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bcb Apr 2020
hey, lovesick child with the benevolent heart
hey, lovesick child from the pinnacled start

oh, how you’ve become such finespun art

au revoir, au revoir, to that which lays scars
but know each scar that you bear, sets you apart

oh, how you’ve become such finespun art

be well,
bcb
Truth be told, I was skeptical.
Was this worth the cowry shell equivalent?
My mind was a dry skin covered foot caught on a fleece blanket.
My tongue, lined with the taste of that earthy bile.
Distant isles between Alaska and Ayahuasca,
but it all comes rushing back. Jungle visions.
-
I
        take
                    ten
               ­              sickly      
                                          steps
                ­                                     toward
                                                          ­         the
                                                             ­              teetering  
                                                     ­                                      ethereal
                                                        ­                                                  edge.
-
She's once again lined with that finespun glow.
I'm once again letting the little things go.
She's letting me know for the very first time.
I'm struggling to find words for the very last rhyme.
-
                                        Trudging
       ­     tip-toed
through
                                           ­                       the
                  nonlinear
      narr­ative;
                                       elegantly
                                                       ­     elephantine.
-
Lick your wounds, traveler.
Set your eyes to the pale star's gleam.
Dogma unraveller
with an elementary scheme.
We are nature's instruments.
We are watchers in the night.
Softened slightly by the dissonance
of the dearly departed Wight.
-
He's slipping in and out.
Orbium linguam avium.
Labra lege: hic sunt dracones.
Let us dine on cremated elves.
-
     m sw ll   w  ng sw rds   nd st rs.
R zn hdzooldrmt hdliwh zmw hgzih.
I a         a  o   i          o      a         a  .
I am swallowing swords and stars.
-
.ecnatsbus em evig dna eniltuo ym nekraD
.savnac eruza siht otno seye s'ti tsac dluow nuS eht hsiw I
?suhpysiS fo redluob eht I mA
.noitcerid gnorw eht ni gnilbmut no peek I
-
We're sailing on the calmest of waters,
but there is not a drop to drink.
Bad news for the boy who only rejects omens.
I will not hang a dead bird around my neck.
Retrace the lace and my hazy days of habit,
then let me know your honest opinion.
Exhibit an execution by exsiccation of the most exuberant exiles.
Or am I the only one who's thirsty?
-
                                                      ­                      Who here is the ghost?
I know **** well it's not me.
                                                             ­                            Who said that?
I know I did.
                                                            ­                                        Didn't I?
Couldn't be.                                                              ­            
                                                    ­                                                    Am I?No.                                  
                         ­           Hopper, this isn't sinking in.
I am not a liar.
-
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01101111011­100100110011101100001011011100110100101100011

011011010110000101­1000110110100001101001011011100110010101110011

-
I was supposed to be writing something down.
Some kind of secret; some kind of rune.
Can you help me find our primal core?
Your carnal truths are mine to keep.
Weren't you supposed to be going somewhere?
The flea burrow, no, The Doubling House.
For in those halls of mold and paper walls
your memories were uneagerly forged.
It's time to shed your summer skin
and begin to eat with your hands.
averylia Aug 2022
1
I’ve seen many goddesses born
but none as finespun as you, my Venus:
for if
existing were an art form, you would be the moon
enlightening me in all her silver beadwork and mystique.

2
At night, I see my beloved again
and find her body captured by the seafoam:
it’s only a reflection,
a silver phantasm dancing on the ghastly waves,
but I adore the sheen of her face in the sea.

3
I’ve seen many goddesses consumed
by the very passion that I feel for your soul:
for the moon
is only the shadow of her full being,
and yet I still drown myself in her light.
brooke Nov 2016
well something deeper
than the ocean here burns,
splits apart and quakes --

we've seen farther than the working
men can go--felt the emptiness of a
disillusioned life, wondered how the
masses buy away their souls,
he touches you and you feel
not a thing, just the skin beneath
his hairline that doesn't glow--

You hear about his sanguine childhood
a finespun gossamer thing,
stretched across the state of colorado,
webbed and spun around
tent stakes, campers, drawn into the Four Corners
spooled in a Chattanooga coffee mug, dipped in  
day old orange juice
I have
settled
into the bottom of his
cup, a thick pulp, rind
and stem -- terrified that
I won't pull through,
that this isn't enough
that I am too much
or too little, haven't
been or seen
there are no
scars on my knees
or callouses on my hands
when the bears came I had
no pots and pans --

I study the sofrito, stir the
rice, break open green olives
and slide the pimientos onto
my tongue --
deftly speaking about shredding
chicken, chopping onions, rolling
corn tortillas
wondering what it is about people
about parents, about chile con carne


this pan holds 21
like the age, like the game, I think.

I am truly terrified.
“Do you think I am an automaton? — a machine without feelings?"


