the glimmer of my pearls.
ii.
I am beginning to miss the sea I grew up on
so much that I will read bad poetry
just for the mention of a salty ocean breeze.
I feel landlocked and sometimes I'm afraid
that I will never see the world
until I have retired from it.
iii.
Faith says her life is full of asking.
I wish mine were full of answers,
but I too have many questions
and only Time will answer them for me.
iv.
My mothe
Literature
A Pocket Full of Sky
When I was young, my father would take me to the highest tower of Notre Dame precisely once a year. It would be cold. Freezing. But we'd stand there, and take deep breaths of air, and peer down, towards the tiny ants of people below. Down, towards the sprawling city beneath us. It was always winter, when we'd go. Always cold. Freezing, freezing. But however cold it was, and however dull and bleary the weather, my father would ask one thing, and one thing only: that we adhered to tradition.
"Lucie," he would say, with the fond smile and kind eyes I always remember. "Lucie, my peach. Whatever you become, and wherever your heart and mind leads
Literature
alannah
lilting clouds in your glass of cabernet
are imagined weather conversations
with people you used to know,
used to know pretty well and
whether you should have left
the way that you did
all carpet bags and old clothes
the fog funneled through
holes in the train windows like
burned down cigarettes
uneven
you light your own and think
remembering is muscle
stretched taut over bone
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Edited, but still.
I'm not so happy about this piece. Help, please?
Free Verse
Your feedback, as always,
is both highly anticipated and appreciated.
COMMENTS ARE ALWAYS, ALWAYS LOVED!! THANK YOU!!
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Critique:
Which line did you like the least?
Which line did you like the most?
Two-cents please?
I'm not so happy about this piece. Help, please?
Free Verse
Your feedback, as always,
is both highly anticipated and appreciated.
COMMENTS ARE ALWAYS, ALWAYS LOVED!! THANK YOU!!
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Critique:
Which line did you like the least?
Which line did you like the most?
Two-cents please?
© 2012 - 2024 Sammur-amat
Comments53
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The tattooing of molten mantras on skin
That pool me from drowning in burns
Not sure about that second line. I assume (correct me if I'm wrong) that you wanted a strong contrast of words hence 'drowning in burns' but the imagery is muddled imo and lacks impact, unlike the preceding line.
Everything else is gravy.
That pool me from drowning in burns
Not sure about that second line. I assume (correct me if I'm wrong) that you wanted a strong contrast of words hence 'drowning in burns' but the imagery is muddled imo and lacks impact, unlike the preceding line.
Everything else is gravy.