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 Aug 2019 Leeann
Me
To the Forest
 Aug 2019 Leeann
Me
A little fox,
two mice,
a white cat,
a chick
and a tiny bat

accompany
our way

and even if we stray
again

they'll find us

and- with paws and fur and tiny noses-

redirect

our clumsy
human feet.
Thank you! <3
 Aug 2019 Leeann
Simon Soane
Ground
 Aug 2019 Leeann
Simon Soane
You rumble gently,
slightly shifting
what was ground,
my feet on it, next to yours,
we tour debris of before,
no looking down at dust,
detritus, not now, not for us,
no time at this time,
for us.
 Jun 2018 Leeann
Mygreatestescape
there once was a king,
with eyes like the sea,
pondering time beneath
an age old tree,
looking into a river,
checking the pilings
of his straight white teeth,

and upon this river,
with his wallowings
and tea,
there came a voice,
so soft and pristine,
"are you lost, oh master of the land?"

that at first glance he
took,
a beautiful reflection,
submerged in the brook,

"Oh why yes I am!"

he said,
with stars in his eyes,
and a blush for the books,

and he told the reflection
of his castles and his
wealth,
the will to die,
and the catalysts of
good health,
the drudgery and the liers,
the beauty of its spires!

and the reflection spoke softly,
it spoke of desire,
and it moved
as one,
laughing,
making fun,
greedily drinking words
for the gin of the sun,

"my home -too- is a beauty,
oh you would love it my dear!"

said the reflection,
with eyes so clear,
and it spoke of the darkness,
the bleakness too,
the ruined ships,
and the deep inky blue,

and the king's fear grew,
with his hand on his chin,
such long reaching corals,
and jellyfish too,
dimmed the desire to
submerge into such
bluish hues,

but the two lovers,
how tragic!
for how could they
say,
three words that belonged
to the shadows of yesterday?
and how could they unite
the sea and the land,
and prove their love in
the eyes of god's man?

One was all air,
and the other water,
a sacrificial stone,
and sheep for the slaughter,

"Oh love, such beauty, with eyes
so fair, the owner of my heart,
for you I will sacrifice air!"


and the reflection smiled back,
"of that you you must swear."

So the king in the shade,
caressed each grassy blade,
and  planned
and planned,
how to unite
the sea and the land,

and finally the king
sat up in horray,
for he would be the victor
of this fine day,
so he took down
a fine willow
and built a boat,
so his love,
his life would
forever be close
to his grand castle,
and its green
curtained tassels,

but the king had
an uncle,
as bony as could be,
who lusted for the throne,
found the king
sitting next to the sea,
and the king was drowned
before he could moan,
  there
             he bobbed,
and  the king   died
alone,


there once was a king,
who lays under the sea,
with blank blank
eyes,
and a throat full
of seaweed,
yellowing skin,
as fair as could be,
reaching out
for the world,
through the
abyss of the deep.
My grandpa always told me this 'fairytale', gave me nightmares for years to come.
 Jan 2018 Leeann
Ira Desmond
Summer
 Jan 2018 Leeann
Ira Desmond
I hope I die in summer

on a humid night
when the grass is yawning and stretching out
toward the moon,

and the frogs are croaking on
like a chorus of metronomes
as the last curls of life wisp away from my body,

a final reminder
that things and time
will continue beautifully,

harmoniously,

without me.
 Jan 2018 Leeann
Robert Browning
ANCIEN REGIME

I

Now that I, tying thy glass mask tightly,
May gaze through these faint smokes curling whitely,
As thou pliest thy trade in this devil’s-smithy—
Which is the poison to poison her, prithee?

II

He is with her; and they know that I know
Where they are, what they do: they believe my tears flow
While they laugh, laugh at me, at me fled to the drear
Empty church, to pray God in, for them!—I am here.

III

Grind away, moisten and mash up thy paste,
Pound at thy powder,—I am not in haste!
Better sit thus, and observe thy strange things,
Than go where men wait me and dance at the King’s.

IV

That in the mortar—you call it a gum?
Ah, the brave tree whence such gold oozings come!
And yonder soft phial, the exquisite blue,
Sure to taste sweetly,—is that poison too?

V

Had I but all of them, thee and thy treasures,
What a wild crowd of invisible pleasures!
To carry pure death in an earring, a casket,
A signet, a fan-mount, a filigree-basket!

VI

Soon, at the King’s, a mere lozenge to give,
And Pauline should have just thirty minutes to live!
But to light a pastille, and Elise, with her head,
And her breast, and her arms, and her hands, should drop dead!

VII

Quick—is it finished? The colour’s too grim!
Why not soft like the phial’s, enticing and dim?
Let it brighten her drink, let her turn it and stir,
And try it and taste, ere she fix and prefer!

VIII

What a drop! She’s not little, no minion like me—
That’s why she ensnared him: this never will free
The soul from those strong, great eyes,—say, “No!”
To that pulse’s magnificent come-and-go.

IX

For only last night, as they whispered, I brought
My own eyes to bear on her so, that I thought
Could I keep them one-half minute fixed, she would fall,
Shrivelled; she fell not; yet this does it all!

X

Not that I bid you spare her the pain!
Let death be felt and the proof remain;
Brand, burn up, bite into its grace—
He is sure to remember her dying face!

XI

Is it done? Take my mask off! Nay, be not morose,
It kills her, and this prevents seeing it close:
The delicate droplet, my whole fortune’s fee—
If it hurts her, beside, can it ever hurt me?

XII

Now, take all my jewels, gorge gold to your fill,
You may kiss me, old man, on my mouth if you will!
But brush this dust off me, lest horror it brings
Ere I know it—next moment I dance at the King’s!
 Jan 2018 Leeann
Sylvia Plath
Mirror
 Jan 2018 Leeann
Sylvia Plath
I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful --
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.

Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
 Jan 2018 Leeann
Sylvia Plath
I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it----

A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a **** lampshade,
My right foot

A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine
Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin
0 my enemy.
Do I terrify?----

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me

And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot
The big strip tease.
Gentlemen, ladies

These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.

The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Dying
Is an art, like everything else,
I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.

It's easy enough to do it in a cell.
It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
It's the theatrical

Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:

'A miracle!'
That knocks me out.
There is a charge

For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart----
It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash ---
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there----

A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.
I'm not who I'm supposed to be
But I will be
Eventually
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