Dragging arms under shadows of cedars, the string-torn marionette finds comfort in the darkness of webbed branches blocking lunar spotlights from shouting her position: here, knee inverted like a bird, there, arm twisted behind back, now, neck at ninety degrees, then, spine stretched under split legs. But all the pain of twisted threads is worth…
There was a small hiccup in production yesterday, but the link should be working now. It includes poems from this blog, such as "A Woman Named Armada," "Bones Like Ballast," "Red Crone and the Wolf," and "Prey of Shore and Sky." Follow this link to purchase: The Soul Without a Summer
The Soul Without a Summer is going live tomorrow on Amazon! I have completed a few last minute edits over the past week, including removing the last section I had entitled Dystopia. The poems in that section were specifically about climate change, and they always felt a bit incongruous when taking in the theme of…
Salvos of memories sail through her mind, each one its own galleon, sloop, barque, frigate forming a most daunting navy. Metal rubs against metal so that no man can see the surface of the sea for her might. Nostalgic sadness, nostalgic gladness — like flotsam turned to bombs shoved in cannons — erupt in battle…
UPDATE: Official release will be February 23, 2023. A book is coming...! In between not finding a good cover, changing the name, adding and removing poems, and working on other collections simultaneously, Dystopia Down got WAY pushed back. Obviously, since 2021 came and went with no book in sight. The new tentative release date is…
Ocher eyes glazed with flames gaze at outstretched wings and grow muddy lashes long, thick as tied twine rising into sky. She loops the strands ‘round Heron’s feet while blindly digging pale nails in her own flabby flesh, grasping at sick bones — like ballast, she throws them overboard her living blimp, praying with enough…
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…
Coronaviral conspiracy some say, snubbing Overt deaths and the tear-dampened masks Reigning on thrones in one-room lives. Other Vicious veils of plague mask cosplay make light In the face of fear, collecting as unkindness Driven from murders to belong to longer laughter. Photo by Jeswin Thomas on Pexels.com Preview from my upcoming 2023 collection The…
National Poetry Writing Month
Keeping the world immersed in stanza.
About fantastical places and other stuff
"The silence of the night awakens my soul"
Poems, Writing Prompts, Interviews, Resources for Writers, Books, Poetry Reviews and more...
Saralyn Caine Poetry 