"stomata" poems
Stomata seeded psyche,
nightly thoughts perspire;
ooze from my pores,
diffuse and transpire.
Green growth needs light,
but not in my head.
It seems it’s at night
ideas sprout and spread.
Feb 28, 2019
Feb 28, 2019 at 10:39 AM UTC
Encounter shellac where the live oak could balk
in sways of stomata to spare shadow from earth
swaying like Eve in Persephone’s wake
should a frenzy of madrigals
cluster to feast
where her prodigal snake once faced sentience.
A tree grows in reaches long since she passed
fragrant lacking tulips within a thicket of moss.
Now my soul skirts the path of Icarus
to bathe in the cerulean beyond reflection
your eyes have consumed from the sky
like a beast coaxing the blessings of the wind.
I was placed here for you.
A voice lichened in cypress knees carries
with the caress of her woods
pressing me forward
into the dew and new ground
enriched with instinct into the roots of palmettos
shielding the glade of tomorrow
still ripe with blackberries
where she whispers with thistles.
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 2:26 AM UTC
When you took my own soul from me,
Of course I wasn’t going to be “okay”
You planted me in your rotted heart,
Grew me under artificial light,
Poured vinegar on my stomata for growth,
And ripped out my roots when you’d seen enough.
There.
Lying among the rest of your bouquets.
With screaming petals of
“He loves me, He loves me not”
Pouring out pure life from my stem.
You took my own soul from me,
Of course I wasn’t going to be “okay”
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 10:31 PM UTC
River floods make planted buds
Unclean, sweating blood for the seeds
Hidden in unfound prophets.
The pollen prophecies hinder
The far lost lovers, star-crossed
With their eyes to the skies and
Hands reaching deep in the seas above.
We wait, silent, and wonder. Swamping
Our stomata vision with couplets
Formed from stigmas of all the years.
Rhyming, but avoiding the answers
We crave. From cradle to grave is not
Enough. Searching signs and science
Beyond our learning, lessons hard learnt
From love itself compromise the beauty
And mistakes found on the surface of
An eclipse – blinding men and hanging
Martyrs from the stark tip of a half moon.
Sharp, revealed, they sacrifice what the church
Could not. Would not. Poison or paradise?
We will never be sure but it still fuels
The passion and bakes the bread we need
To eat and live. The sour lips of life tasted
Sweet before, but the flowers have died
Now and left their ****** marks on
The garden path. When we were young
The stigmata did not stain so much.
Clandestine and concealed to the world,
Invisible - striving for the word to be known,
But strife was not The Way. Doth with their
Own death they curse those who engendered
Them, like Faustus, who flew but twas
All in feign, for he fell in vain - and did not live
To taste the wine. Yet fallen are we all
For the sake of those two lovers –
Biting deep into the rigid skin of solid
Poison. The sickly sweet juice running
Down the side of her cursed lip
As the serpent swept their souls away.
A sharp tongue will keep the commands
At bay like spears in the sides
Of the stammered. The swollen dagger
Hearts were bitten by a Cancer
Of the stars, spreading like luminaries
Devouring ***** by ***** Only
Your hands are free to tell the story now
To bathe in the rich fountains of new-born
Life, flowing from river to river carrying
Moses baskets and delivering us to
Our stolen caskets.
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 7:36 PM UTC
ready for a new chapter , already,
a change of season, almost,
a different horizon, perhaps,
ready for a new hope, I hope.
This green leaf is ready to fall
off the limb, become compost
or be blown far off
into the distance.
Just give me destiny
or what resides past the filtered
reality, today and tomorrow.
let me be the soil again,
dust or, maybe another leaf
more vibrant just opened,
with stomata uncluttered by polluted
nicotine a fresh unwrinkled skin,
a stem hard pointing my being up
into the sun of days
with strength again.
Yet, I remain attached , fearful
of turning loose
the very thing I get tired of.
May will bring the answer.
Or June.
