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NEW AUTHORS SHOWCASE
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12M p9 |
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Poetry By Elizabeth White |
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(a)
I inhale you in the morning soft spring thaw to my Winter sleep: a succession of blinks ‘til the twilight slips from my fingers, slips from your back. In the glare of the sun we are stripped and out of habit painted gold. Held in a cup of night you pick the stars to see you by.
(b)
Watching the swellings of light in your face in this room strung out as a stroll along an excited promenade where pregnant time gives birth and rebirth to joy, is like glimpsing the passage of intimacy coming of age, spanning West through the years.
(c)
How can I regret the turn of Spring? The neap tide I dissolved you in and crawled out clean, Alive. The world that held me then was soft and fresh and new and, best of all, it wasn’t you.
(d)
Deep red, deep molten heart welled up and splayed across the blue, simple tale of earth and fire Revolving – into evening somewhere else. And drifting on, a little night and longer day; Dyeing the glow of my soul you whisper the stars in your wake.
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(a)
Heart burst in the ground and broken from the dirt that bound me, no longer a dying beat but a constant simmer is your song. And I turn as the Earth turns instead of standing still in the dark of fear’s gestation: I no longer break when the day does, Only rise.
(b)
I’ve told you now but my lips still itch to form those words my body aches, my tongue burns, and I still feel three syllables pulsing between us, teasing each vertebra to standing. We need not speak this line absorbs between us tingling this message to every tip. I don’t even need to whisper. You can always hear it on my breath exhaled in the shape of your name, inhaled to the trace of your skin left like braille on my lips as I breathe in.
(c)
Hot soul poured through the sky, one final journey: warm breath held in the mouth And life, milked into a cup Disappears Into a starless sky but not a starless night, unsparkling for I shine on a beacon to this life’s lingering horizon, and my heart’s fecundity.
(d)
There is a line through your name where your ink touched the page, spilt into the mess that spelled you out.
(e)
Dead on the page these fingers scrawled a pulse enough to breathe, insufficient to forget thick and sweaty fingers on sweaty, heavy hands grabbing, trapping in the dark: smothering life, pain pursed on lips, tears smuggled onto paper, soul clenched to its violation Dead- Dead- |