Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
d-w-stojek
d w Stojek is a poet and photographer. / / More of his Poetry can be found here: / The Foreign Excellent Rainbow Company, Inc 1920 / The Black Letter Omnibus / Both available on Amazon.
we marvel at the penny-dials spinning (counter-counter-counter-clock--) til the least flower splay, rendered, softly unto Air, filling the Field til Yield in some somewhere corner I sit setting the seat where the ***** will thread--
0
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 10:54 AM UTC
We marvel...
how long then to Bedlam? why it’s but a Browning and a stave, but for you dear. how long then to Bedlam? a whisper’s blink and a cartridge of lily, but for you dear. how long then to Bedlam? a bit of this ampoule and it’s here. it’s here.
0
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 8:14 AM UTC
Pug and Sebastine
too eager, the mortician, to exercise his art, not slowing to check breath or heart before pronouncing his slumbering child’s term: where gelatin and jade could not preserve Innocence’s stare, Chemical would insure the fix and hold of Age’s cynical glare.
0
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 9:12 AM UTC
family taxidermy
….or By principle, to complicate an orchid’s ear-- This is Our predicament. Our aloneness. We share it with the mobbing Empty who press wanting cheeks to an angry air, where shunned they learn a pariah’s love: its kiss being the very texture of exile.
0
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 7:15 AM UTC
confessions d’Belteshazzar
foam floral caps, work of wet hydrangea,                                   or pulse of caucasian lilacs in a sky-relieved frieze.                                            cambric pennons swag reconsidering                                                 margins of wimpling burn,                                               wherein the stars…twiring stars,                                         the declining stars, moon and planets                                                                     turned--                                       purchase light with morning-hands:                                                           green-bedizened;                                                     amber trammeling bud.                                                 absolve qualm suffusing tyre,                                                    violet’s violent leniency--                                                     and feel, o’bask! in velvet                                                           flume of veins,                                                   as beams of conspiracy raise                                                         to post and lintel,                                                crutching a young god’s legs--                                       and feel, o’supplicate!  bathe in                                                       day’s anatomies,                                          til greave deposit in lacunary sleeves,                                        and a genuflecting sun bow eternally--
0
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 6:38 PM UTC
aube
foam floral caps, work of wet hydrangea,                                   or pulse of caucasian lilacs in a sky-relieved frieze.                                            cambric pennons swag reconsidering                                                 margins of wimpling burn,                                               wherein the stars…twiring stars,                                         the declining stars, moon and planets                                                                     turned--                                       purchase light with morning-hands:                                                           green-bedizened;                                                     amber trammeling bud.                                                 absolve qualm suffusing tyre,                                                    violet’s violent leniency--                                                     and feel, o’bask! in velvet                                                           flume of veins,                                                   as beams of conspiracy raise                                                         to post and lintel,                                                crutching a young god’s legs--                                       and feel, o’supplicate!  bathe in                                                       day’s anatomies,                                          til greave deposit in lacunary sleeves,                                        and a genuflecting sun bow eternally--
Continue reading...
21
…the blue hour’s senate hitched as phosphorous, palmed at the pitch of a street lamp’s arm, harassing with a phenomena of quizzings: an abuse set by abnegative hues, “there is no resume,” I think, “save the melancholic parallax of stars… the harrying proximity of inevitable Harms”. And at once a smile becomes equinox.
0
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 6:31 PM UTC
avant et après Albermarle
Nature adorns her vacuums:                Eden, in lieu of Gardener or Keep, overdrives the breach;     garland wreaths, julep leaves, Clover carpets           the well-dint of the fleeing heel,                  just as Vitality, from Lushness, deserts to humbling Humus.                                            I bargain that We will                          be survived by teeming hosts of white Chrysanthemum.           Our grim miracle resembling, so, fish and loaves;                     of Manna eked of Woe. Staid amatory shall cater the craving of a brood;             from our tears rich elixir brewed,                 our tender flanks yielding stew.              Scarcity is Her own aphrodisiac,           abused in company of more than two.           But sure as Man, worms lapse at their hour             and they, their own kind, must consume               giving back Space, where is room.               So, must we, our own Passion’s devour,    that made manifest they replenish their expanse,                   as when a hand replenishes a glove--            it first breathes upon the absence of Absence.                Let us, then, dine. Let us then, Love…
0
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 6:27 PM UTC
situe au Jardin d’Nuages: The Diet of Worms (pour l’amor cannibal)