(c) Brooke Otto 2016

quote is from Jane Eyre. Originally the poem was titled  "Iron"
Jamie L Cantore Dec 2014
As the murk
in the daedal
sky endured
and the
finespun
brume upon
the headland
peaks wound
all around
in a
helicoid
shape,

the fluttering
winds carried
aloft
a bouquet
of ions
that were
immured,
but still
danced about
in an undulating
figure of eight;

and when the
distent distant
cloud could
no longer
wait,
it's rain
fell upon
my
wilted form
so desolate.
January 9, 2014
Magic breadcrumbs
Twinkle like stars
Giggling while hiding
Tender memoirs

Voodoo whispers
Finespun intention
Vibrating and swaying until
Magic has snuck in

Enticing while Splicing
Singing me along
Via my senses
To where I belong

Daring to be found
Anticipating you
Suspended exhalation
Timeless rendezvous
Daisy Blevins Oct 2017
The fortitude
my lungs haul
ecstasy
Smoke withdrawing
In
out
Nearing
my cavity
Of cargo
So purely finespun
Presumable
Exodus of genetic  
vibrancy
investing in my annihilation, currency earned  
inexcusable
Nether each eye rest the mass of lost sleep
Inside
Out
Permissibly spun
I was sober yesterday
But today
I am strung
rk Apr 2020
you've been on my mind
for so long now
that i've forgotten completely
what it was like
to not have you entangled
in every corner.
every dust filled crevice
has been infused
with thoughts of you,
that i have enough
to fill the night sky
a million times over.
i only hope
these finespun webs
and their protective embrace
are strong enough
to keep you safe.
Shamai Nov 2022
My poems are like the falling dew
They come right down and stick to you
They speak of things I might have done
Or learnt, understand as story's spun
Poems speak to me right from the heart
The soul reaches out and plays its part
Words spin ‘round and then they stay
It’s like a child’s daily play
Poems speak of love they speak of hate
They warn us now not to be late
I dance around the words so much
Trying to understand the world as such
So poems give me the chance to spin a yarn
And expose myself without a  ****
So write I will ‘till day is done
The words of the poem will be finespun
sandra wyllie Aug 2023
I'm alone. I'm a raging river;
he's a jagged stone. I dance around
him in the billowy air. He's fixed
as a toilet on his stare. He's a ship

in moor. Not a thing I can
procure. The two of us,
a heavy tanker, weighing me
down like an anchor. My wing

is clipped. I cannot fly. I've been
stripped, ****** and tied. I lost myself
next to him. The silk shades drawn.
The light is dim. All I learned

undone. My ****** pen is now
finespun. I'll plant him in
my rose bush yard. As a scarecrow
to stand guard.
Rachel Thomas Aug 25
A hawk-eyed wizard snapped her up
and plumped her in an ivory tower,
So she'd have time to till her brain
and make it tassel like a flower

The tower rose in an Orphic wood
where gold dust showered though knotted trees,
And faerie-antlered stags would strut
while pollen drifted on the breeze

And when he'd tired of all his tricks
the sorcerer would meet her there,
He'd steal beneath the carven tower
then shinny up her golden hair

But he was not the only man
who fell beneath Rapunzel's spell,
A lad who lived beyond the wood
would come to visit her as well
                      2
It pained the boy to see her trapped
This rara avis in her cage,
with such a sweet and youthful face
and yet so jaded for her age

It seemed whenever they conversed
she used some arcane Latin word,
Or lapidary axiom
the like of which he'd never heard

And when the girl would talk about
his Dionysian turpitude,
He'd wonder if he should rejoice
or if the girl was being rude

These men, you see,she'd tired of them
their lure, like gilt  would rub away,
And soon they'd start to irk her as
they clomped around with feet of clay

And though the lad beyond the wood
had picturesquely windswept hair,
She'd feel each time he came to call
as if a storm had broken there


So then one day she took a blade
as he was climbing to her room,
And cut right through her finespun locks
like threads of gold upon a loom

The poor boy tumbled down to earth
and whimpered for a little while,
As she just stood there in her tower
and fixed him with a twisted smile

                    3

Now, free again, she took her paints
of saffron, cinnabar and gold,
and made her jewel-bright manuscripts
like cloistered nuns from days of old

Her boudoir came to life once more
as gold-tailed sapphires stirred the air,
While orchids sprouted up the walls
and tigers sauntered everywhere

And later, when her books were shut
as day was blazing to a close,
Their essence hung there rich and sweet
as attar of the damask rose
            
                  Nox
But once the night-time fell and all,
except her creaking room,was still.
outside the mists were creeping in
that brought with them an eerie chill

Her covers now seemed winding sheets
beneath the opalescent moon
Or folds upon some effigy
supine atop a marble tomb

And then soft snowflakes came, and fell
like lilies on the sleeping wood,
and seemed to seep into her heart
for love had gone away for good

Rapunzel saw at once that she,
had missed these years the scented air
And wandered blinkered as a horse
through catacombs of dank despair

And so, as iif transfixed, beneath
the icy moon's hypnotic glow
She ****** herself down from her tower
and crashed upon the ice below
                  
Then gazing calmly at the stars
as life began to ebb away
she thought about the windswept boy
and knew they'd meet again one day




                      FINIS

— The End —