~Lunulae

Moon-dubbed melancholy

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Feb 5, 2012, 8:45:05 AM by ~Lunulae
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

_{I stepped out of my skin
Today, and it snowed
Knee caps and shoulder
Blades. I spotted a few
Moons and oleandar too,

Jangled and jarred
Along my collarbone; I
Wondered at the finches,
The swallows and warblers
Moulting like fledgelings
Between my seams.

I stood there for a moment,
Caladium-leaved, waiting
For you to unfold, dislodge
From my spine, but
Only a flicker-whisk
Of your fey smile
Slid round my ribs.}

14 Comments

Newest Deviations

Paper Cranes You:

Your strychnine threaded, wind-braced bones
Taut against your shingled seams

Moon-mountained back, sea-fevered arc:
Your crane-spun neck.

I folded you, origami-style,
Without a snip of scissors
Or whiff of glue;

I strung you up, hung you by a thread
Till you span dizzily, dizzily
Above my bed.

I wished on you, before I slept,
Worn and weary, wrinkled
And grey;

A thousand cranes, celadon-whey
Slipped quietly, quiverly,
Into the night,
Into my skin:

Paper-winged, I flew
Origami-style,
Seamless and unglued.Paper Cranes by ~Lunulae

26 Comments

Lunulae The moon waned anorexic,
Bones flaunted with risque abandon.

Night stretched thin, translucid
In lamplight and wavering haze.
Anaemic rain, cloaked
In slack shimmers of loose cloud
Entrails. Summer, but wind whistled
Frigid through spinal craters
And rattleskin ribs.

The stars went out, purged one by
One. A glimmer, a shudder,
A sickle-cell muse.
Aerophane moon: bird-boned, bird-bred
Lunulae whims.Lunulae by ~Lunulae

19 Comments

Landscapes I watch your spine twist into a tree,
Gnarled and branching, the furled
Eyebrows of craggy sea;
Your feet valleyed, knees hunched
In ragged sirocco winds.

I watch the tundra whisper winter
Down your sternum, fjords unravelling
Each rib, curled like foetus coves
In terracota wombs.

I watch:
The earth lisping
Across your folds, sifting
Your pangea mold.Landscapes by ~Lunulae

6 Comments

Exhume and Inhale I have tasted God, he tasted of sweet wine
and sandalwood, the deep forest you lay down

in the moss and twigs, scattered like finger-bones,
your spine ripped out, curved like a bow.

I couldn't find your heart, trembling
against the opened cage of your ribs,

under the gently speaking rustle,
leaves unfurling, the dance of sunlight

slinking between your vertebrae:
piccolo skims and birchskin shaves.

I fled. Your right shoulder blade beckoned still,
unfolding like the slow feathers of a wing,

your wrist flung out, palm
up, gasped my name,

but I could not stay, only
strained your skin with oleander tea,

drifted, drifted with the tExhume and Inhale by ~Lunulae

4 Comments

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Random Favourites

Stealing Wednesday Just this once,
let it be an angel plume
floating on the borrowed breeze.

Something living but also alive.
A bouquet of forget-me-nots nestled
in the arms of Alzheimer's …
the hands of hatred.

We aren't asking for a field-
No gardens.
The strength to take back tomorrow

Just this once,
Give us something we deserve:

Calm seas
The hidden dirt road

A chanceStealing Wednesday by *RussianTim

36 Comments

a memory I remembered the afternoon I called you,
curled on my bed with someone's good book
in my palm, nestled softly in the waning light

and under my gently roaming fingers
the baby moved – not to my hand-touch,
but inside, an insistent flutter,

not like the swiftly beating heart
on the doctor's monitor, not like the slow
appearance of a plus-sign on a drugstore test.

I called you, my gently rolling daughter's
mother's mother. I called you like the woman
standing at my back while I held the kite string

on a pushy spring day, the diagonal shape so
far above us I could only feel the jerk of the
cord around my fingers, holding us ta memory by =sunshinegypsy

96 Comments

LADIES OF WAR (Amazon inside)Here some powerful ladies in D.A - Go to their pages and love them ! Visual- text- visual- text - ad lib.

