walking home on fall afternoonicesnow in the palm of my hand
my fist is Spring.
Chrysalis.there is a boy who
he has green eyes
and does not
speak of love
They have departed,
their intimacy dissolves,
leaving empty space.
They will celebrate nearness
in a more intimate place.
In the heart
In the heart, doubts
In the doubts, a small room
In the small room, a table
On the table, a map being soaked by rain
On the table
In the small room
In the doubts
In the heart
BottomI know I'm near the ledge now
where the heart gives up on conceiving:
The parlous break of eye and ear's parley.
I need the legion of null-things now
to enter through the lesion on our pain,
the glitter to blink and wink
to obscure the abyss all of our bodies
are falling for.
7.34mmA simple measurement
can make a man
lose himself; a blurring, no more
than a grainy smudge
a scant 7.34mm long
this rice-grain, seven weeks old
with one hundred and twenty nine
heartbeats per minute
all this, from a mere sesame-seed of a heart
FragmentationThey sent the figments away so
I could see the leftover everything
-we own nothing-The sun rises; we become slaves.
Blue moon, or SadismYou would hang me from the belfry,
Coil my hair into a noose.
My hands would jerk and shudder,
My neck would snap clean
I'd dangle in wind furls,
A bloated cornflower:
You'd watch me from a distance,
Your once in a blue moon.
mercyyou incite no mercy,
I swallow your horror
As yet, untitledI swept out the corners of my mind today
In short shallow strokes
Not knowing if the dust disturbed my life
Or if my life disturbed the dust.
Sydney AirportTo hover/ in your medicine cabinet/ first-aid, French-doors/ all the words have been taken/ from me/ to explain to you that Im not here anymore.
Santa FeWe circled the bustling square,
bought the silver belt buckle,
Navajo-etched for fertility.
I made a painting of the blue bowl,
Cafe Pasqual's, glass in the sun,
truth from those unripe symmetries
sliding along our tongues with
salty shivers, icy, like hope.
You bought the bleached cow skull
so I could be Georgia in my mind.
3Gauge your days by
who runs through your house,
by the flags they carry there,
the words they leave on your rug,
by the color of the smoke you inhale after
their tomes stop burning
roseyou mime a rose
with hands I can't see
I can see
bones 9even the wind in the waves
could not hold his question
and gave it to the gulls
they circled the coast
with it heavy in their beaks
and lost it on purpose
RawIt's like thirst, but not-
it's worse; it hurts to swallow
little stirrings XX: moments
Your chaste sun-tipped fingers,
the blinding of your eyes-
how is it I never knew you before?
The moon-flecked range of your sound
from deep within caves
reverberates the ribs of shipwrecks.
I tread the curves of night
that wash ashore each hour,
the moments like seaweed in the shallows.
Crows"Crows," I whisper and she flies,
brown arrow shot
from the bowstring of a word.
|More Journal Entries|
Fireflies and StarlightA pairing: FirefliesFireflies and Starlight by ungraciouspastor
and starlight; ephemera
Frank CostanzaSearching for the BuddhaFrank Costanza by jimfleming
on a rocky path,
I am more likely to find him.
BrotherMy unborn brother will be younger than me foreverBrother by jimfleming
He would have altered my universe, a peacemaker
He would have encouraged self examination and
Opened eyes for gentle epiphanies
He would have made my father laugh
My mother joyous and my brother and me wiser
He loves us all equally
He is calm like the Buddha, a snake charmer
He is in my heart and we will embrace
When we meet all things will belong and be clear
Red BoatRed boat in the harbour,Red Boat by pseudometry
commercial trawler amidst the blue
like a gunshot-wound
on a cop's patrol shirt
GypsyI keep this skirt for practice, ankle-swirled, worriedGypsy by EmmaSloane
by a pup who chases dancing hems by firelight
no fierce rhythm gone wasted in the transience
bowforce violin-strung shrieks in see/saw counterpoint
to train sighs in darkness
these are my coded expressions
I keep deep sky objects in my mind
trust in dreamsa broken sun settrust in dreams by YouInventedMe
with stars perched in my window
...truth is flexible
The Simulacrum is a library dedicated to the creators of, and appreciators of, snapshot poetry. Poetry that, in no more than ten lines, expresses and captures the blink of an essence.
1) Submissions are limited to one per day, and will be judged on their uniqueness and quality before being accepted.
2) Submissions must be 10 lines, or less, in length.
3) A high, grammatical standard is required.
4) Poetic 'quality' must be superior.
5) We do not offer critique or any literary prompts.
6) We do not accept prose.
7) Poems must be submitted by their author. Third-party submissions, with or without the consent of the author, will not be accepted.