Submissions by Feral
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
Coyote winds howl through a star-jawed night. Sky-gaped, high, lonesome, and wild.
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
10th Dec 2024 8:15pm
10th Dec 2024 8:15pm
xviii: evocation
It is not prophecy -
this thing, scarlet and viscus
slithering in the sand at my feet.
It spewed wetly from my gaping grin -
a sad monument to the years.
In the conceit of the rising sun,
my teeth became redundant.
(I alone am at fault)
... Can a pyre built for a self burn rage enough
burn wild enough
burn spite enough
To slough off the flesh, the meat,
the contempt, the weeds?
Leaving my bones free to cast an offering to the stars
mirrored and diffused softly into the waves -
the breaking crest...
this thing, scarlet and viscus
slithering in the sand at my feet.
It spewed wetly from my gaping grin -
a sad monument to the years.
In the conceit of the rising sun,
my teeth became redundant.
(I alone am at fault)
... Can a pyre built for a self burn rage enough
burn wild enough
burn spite enough
To slough off the flesh, the meat,
the contempt, the weeds?
Leaving my bones free to cast an offering to the stars
mirrored and diffused softly into the waves -
the breaking crest...
#depression
119 reads
3 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
8th Dec 2024 11:36pm
8th Dec 2024 11:36pm
westling
The sun was high when you were called
to your final work;
the flame spiral reaching the center of its journey and
- releasing -
Tonight,
when the Sonoran coyotes gather in the liminal
light of dusk, they will sing the names of the dead
with their eyes full of stars and their mouths full of blooms.
This time,
you will be among them - as something new.
As name, as spirit, as coyote yourself
flowing into sacred song.
As for we who remain - our hearts,
heavy with the grief that is unhomed Love,
will find our...
to your final work;
the flame spiral reaching the center of its journey and
- releasing -
Tonight,
when the Sonoran coyotes gather in the liminal
light of dusk, they will sing the names of the dead
with their eyes full of stars and their mouths full of blooms.
This time,
you will be among them - as something new.
As name, as spirit, as coyote yourself
flowing into sacred song.
As for we who remain - our hearts,
heavy with the grief that is unhomed Love,
will find our...
#death
#love
#memorial
87 reads
1 Comment
LOVE POEM
Published
7th Dec 2024 11:59pm
7th Dec 2024 11:59pm
widow weeping endymion
eye to I, the rushing current;
she wrote, with intent, in the sand:
If I sacrifice my bitterness to the waves,
would I be allowed, then, some
human vulnerability?
Some tender grief, indeed…
This curiosity was cast to the waves as a scrying
for which there could be a hoped-for answering call
from beyond the halls of entropy.
…asked as if the body were not some broken wild thing
crystalized In fulgurite spiraling towers,
perpetually in.tense, either past or future -
no present for life to live itself...
she wrote, with intent, in the sand:
If I sacrifice my bitterness to the waves,
would I be allowed, then, some
human vulnerability?
Some tender grief, indeed…
This curiosity was cast to the waves as a scrying
for which there could be a hoped-for answering call
from beyond the halls of entropy.
…asked as if the body were not some broken wild thing
crystalized In fulgurite spiraling towers,
perpetually in.tense, either past or future -
no present for life to live itself...
#love
#sea
194 reads
3 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
7th Jun 2024 10:33pm
7th Jun 2024 10:33pm
xi. albatross
A collaboration with chance -
What is this appeal to the idea of purpose?
Of separating and categorizing experience into
waking, therefore worthy
and
dreaming, therefore dismissible
These perceptions run parallel, the
categories are lies and the attempt is nothing short
of intellectual dishonesty.
It is true - there is no trust in self.
You are lost.
Not the wandering lost, no, you have traveled
through weakness into uncertainty.
Questioning the instincts that served you
for decades.
...
What is this appeal to the idea of purpose?
Of separating and categorizing experience into
waking, therefore worthy
and
dreaming, therefore dismissible
These perceptions run parallel, the
categories are lies and the attempt is nothing short
of intellectual dishonesty.
