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Literature Text
Come away with me
And I will show you
A wellpond of silver
Pulled down from the moon
Come away with me
And I will show you
The sunlight at midnight
The starlight at noon
Come away with me
And I will show you
A kiss from a dead man
Drowned seven long years
Come away with me
And I will show you
A gown from a gallows-tree
Woven of tears
Come away with me
And I will show you
A necklace of rubies
All set in grave-lace
Come away with me
And I will show you
A song with no singer
A love with no face
A door with no hinge and
A time with no place
And I will show you
A wellpond of silver
Pulled down from the moon
Come away with me
And I will show you
The sunlight at midnight
The starlight at noon
Come away with me
And I will show you
A kiss from a dead man
Drowned seven long years
Come away with me
And I will show you
A gown from a gallows-tree
Woven of tears
Come away with me
And I will show you
A necklace of rubies
All set in grave-lace
Come away with me
And I will show you
A song with no singer
A love with no face
A door with no hinge and
A time with no place
Literature
scattered
We leave pieces of ourselves in the corners
Of bookshelves, stuck between the pages
And in the hand painted wooden bowl
Collecting dust and spare change.
My fingers grazed a fragment
When I saw a photograph of you today
And my lungs caught on the memory
Of the first words you said to me
Lingering like a ghost breath
In the soft curve of my earlobe.
(“Hi, mind if I ask you
Some questions?”)
I hid inside the rain to drown out
The sound. The wet grass stuck to my toes
And the droplets rolled down
Over the shirt that my mom told me
Makes me look like I’ve got a chip on my shoulder.
(She thought her rebel was a princess
Bu
Literature
anfractuous.
and I have so many things yet to show you.
none of this is beautiful
when compared to hair whipping out a car window
in a night so deep and far-flung from city lights
that you can see by starlight for miles.
desert grass desert dust sighing in the wind
chasing at the tires and the sky–
oh my god the sky oh my god that sky,
she calls for only her wildest children tonight.
she calls for us to gallop against each other
against each other our shoulders brushing with canyons with coyotes
like brothers
like sisters
she calls for us
calls after us
as we pelt free and far-flung beneath her blue-black belly
pregnant with planets
Literature
A Return
Her hands descend
deep into old pockets,
casting back darkness
from forlorn talismans.
She returns! Always
a surprise inside to witness
her divine whorls reappearing,
her heartbeat, the drum therein, the light!
A judgement and resurrection,
scrolls, bones and veils rattled up
called forward from some grave.
Coins cross eyes and old life breathes new.
This springtime mantle. Oh, yes!
Reclamation! Her former self lifts
those bright, timeless charms
that were and are and will again to be.
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Caffeine-fuelled Fair Folk.
Again.
This will be redone, since it's heavy-handed and full of cliches -at the moment I'm just pleased there are words and they seem to be in some semblance of order.
Again.
This will be redone, since it's heavy-handed and full of cliches -at the moment I'm just pleased there are words and they seem to be in some semblance of order.
© 2013 - 2024 GentlemanAnachronism
Comments3
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Your poetry always takes me to another place entirely; I don't whether it's the way you write or the things you write about, or maybe even a combination of the two, but whenever I read your poetry I always feel like I'm being taken back in time and listening to a bard or something. That's very much meant as a compliment; I love reading things that make me feel as though I live in Middle Earth or somewhere similar.