:iconfigueline:

:thumb285922840:

:iconmademoisellehani:

:thumb284272352:

:icondaturanoire:

:thumb206164046:

:iconbreamgappy:

:thumb287696873:

:icondreamy-eve-ning:

:thumb279064140:

:icondreamlightning:

:thumb288412370:

:iconmistress-macabre:

:thumb258034252:

:iconpupil-in-denial:

:thumb286049388:

:iconliliframboise:

:thumb272812662:

:iconthelunalily:

:thumb204297184:

:iconneurasthenique:

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:iconkurea1802:

:thumb186795467:

:icondameodessa:

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:iconhersoftestsoul:

:thumb287087199:

:i

LADIES OF WAR (Amazon inside) by *monsieurwar

71 Comments

Friday Night Features XXXVII:thumb213774119:
Friday Night Features
Volume XXXVII

Friday Night Features is a weekly feature aimed at displaying
a cross section of the some of the most striking, entertaining
and fantastic literature, photography and artwork from across
deviantArt. Show your support by :+fav:ing this article and
checking out these amazing pieces. You may find someone
new to watch :+devwatch:

Literature
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Friday Night Features XXXVII by =dreamsinstatic

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Journal Entry: Mon Jan 16, 2012, 3:40 PM

Incredibly inspiring, thought-provoking and overall awesome poetry I came across one after the other. dA literature seems to be getting better than ever!

Balloon Sky Violet sky, blue snow
Scraggly bushes, silhouettes
a car alarm that won't stop
Night is almost here

A man in a clown suit, dead-eyed
Steps out from the shadows
"I've been waiting on you"
"I know"

Balloon sky, cotton candy snow
Rotten yellow teeth, grinning
a buzzing fly amplified
Night chops off the day

border-speak At the border, they slice open
languages, like scientists,
make hybrid creatures of the tongue
feeble things struggling at a crawl
against the dysentery
the slurs
cracked lips in the cold
trembling.
Letter by letter
they emerge, unknown to man.
A newborn, in hell.

And the so-called Hallelujahs
are a comfort,
warm soup on the rainy days
where the women laugh in shame
where the plastic bags cover babies, for warmth
where they burn the roadkill,
the half-rotted animal corpses
with organs stolen
dignity fading as they fester
fires roaring,
a city, with the romance of Paris
glistens from the highest peak of hell
an impossi

Let's hope Lazarus can dig. What if Christ made a faux pas?
He was told old Lazzy was a good man

Of God, but let's not assume
They didn't just miss him

That rotten child beater,
He was a pretty swell guy.

His wife did him in,
Maybe she should have told Him

Then he'd have to dig out
His own way.

If I recall, they
Interred him in Cambridgeshire

Or was that just my ancestral home?
I'm confusing things.

Anyway.

Lazarus was dead,
Just like me.

After Tuesday Elizabeth,

I will not live like this anymore.

Not anymore.

There's a small Universe to the West,
that sits idle in Autumn,

I will be there.

Hinged on all sides,
by suicide maples
that fall from the trees like droplets of blood,

and that old Raven
(the blackbird that taught us Canasta
on the lawns by Cedars Lodge,)
he hovers quietly above me there, in the azure sky
like a guardian,

and those two shining moons Elizabeth,
the ones we happened upon
through the windowpanes,
between our screams and shouts last Tuesday night,
in this Universe, those moons weep misty vanillas
across a falling horizon and I am free,

yes, I will

Lament of an Atheist I cut candles straight down their waxy center
just by looking into the flame. Slick peels of
honeycomb melt into my palm and blister skin.
Then the world ricochets forward.

I plummet back into my body and there's
a thick distortion in audio. A constant pulse at
the back of my eyes, tuned to the rhythm of your
heartbeat. I look for traces of you, but,
God, you're lost.

Leaves fall as paper lanterns from wooden fingers.
Spiraling upwards on the breath of cosmos, back
to Heaven, lit like the sun on a marvelous azure
backdrop. I needed your wisdom, but all is gone.
Christ, you're dead.

