The popcorn ceiling could be cotton candy clouds if you let it, if you imagine what life could be out from under your box, in the light of Jupiter when he winks at you from behind Luna’s skirt, like a little boy too scared to show his face, but when he does you can see…
Sticks and stones break mortals’ bones But for a witch, they heal Until fire ashens me, as it does the trees; The dryads are my kin. Pile peeling bark betwixt another, Light the match and ask yourself Does she scream in agony Or in pleasure? ...What are her words? ...Why do I hurt? Photo by…
He plucks the pretty ones So fresh upon the bloom, Yet wonders why they wane In darkness and in gloom Apart from root and love. Coveted to gild his room, Alone and withered until — Shriveled, he beheads to groom; The longest-lasting buds Wait in anguish for deplume, Forced to fade for forceful will To smell a…
I never felt holier than when I defied holy men — when I spurned subservient prods by society’s pricks to become bare-teethed, brazen and bold, barking mad, Wild Again. My naked feet have been muddied in my own blood mixed with seed-laden dirt by roots of living trees, having spilled all weevil-infested progeny. Together we stretch our leaf hands to the…
Vibrations of volcano glossolalia vibrato spark, fly, pour, run red rivulets, drip burning droplets into my canal. A tune of flames I feebly touch. Hot summer air from forgotten swamps carries bullfrog solace o'er meadows to my humble carbon home. A laugh — human? A laugh, not mocking but sweet, cooling the heat to soft…
I am a blue moon, harvest moon, blushing red over this autumn night before turning my full round face toward that sleeping shepherd, tanned from Helios even beneath me (ministrations I can never give despite my current fire). Kissing Endymion, I almost know what it is to be that sweet, sweltering sun I never see…
will you come leave me crumbling, shivering in spiraling quadrants, split in half and back again, whole while shattered in a thousand stars splintering the dark sky of the void my spirit ever drowns, oblivion beneath the surface… yet I float upon the shimmering tension like a water strider gliding past sparking carbon, diamond fires…
You have such large, sharp, soiled teeth! All the better to eat me with. Keep them unsheathed, bare me underneath if you would be so merciful. I want to let you in, let you rip out my desiccated tongue, scratch my throat and hew your way past my heart. Devour these traitorous cells in…
Flower? New nova sprouts from steppe ashes, air-bound across oceans to cull warm homes and live. Photo by CDC on Pexels.com Preview from my upcoming 2023 collection The Soul Without A Summer
Cold aluminum filigrees, like lace, bend and twist in pretty patterns across my arms, looking for all the world like lady armor made for the modern age. Yet it pinches, wears down marks, leaves scratches red as the stains in Liz Bathory's linen-lined tub as I lay here, for now unbroken — forever, save I…
National Poetry Writing Month
Keeping the world immersed in stanza.
About fantastical places and other stuff
"The silence of the night awakens my soul"
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Saralyn Caine Poetry 