It is true - there is no trust in self.
You are lost.
Not the wandering lost, no, you have traveled
through weakness into uncertainty.
Questioning the instincts that served you
for decades.
...
#nature
199 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
6th Jun 2024 3:30am
6th Jun 2024 3:30am
i.ii mythos; inoculation, mondream
i. mythos of inoculation
It was easy to be wounded by the sea;
to allow the salt to infiltrate my lungs.
Enduring the iron breath, lightning-struck,
as fulgurite veins transform and lend
weight to the descent.
It was nothing to dive,
to spawn gills and swim as a siren.
{When my skull lies with yours,
will you sing with me?}
Always, the in-between.
Human and Other.
I, composite creature, howling
my seven names
and singing the rain down.
ii. mythos of a mondream
...
#nature
262 reads
2 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
2nd Jun 2024 3:08am
2nd Jun 2024 3:08am
predatory scry
..forethought reveals
the obelisk at the center
of the universe, caught in the primordial
future.
is time real to those for whom past, present, and
annihilation are
but different directions in which to look?
the moon dies, crescent-wise
and the wanderer is trapped in cosmic horrors of Red.
of blood and billion year old rock.
she wears a cloak of mountain peaks and fears
the soundless winds of time that erode.
but she must bear witness to those that see...
...and know
the difference...
the obelisk at the center
of the universe, caught in the primordial
future.
is time real to those for whom past, present, and
annihilation are
but different directions in which to look?
the moon dies, crescent-wise
and the wanderer is trapped in cosmic horrors of Red.
of blood and billion year old rock.
she wears a cloak of mountain peaks and fears
the soundless winds of time that erode.
but she must bear witness to those that see...
...and know
the difference...
#magic
165 reads
1 Comment
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
31st May 2024 11:57pm
31st May 2024 11:57pm
ascian
Beneath each lantern; beneath each tree
blooms each night an irreparable longing
that is often mistaken for terror.
Perhaps it is merely the heavy silence
whispering,
"Return to me - the place in-between.
Will you not come home?"
Through all the nights of this life,
I have been traveling towards the shadow
second-self, sanity-spelled first {sibilance}....
a reclamation of the wild creature, scented
musk in liminal spaces, singing of reunion
and celebrating the mystery of grace.
To be...
blooms each night an irreparable longing
that is often mistaken for terror.
Perhaps it is merely the heavy silence
whispering,
"Return to me - the place in-between.
Will you not come home?"
Through all the nights of this life,
I have been traveling towards the shadow
second-self, sanity-spelled first {sibilance}....
a reclamation of the wild creature, scented
musk in liminal spaces, singing of reunion
and celebrating the mystery of grace.
To be...
#nature
185 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
30th May 2024 10:56pm
30th May 2024 10:56pm
swan song for a sabertooth
9/2/23.
.
Who among us can recall
with any level of clarity what it was to be
unformed energy prior to coalescing sentience?
A thermodynamic accident -
We are but borrowed energy, borrowed time
settled into such a fragile form. Spiraling
around each other in
Inestimable and infinite orbits -
What an abundance of gratitude within -
to be such a present, meager whisper
barely able to perceive the self-same cosmos in secret wavelengths.
Even so,
before I return in silence to the churning ...
.
Who among us can recall
with any level of clarity what it was to be
unformed energy prior to coalescing sentience?
A thermodynamic accident -
We are but borrowed energy, borrowed time
settled into such a fragile form. Spiraling
around each other in
Inestimable and infinite orbits -
What an abundance of gratitude within -
to be such a present, meager whisper
barely able to perceive the self-same cosmos in secret wavelengths.
Even so,
before I return in silence to the churning ...
#magic
187 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
27th Oct 2023 11:18pm
27th Oct 2023 11:18pm
xvii: evaporite
Must all be tinged from the first? It is strange,
this reactive safety -
I have dissolved a salt garden where minerals grow in spirals;
celestine blooms under the mourning star,
more delicate than the cyclic datura.