Atheists are not meant to love. Realists

the names of distance i am living with my fingers in the mouths
of ghosts. the night air pools in my hands, thick
as reason. you have been here, long ago,
and you color my truth with your quiet
reaching. there is nothing of which
it is not a part.

i am waiting, and this alone
brings me. once, i could not have imagined it:
what dull dissonance the morning would beckon,
what barren slumber would catch me wanting.
but now, i too am awake, alive
to the spine of a careless grieving; alive
to the dark i have almost forgiven, alive
to the memory of your tongue: the map
that blinds me.

l'hiver. (you can't tell the birds and the snow apart in the sky:
the grand church of dizzying space - )

and the trees are yellowed in cowardice, raking the sky
to the ground and around and around.

listen to your organs: the almost grand piano of the
churches i'd never attend.

and never mistake the courage of the sky for the cowardice
of the ground. never frown, never frown.

listen to your palms: the salty swing of the old snow
burning up on silk and splendor.

and visit the dying snow birds in their graves of the
ground, and they drown and drown.

(you can't tell the birds and the snow apart in the sky:
a grand church of dizzying space w

cannibal on a string I've made a liar of you,
hanging about your summer
periphery like a banana
spider on my knitted web,

switchblade slashes for
legs and a bouquet of ocelli
sizing up the breadth of
your concern, the width
of your promises and how they
compare to the measurements
of your actions, not for

sport (no one ever asks to
weave silken patterns through
hell, no one requests to
nest at the base of a burning
tree) and never in malice

as malice is often given
to hourglass bodied hunters
bearing venom, malice that
is snagged by the neat cutlery

click of pincers and preserved
instead of eaten and I track
your cautious approach, un

brackish I am not who I used
to be.

I am no longer effete and barren
as the undersides of ships,
the starfish that cling to them;

my heart is not anymore
so windswept that when
we kiss, it feels like
crustaceans on my weathered lips.

far from it: I am much
too ripe. I have more than my fill
of water, salty as it may be;

my haggard corpse is awash
and bloated with it.

the veins in my cold,
purple lips would burst,
meeting yours.

I'm thoroughly impressed. Let's hope some of these get the DLDs/DDs they've been suggested for.

On Creativity: How would you define it? What would strike you as particularly creative?

Working on a cathartic series of month poetry, first of which is here: [link]

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~Lunulae

Artist | Student | Literature

_{I walk the beaches under
Sparrowdown umbrellas,
Listening for your wind.

Shells hold only ocean voices:
My moon-dubbed melancholy
Cannot sing in waves.}

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Comments

*Carmalain7 2 days ago

i miss you and your words; please bring them back to us when you find yourself with a moment, good miss.

--
"Perfection is achieved, not when there is nothing more to add, but when there is nothing left to take away."
—Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Poetry Administrator for #Daily-Lit-Deviations | #theWrittenRevolution

~Flummoxative Apr 28, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Sorry for all the

s and no comments. I simply had no words. Or maybe I'm just sleepy. Or maybe you really are just that good. Your words are dark yet lovely. I look forward to more of them.

--
You have never seen a city until you have seen Alicante of the glass towers.

The bible didn't mention us.

"It's like my brain has a mind of its own!" -Sokka

"Give me a place to stand and I will move the earth." -Archimedes

*Esso-the-awesome Feb 16, 2012 Student Writer

Thanks for the fave!

--
...in bed.
--
this kid has the moves like jagger.

~Lunulae Feb 17, 2012 Student Writer

--
_{Reason is flat, I stand on its edge.}

~anapests-and-ink Feb 16, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you so much for the fav!

--
"in tranced fixation dreaming upon object before you"

~Jack Kerouac, You're a Genius All the Time

~Lunulae Feb 17, 2012 Student Writer

--
_{Reason is flat, I stand on its edge.}

*scatteredwords Feb 13, 2012

I loved your collaboration with =sunshinegypsy and look forward to reading more of your work!

--
"Draw Antonio, draw Antonio, draw and don't waste time."—A note written on the back of one of Michaelangelo's drawings from the 1520s, to his pupil.

avatar by =Kikariz

~Lunulae Feb 15, 2012 Student Writer

Thank you! I appreciate the watch

--
_{Reason is flat, I stand on its edge.}

*beeinthebottle Feb 13, 2012 Writer

Thank you.

--
My muse has returned. I think I'll kill her.

~Lunulae Feb 15, 2012 Student Writer

--
_{Reason is flat, I stand on its edge.}

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