ellaird - Hello Poetry

Let the planets fly around a sunlight candle in a solar wind Kelly McManus

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ellaird

May 15, 2021

May 15, 2021 at 4:10 PM UTC

KellyMcManus

Flickering Wings

Let the planets fly around a sunlight candle in a solar wind Kelly McManus

4

Scents of rot are sweet at first, syrup-thick and magnolia-cloying. They linger, soft as slime, to stain in gentle streaks the sunken fat of this wrung body. Just east of Eden even the dirt smells of sugar. The flies come to pick at it. To pick at my bones. To eat of dust. There is too little moisture for maggots-- Still, they try the awful reproductive consumption, the drive that kept me at these gates kills them too, so my body and fly bodies and the bodies of other lost are mummified before the lovely mirage.

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May 15, 2021

May 15, 2021 at 9:33 AM UTC

ellaird

Sinner II

Scents of rot are sweet at first, syrup-thick and magnolia-cloying. They linger, soft as slime, to stain in gentle streaks the sunken fat of this wrung body. Just east of Eden even the dirt smells of sugar. The flies come to pick at it. To pick at my bones. To eat of dust. There is too little moisture for maggots-- Still, they try the awful reproductive consumption, the drive that kept me at these gates kills them too, so my body and fly bodies and the bodies of other lost are mummified before the lovely mirage.

28

The doors to this temple beg reverence, yawning wide that I might bow my head sip from silken chalice of clavicle and skin. I’ll come in veil of curls, feather-ringlets draped to cover prayers of tongue and teeth, hot against the the taste of center, this garden’s hidden seed. Let me kneel before the altar, press offerings of dampened silk on curves thick with myrrh, sugar-slick and soft as bruised persimmon. Eden’s gates are opening, tomato-red and overripe to spill, in runnels, a warm communion— fruit of my flesh of yours.

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Aug 11, 2020

Aug 11, 2020 at 2:54 PM UTC

ellaird

Eden's Gates

The doors to this temple beg reverence, yawning wide that I might bow my head sip from silken chalice of clavicle and skin. I’ll come in veil of curls, feather-ringlets draped to cover prayers of tongue and teeth, hot against the the taste of center, this garden’s hidden seed. Let me kneel before the altar, press offerings of dampened silk on curves thick with myrrh, sugar-slick and soft as bruised persimmon. Eden’s gates are opening, tomato-red and overripe to spill, in runnels, a warm communion— fruit of my flesh of yours.

36

is a broken rib— the same sharp pain, wooden-lung breathing. I stand alone in an ocean of bodies, mouthless half-faces, gaping holes beneath strips of cloth. Your assumptions dissolve me only gradually— an un-bronchial consumption, though still, I am left gasping.

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Aug 11, 2020

Aug 11, 2020 at 10:53 AM UTC

ellaird

Isolation

is a broken rib— the same sharp pain, wooden-lung breathing. I stand alone in an ocean of bodies, mouthless half-faces, gaping holes beneath strips of cloth. Your assumptions dissolve me only gradually— an un-bronchial consumption, though still, I am left gasping.

15

Wile-some, sick-sweet, glass eyes and fairy eye-teeth peep from a fictitious smile. Floral scent, lemon-twist, silk grips and tendrils quick accompany your enchanting grin. Cast it away fey creature, lest it haze neural maze and I slip-stumble love-tumble flip-furl-fumble into your mystic-trick will-o-wisp gaze.

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Jun 12, 2020

Jun 12, 2020 at 9:26 PM UTC

ellaird

Beguiled

Wile-some, sick-sweet, glass eyes and fairy eye-teeth peep from a fictitious smile. Floral scent, lemon-twist, silk grips and tendrils quick accompany your enchanting grin. Cast it away fey creature, lest it haze neural maze and I slip-stumble love-tumble flip-furl-fumble into your mystic-trick will-o-wisp gaze.

20

This room is cacophonous a crowd in halves, ceaseless dichotomy, roaring in desperate appeal. Vilipend the words of the other side as they aren’t human but voices shouting obscenities incorrectly. Truth, here, is a myth sold for millions, and those of us who wish to listen drown in the tide of screams.

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Jun 11, 2020

Jun 11, 2020 at 11:56 AM UTC

ellaird

Noise

This room is cacophonous a crowd in halves, ceaseless dichotomy, roaring in desperate appeal. Vilipend the words of the other side as they aren’t human but voices shouting obscenities incorrectly. Truth, here, is a myth sold for millions, and those of us who wish to listen drown in the tide of screams.

18

#*Life in monochrome Has been smooth and safe The world of colours, allures Newer avenues, shores Measured steps A journey to embrace A rainbow awaits*#

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ellaird

Jun 11, 2020

Jun 11, 2020 at 11:38 AM UTC

sarita-aditya-verma

Transition

#*Life in monochrome Has been smooth and safe The world of colours, allures Newer avenues, shores Measured steps A journey to embrace A rainbow awaits*#

7

Soft flesh flowers easily tomato-red and over-ripe to spill, in runnels, a warm mirage. Delusions never reach parched lips, but taunt and I love the torture enough to lick up the dust of this wasteland. At the gates of Eden, I thirst, a sinner barred from forbidden fruit.

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Jun 10, 2020

Jun 10, 2020 at 5:22 PM UTC

ellaird

Sinner

Soft flesh flowers easily tomato-red and over-ripe to spill, in runnels, a warm mirage. Delusions never reach parched lips, but taunt and I love the torture enough to lick up the dust of this wasteland. At the gates of Eden, I thirst, a sinner barred from forbidden fruit.

16