Jan 19, 2017
Jan 19, 2017 at 4:37 PM UTC
AFFIRMATION PRIOR MENU RAILLERY
/ The Verge Galore Feminedarlen Ogitres
Utterance ET. . CRAFT LUMINAT LINEAR
Visonettia distribution rejoining the holy mundale ringingly poemmatic Syndneys beyond the unexplainably ‘explicit throll’ illium diocesan –of vegetarian et. Province womanhood crayfish the clairvo humanity pluralists –the eye read furrowing immortal ribs-of purer fate gummnation
The unfathomable classification dogma vertex fascillinary the fag-earthen vessels
COUCH BEATITUDESS
ET. Isle Ironing Stooffly-fye Stirringlys Wikilipaedia Witchcraft Paypraises-Often Therein The Illumantherapist Preaching Echo Signs :
1. Soilage Requll A utum
2. Crankshaft Purrings
3. Mount Zion Poles
4. Carmel Million Rail-of Sailors
5. Armoury Shed Mid-Wifeory
6. Geovum ‘God Issuantry
7. Re-missionaries Order Clergy Illures/ Pelvic Eleventh Yonderics
8. Darner ARC/Kiosk Kilometer Confluence
9. Visonettia Agegy ageeeing spades
1o. Brook Rainbow
10. Thyma Across Fountain Figures 360 Vignettes
11. TUC-aLVACADO
12. Prolette: Provincial Program Cohesion seus
13. Uni-EXCUSSION SQUIRRELLS; Fuel Eleganza Ocres
14.Oracle Barbcock Peanuts
15. Barbwire Shielz ‘poem Prostulatheises
16. Pilgrimage Consummates
17. Core stalf Trivoltry believing the ‘eagles bounds
18.Unfalteruing pulsars Pose fulcrum /Composaltry the furthering
19. Indulgenergy Scencegy the Thretshold //Indisputable CO-exoisthergy Instantaneously CO-GENESIS
2O. Sovereignty Stomata: Outstand Coupon Versatility % TRINITY/ flying Ukrainegy the Trinity Adores-OREGY
http// ***** ODU-DOLLAR SHADES.COM
Feb 11, 2019
Feb 11, 2019 at 8:33 AM UTC
Crisp mornings.
The crispness inflamed the soles of my stem.
I shiver at the thought.
The shiver ponders my mind to the last days I ....
Enough.
The succulent hands of the summer breeze is here.
Myself and the other folks sway and cheer,
sitting on the tailored twigs of Oldman the oak tree.
Spencer the sun glazing our trichomes.
Warmth.
We exchange gentle rustling two and fro,
like the sound of an ancient ***** awaiting to uplift the show.
Blackbirds and wood pigeons in the air,
up against each other to strike the berry in the bush goal.
What a perfect life I’m pleased to see.
Maggie magpie why do you perch on my branch so?
your bewitching colours like a piercing cry,
surely I’m not yet to..
The howling of the clouds,
the punches of lightening,
The heavens they open,
good gracious how frightening.
The kicks of the autumn breeze is here.
Stomata is failing.
Stomata is failing.
I’m latching onto the twig,
my ancient armchair.
Carotenoids and Xanthophyll’s,
dehydrated wrinkly skin.
Gut wrenching red anthocyanin,
like lucifer leukaemia stabbing my soul.
Crisp mornings.
I disconnect.
I fall.
I hit.
I lay.
In the flurries of snow,
amongst my other folks.
Oldman the oak tree hospice is empty once again.
RIP
Justine Louisy
Copyright © Justine Louisy 2016
All Rights Reserved
Jun 30, 2020
Jun 30, 2020 at 10:09 AM UTC
A flying insect
without control
on itself
touched the stomata.
A female spider's
hunting net
was covering
the empty area
of stomata.
It did bind
and kill that
insect.
But that insect
had egg to fertilise
in its body.
Jan 9, 2019
Jan 9, 2019 at 10:45 AM UTC