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Cay Genevro  Sep 2016
ashen.
Cay Genevro Sep 2016
I called your name until the fever broke    
but I caught my room on fire.      

It turned the clothes that were in my closet    
into bones of burnt desires.    

The sheets we used to sleep between    
are only ashes on my bed.    

All of the smoke that filled the air    
felt like your voice inside my head.    

These four walls became a furnace    
and nostalgia fueled the flames.    

Which made the arsonist in me    
want it all to stay ablaze.    

But it charred the lips that you used to kiss,    
and scorched the hands you used to hold.    

Yet, in a room of torrid memories,  
I’ve never felt this cold.
gracie  Sep 2018
Blackberry Wine
gracie Sep 2018
Tell me the story of the fawn,
white-spotted, damp-eyed,
lying still on the roadside;
how the forest mourned for days,
twisting and churning its leaves
against the ashen sky.
Tell me the story of tragedy,
wind beneath the wings of Icarus
on his journey to the sun;
how he closed his eyes and smiled,
basking in freedom’s warmth
before plummeting back to earth.
Tell me the story of youth,
wild and tender, dancing barefoot
as though we were made of nothing
less than bruises and blackberry wine;
how I'd let love destroy me,
crashing
the car
if it meant staying in your arms.
David John Mowers  Dec 2016
Agni
My skin is cracked
pulling
split apart

Mucous forms, blood bubbles
fat popping
skin
melts

Hair afire!
skull snapping
arm bones
charred

Collapsed in two
scream fire
body
sinking

To Ashen State,
To Ashen State,

Immolation

To Ashen State,
To Ashen State,

A Man cannot be the  Sun.
laura  Aug 2018
friday dirge
laura Aug 2018
ensorcelled - the day burns and burns
the dusk is filled with ashen husks
and white flies swirling in the wind
different kind of bittersweet day

like a girl who ditched you at a good movie
a sunset lighting the boughs up at 2PM
like a good day despite the world on fire
pretty and futile; like throwing selfies on an insta
Katherine Smith  Feb 2018
Orpheus
Katherine Smith Feb 2018
darling—

i almost made it out
the house
down the slanted
           concrete
                      steps
i nearly passed the garden gate
with tired
        ivy
            crawlers
for a moment i thought i was free
no ghosts
       no ashen memories—
But bags in hand i couldn't help
and took
     a glance
            behind.
I used to hate the myth of Orpheus, I think it's because I was scared of making the same mistake.
patty m  Apr 2018
Babel
patty m Apr 2018
The far space is closing along a band of trees,
peelings of shadowy rind expose ghostly hues.
all around the air is flammable,
until the setting sun a burning bush turns ashen.  

Strange mood around this monolithic rock
that some folks fear.
Overlong we have waited presenting our sacrifices.
yet not a breath of wind stirs as we chant
and seeds take root.  

A strange spirit leaps into our midst
and all around there is a quick intake of breath.
Piercing movement collapses in upon itself as it whispers
though our pores.
Rhythms strange insistent beat, a driving force
whirls through our bloodstream,
its slow sensuous movements lead us into dreams.
Attached ghost,
your haunting aria spins in ethereal mist
transposing meditation.
Someone has put a hole in our language and now as we
look with hazy speculation upon the book
with tiny red stitches we remain baffled,
turning it round and round looking at all the foreign symbols,
                                   but it cannot be deciphered.  
Only the creatures of the forest remember;
Mid-Summer nights, the sound of magical flutes and the
bells of dancing nymphs.  
Only they understand  the gifts that Gaia bestows.    
Only they remember the Wisdom Of The Faun.
Kevin J Taylor Sep 2015
Summon Me! From Dismal Mountain
Where fallen prayers drift slowly down
Where ash of fallen prayer lies mounting
From the privy of the Beast!

Take Me!  Shake each gilded Logic
From dreaded Death!  From dung deposits!
From the liars' breath of thieves!
From Serpentes, friend of Eve!

Spill Me!  Spill my ancient grief!
My faith that God once had in beasts!
Spill the essence of my clay
Across the Day!  Across the Day!

O Hear!  Echoic from this ashen fell
Where idols leant and fallen dwell—
My Lords-in-waiting!  Seneschals!
Summon Me!
A few words:  Serpentes (sir-pent-eze), a name in biology for the snakes— used here as the given name of the serpent in the Garden of Eden.

Fell, a hill or highland.

Leant is leaned.  Rhymes with lent.

Seneschal, an office in a medieval noble household, in charge of servants and their duties, ceremonies and administration of justice.  Reminds me of a lieutenant in an old crime family.  I think that any Beast worth his salt would have had them.

This poem is about the premise that The Beast has NO power of his own. He is begging to be called forth.
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
Mara W Kayh May 2017
I am your bird of prey

Caught between 2 posts
And a glistening fence.

Neck broken,
beak to the ground,
Half way trapped inside
your field of green.

I am your bird of prey,

Wings on a wire,
Still soft and light,
with feathers gleaming
where promise of flight,
newly broken, fell to earth.

'Twas passion that lured me to your
nest, where the cloud kissed Sun
with time
turned ashen my listless frame.

A testament to nature's seduction,
there was no escaping
your embrace
As the warmth
slowly left
my still
beating
heart.
Inspired by a beautiful Robin I found yesterday, stuck in a fence I had put up around a field of garlic.. it must have fluttered to death, trying to escape.
corpser  May 2016
Mercy
corpser May 2016
I kneel down to clench my fists
Looked up into the ashen sky to pray
And shout
Stark raving mad
At every god i didnt believe in.
Where is all that is mercy in this world?
Where is all that is tender
And as sweet as a cherub's voice
Where is all that is as soft
As what prayers are supposed to be
Where is all that is love.
I kneel down
Stark raving mad
At the ashen sky
The only spectator in this play
That nobody will remember.
To all that is dead.
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