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![Profile picture of Atticus Abbey]()
Atticus Abbey and
Fia Naturie are now friends
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Atticus Abbey wrote a new post
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Read MoreWith a pulse of cello and scent of cognac,a lingering want as the moon drags tides, like a metronome with fingers.Then—silence—the breath before the fall, like a piccolo whispering a symphony,with a single note.Exhaling the taste of yesterday's tobacco,...
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![Profile picture of Atticus Abbey]()
Thank you, Light.
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![Profile picture of Atticus Abbey]()
Thank you, Damian.
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![Profile picture of Ghosteen]()
Ghosteen wrote a new post
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Read MoreA phone call now may wake her straddle waking dreams to the hymen-ever-after once upon a sleeping crime nothing rhymed ....and the moon is a voyeur’s pearl stringing whispers to sky balustrade A phone call now may wake her strip negligee to bone dribble honey thru pillow hives flood hornets’ nest between legs ...and I’ll sail this sleep...
9 Comments-
![Profile picture of Styxian]()
Many times writes are over my head, like this one. LOL. I’m pretty good at deciphering poems, etc. Yet some are more complex and perhaps “inside” than I can travel to. But, pixie sticks poems have kept many a reader caught up in the meanings, looking for that connection with the author. It is a bond formed of our mental values. Of what we grasp for, as writer and reader. You make a hell of a spider.
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![Profile picture of Ghosteen]()
Thanks Mark. Sometimes metaphor and images over-power the meaning and think this is such a case. It’s really testament to how an unexpected phone call can change life’s narrative.
A spider? Ha. I could certainly do with 8 legs at moment. Broke the same ankle thrice and in the cold weather walk like a penguin with flatulence.
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![Profile picture of Betty]()
Oh motherfuck YES, this is goddamn poetry. I needed to get my head out of my own ass and breathe some air, and you, my sweet Welsh friend, are cold wind on a warm day.
The way you fuck a line, gods, with lube and soft kisses and hair pulls.
You weave a poem and use an unexpected trope-twist to make real magic. I’m reminded of why I word-crush on your shit.
THE FUCKING LANGUAGE…
straddle waking dreams to the hymen-ever-after
AND THIS?! Fuck you. I’m literally jealous I didn’t write it…
….and the moon is a voyeur’s pearl
stringing whispers to sky balustradeTHIS?! AAAAARRRHHH!
strip negligee to boneI’m almost over-stimulated and about to cuss you out for being brilliant but this?!
sea-shell coved against my ear
like a seance with the deaf…. that was amazing
I wish I hadn’t quit smoking.
Kickass shit.
BB
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![Profile picture of Ghosteen]()
Well Betty Boo, such praise from a writer like yourself, keeps my keyboard warm in middle of night.
Not everyone gets me (so to speak) but I’m cool with that. It’s enough that the poets and people I hugely respect, give a considered nod to my scribbles.
I’m yearning to visit Snowdonia (Eryri in Welsh). It has proved to be the most cathartic landscape.
Keep the faith
Rob x
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![Profile picture of Honoria]()
Dear R,
The energy of night passion jumps off the page in this piece. Two lovers trying desperately to make it happen without consequence of hurting others. The romance of the ocean in the back ground is hot and (al)luring. I really enjoyed the beauty, intensity and sexy shivers in this poem. H 🌷
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![Profile picture of Ghosteen]()
Oo. Diolch H. You get it. The night tells all – there are reasons why my pillows are frayed.
Even as a fiftysomething, I take great pleasure in scratching names in the sand. Last week I took a night walk to sing to the harbour lights – ignoring the bitter cold and manic screech of the junkies. The sea was so calm.
Rob x
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![Profile picture of Atticus Abbey]()
Hauntingly, up my alley…fantastic!
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![Profile picture of Ghosteen]()
Too kind. Thank you
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![Profile picture of Damian DeadLove]()
Powerfully penned, Ghosteen. Excellent write with great storytelling my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian
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![Profile picture of Damian DeadLove]()
Cleverly penned, Peter. Excellent write my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian
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Harriet-Jacqui xx wrote a new post
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Read MoreAftertaste:April Fool’s Day 1973:Georgie was heavy with child. Her breasts were swollen with milk. Her abdomen, fully distended. She slumped on the wicker chair feeling her baby prod her stomach. Her fiancé marvelled at how she pushed herself to...
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We assumed e targeted women with his mushrooms thinking them weaker, but did she see a weakness in him that made him her perfect target. Based on her abuse did it give her insight into his truly fragile state, as the reader knows she’s calculating. Could she had seen suicide in his weakness, that’s a question. Tight one Lady
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![Profile picture of Harriet-Jacqui xx]()
Great questions! Life’s full of them.
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I think it’s the first time I read this kind and style of your poetry, the metaphor of the moon and its force over water to represents the deep nameless longing is amazing. Wonderful poem.