Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Nat Lipstadt Nov 2019
“rootless in shallows of momentary mayhem
and no matter the change in horizon,
there is always some thing to be found
that could remind me
of the worst ways I have ever been.”

from “Harlequin Days of Fecund Fervor” by Victoria


rereading these your words, upset forces me to break a recent vow,
my own writing banished, now faceless in the ranks
of just another poet, busted in rank, chose my own
decommissioning but then your momentary mayhem
plea, fecund you, your third harlequin, states construct!

stay the constriction, the recalling of our worst worsts,
for there is always something to be found, recalled,
that the horizon’s only constant is constant change,
especially the worst worsts

I am colored by your treats, your word plums ripe even
out of season, and the mayhem is mine only mine,
robbed you for it is I, rootless, given up my planting, then
the cobblestones of old new york, trip me up, saying
even old things such as you, have a prime yet to come,
stones fecund seeding, predicting I am not done, just undone,
and fetuses within this dying body, may yet be carried to term,
may yet, maybe, may be, but may be caesarean stillborn

rambling this, mostly musty unclear, so summarizations a
sensible thing, a pardon requested for clarity is a sometime thing.

rare are the days that the terracotta colored soil
darkens my fingernails,
it is dried blood from my scratching deep beneath the skin’s topsoil,
but nothing grows that’s whole, warped are the word fruits.
my soup is hot water with salt, a tasty dish apropos for one
whose growths are rootless in the shallow, infertile dirt of stones
that reside in the shallows of a garden of mine own
fecund may-hem of the grey fall sky autopsy turvy
CarolineSD Oct 2019
I’ve been to such depths

(with you)

That the shallows are forever ruined.
The sand is covered in shells that crack underfoot
And do not sing.

I hold them gently to my ear
But the whales are crying in the trenches of the sea
And their songs cannot find me here.

Melodies weep through the mantles of the earth;

Liturgy seeps through the dirt.

I’ve been to such depths


Falling backwards into the stars
From the rock strewn ridges of Medicine Bow Peak,

Forever haunted in the shallows,
I am pulled to the deep.

Let me sleep beneath the blood moon tides.
The starlight glints off the crashing seas,

And there are fathoms in your eyes.
took over me
listeners listening
listening to many
many listeners
his shallow

Florivee Dec 2017
Maybe, people only loved the easy parts of me;
the shallows;
the circumstance where they don't struggle.

But it's okay,

I always forbid entry every time someone tries to come near the deep borders of my soul, anyway.
A shark
afebrile acceded
deep in
shallows there
his teeth
lasted with
anticipation of
her bay
was akin
to high
jinks as
his floridity
was aghast
with achievement
that caught
her so
nobly again.
A shark in infested waters

— The End —