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…
Do you hear it? The beat of the bass that drives the bass upstream, fearing the bows of the mountain tribe, those who bow to the sky. The low bass: their running steps, closing in to close the gap, unassailed by periwinkle waters. The lead man holds no arrowhead of lead, but of obsidian, a…
A heft of Paleoproterozoic gneiss — fossilized memory, motionless Dragon's Eye stares at breathless descendants who gaze upon auroras, reawakening Origin: Muspelheim flame meets Niflheim frost, and Ymir grows from a small ember that melts the snow, leaving this pure pool to protect the witnessing Eye. Like the cow Audhumla, two spirits lick a glacier…
The red-breasted robin inhales a startling lack of incense among still-standing trees not yet assaulted by forged metal. Oxygenated exhales enter lungs as a fresh bitter, a mint that stings throats used to smog. A good sting. An intentional sting as bark cousins remind flesh enemies paying to roam the park that the static stoicism…
Welcome, human girl, to the underside of the mountains, where a sun sometimes blocks out the ever-present cloud, and rays fall to pool stars in puddles by backed-up drains. At night, once the suns clear, Chessies (cat and piece alike) do tend to disregard the array of dewdrops that dance in the sky as children…
Beneath liquid diamonds sparking o'er moon-touched stone she shuts her eyes to dream: his lips descend. Written for Day 4 of National Poetry Month. This one did not place, likely due to how short and simple it is compared to the effort of the other entries. I was feeling a bit lazy that day, so…
Dispersing in leylines to fly free, she spins in tendrils truly at one with Gaia, finally away from Guy who ripped out her veins to float as veil, an obscuring halo: a sacrifice she never proposed. Silver winner of this contest: https://allpoetry.com/contest/2830726-National-Poetry-Month-April-3rd-noguestFollow the link for the original picture prompt. I dare not post it here…
A producer thinks, “fantasy inversions are in now;” sees how successful that one ogre was in 2001, how live-action remakes are dominating theaters, how the new Dungeons and Dragons is certified Fresh on Rotten Tomatoes. So, he gets his friends to fund a small budget. One of them is an amateur make-up artist. This shouldn’t…
Stretching tall, they think they have the right to smell my leaves, pluck my buds, shatter me onto their chests to linger with my oil for an hour. Stretching tall, I am the foolish first to crisp in the sun’s unforgiving wake, relentless boil. Without our bubble, all blooms burn black. She detests my proximity,…
I have participated in this for the past three years (and also during November in place of National Novel Writing Month), but I usually don't post as I go. The poems I compose are never ready in a single day to be shared. This year is a bit different. In past years, I have gone…
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 