Yesterday, Nereids opened sleep-blessed eyes in subaquatic crystal caves, not knowing they’d never return. Yesterday, Nereus washed his hands of his daughters, sent them in mists and drifts over selkie rocks to play with the seal-maidens where he did not hear their incessant laughter reminding him of shared grief. Yesterday, A lunar mind hemmed in…
Eldritch brambles climb the sky leaving no root-work behind to trace their trail. Only a gale hovers weaving in and around a thorn belly so the elderly doe sees but a friend, a rain cloud to bring her drink again to hydrate shoulders still housing organs fighting to live. One careful step, next, another. She…
Tiptoes of snow encroach on tranquil streams that feed the sea. The same drops that touch the Emperor's toes ripple back to the Witch's heels. Her hands turn pretty patterns around her wand. Spirals and helixes create icicle skins to form after an icicle heart, her cells slowed down by lack of invigoration. She, oh,…
Now a polar bear’s snout emerges from a woman’s eye. An ear by her brow hears Heaven’s curse as torrents below taunt a chin made of smoke. A lighthouse once secured the shore, but night had reclaimed its stolen star and dawn drew in a slithering storm. Cataracts on eyes watched cataracts of waves bluster…
How can the water ripple so gently, without a mind for wildfires coating the sky in sunset hues? Human cause is human doom; only humans can move sitting droplets deposited by gust and cloud absorbing drip of sap smoke, scarf in mouth chemicals, and shimmery boulder heat. When a pond weeps, where does it pool?…
The Tower destroyed, ghosts emerge from chamber ruins to cradle the surf and caress the bedrock still leaning in as though the foundation may be restaged. Lightning has ceased, and clouds soon part — until a throne reappears to be razed. The Tower destroyed, the tarot card torn in half: over and over, illusions of…
The painted paradise of viridian water f a l l sis a flat intimation of rushing din to drown out the Giver’s frantic thoughts. I care too much, too often, in place of the others. I’ve lost my sense of self and hate the world for it. Someone give me permission to let go, let…
I see you, sun of my country, here in this foreign forest I’ve never strolled, yet I know the 60 trees whose arms no longer offer shade. These arrow-mothers gifted me the keys to find my way back to my home, to my Penelope. If I were Odysseus, perhaps the axehead lock would not hide…
Nothing to blame When the mirror is perfect No cracks or rough edges No fingerprints or hairspray stains Just me …mule hair and spider spots, chicken pox cheek pock adorning man o’war skin, crow’s feet perching by panda eyes, sow chin hanging above a tortoise neck, tamarin hands holding up a gorilla chest, hippo belly,…
Inhaling doesn't hurt so much when living is the only loyalty. No, what hurts is the glance away, eyes that yank the flesh they once beheld, like waxing strips left on too long, too deep. Blood rivulets run through five o'clock shadow flumes while feathers lay shredded on the floor. I never imagined her tiger…
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 