No floral impatience will decompose
the place I have made among
the sandstone roses and azurite towers.
if the intimacy of rolling fog off the sea,
rising through the trees; if even this
cannot break me open to receive,
perhaps the potency of ancient
and quiet things will.
Perhaps the answer lies ...
this reactive safety -
I have dissolved a salt garden where minerals grow in spirals;
celestine blooms under the mourning star,
more delicate than the cyclic datura.
No floral impatience will decompose
the place I have made among
the sandstone roses and azurite towers.
if the intimacy of rolling fog off the sea,
rising through the trees; if even this
cannot break me open to receive,
perhaps the potency of ancient
and quiet things will.
Perhaps the answer lies ...
#universe
293 reads
2 Comments
SPIRITUAL POEM
Published
26th Oct 2023 00:50am
26th Oct 2023 00:50am
eleni adnasci
ix. breathing-in
.
.
.
.
.
.
…a wound of stillness…
root-worded, a long-toothed creature of the grave must I be;
sacrificing my eye to the mad tree, defiant.
There is a many-tongued spiraling silence
blooming creation in destruction -
perpetually adnascent,
reaching forward and stretching back into every insignificance -
I am living and dying them,
every moment,
repeatedly in once and forever
layered and -
seasonal-held in confrontation: the warp and weft,
weaving permanence...
.
.
.
.
.
.
…a wound of stillness…
root-worded, a long-toothed creature of the grave must I be;
sacrificing my eye to the mad tree, defiant.
There is a many-tongued spiraling silence
blooming creation in destruction -
perpetually adnascent,
reaching forward and stretching back into every insignificance -
I am living and dying them,
every moment,
repeatedly in once and forever
layered and -
seasonal-held in confrontation: the warp and weft,
weaving permanence...
#spiritual
281 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
1st Sep 2014 11:10pm
1st Sep 2014 11:10pm
calico
red, this place is
creating a babel of space & time.
Eolian winds have conjured
swirling rock,
and I am awash in the forming awe
of knowing -
this place was once under the sea of my Cambrian
obsession.
It is familiar to me, inexplicable -
whorls and waves and wonder,
Am I home?
No matter how far away the Sea may be
or how long ago She fell away,
water magic lingers in the organic curves
of sand and limestone.
I yearn to offer everything Red within myself;
blood and hair and sunburnt skin.
...
creating a babel of space & time.
Eolian winds have conjured
swirling rock,
and I am awash in the forming awe
of knowing -
this place was once under the sea of my Cambrian
obsession.
It is familiar to me, inexplicable -
whorls and waves and wonder,
Am I home?
No matter how far away the Sea may be
or how long ago She fell away,
water magic lingers in the organic curves
of sand and limestone.
I yearn to offer everything Red within myself;
blood and hair and sunburnt skin.
...
741 reads
1 Comment
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
10th Aug 2014 00:26am
10th Aug 2014 00:26am
Osseous
I've always wanted to be a saber-toothed cat.
I run around with my little tape measure, my caliper, and my keen curiosity, examining my lineage going back millions of years. I have traced the eye-sockets of my ancestors.
Run my fingers along the sagittal crests, felt the teeth of my distant kin. Teeth that binds us, the stories that bones tell.
I understand them by touch.
Frustration:
I can only put one side of my flesh against the bone.
I want to peel my face off and place it over Boisei. Over afarensis, heidelbergensis, neanderthalensis....
I run around with my little tape measure, my caliper, and my keen curiosity, examining my lineage going back millions of years. I have traced the eye-sockets of my ancestors.
Run my fingers along the sagittal crests, felt the teeth of my distant kin. Teeth that binds us, the stories that bones tell.
I understand them by touch.
Frustration:
I can only put one side of my flesh against the bone.
I want to peel my face off and place it over Boisei. Over afarensis, heidelbergensis, neanderthalensis....
893 reads
4 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Feral
