Submissions by toniscales (Lost Girl)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
I am very critical of my own work but I tend to love intensely, and writing is an emotional release and catharsis I can't seem to resist.
Rachel
We're good at making things fit. The day grown soft from pain. Grown fragile and necrotic at the edges. The hurt in my body is not centered. I can feel it everywhere, snaking a brutal seduction through my limbs. The way certain adjectives feel on my tongue. I taste words again and again. Malady. Milady. Meanwhile the objects wait. The blue satin curtains with fringe tassels. The sad, leftover slant of the pillow. The ache in me, sinuous. Its endless, indelible perfume.
#depression
#sadness
46 reads
0 Comments
The Rising
It's evening now. I look out
into the night sky, the moon a cup
of blackness. There are no stars
to guide me through this emptiness.
I think of how my mother died
long ago. This tiny ball of a universe,
casting us off so effortlessly, indifferently.
So small we are, so alone.
My mother loved me when I was a child
but grew to hate me.
Just like my adult daughter does now.
We used to be so close.
Sharing secrets and vodka.
But today I learned I'm just an obligation.
I squeeze my toes, feeling the strange
tingling of...
into the night sky, the moon a cup
of blackness. There are no stars
to guide me through this emptiness.
I think of how my mother died
long ago. This tiny ball of a universe,
casting us off so effortlessly, indifferently.
So small we are, so alone.
My mother loved me when I was a child
but grew to hate me.
Just like my adult daughter does now.
We used to be so close.
Sharing secrets and vodka.
But today I learned I'm just an obligation.
I squeeze my toes, feeling the strange
tingling of...
#aging
#despair
#loneliness
52 reads
3 Comments
Publication in Coffin Bell Journal
I'm so sorry I haven't responded to comments lately. Have been struggling with my mental health and depression. But just wanted to share the link to the latest issue of Coffin Bell Journal, where I have a poem featured. Thank you so much.
https://coffinbell.com/volume-7-issue-no-4/
https://coffinbell.com/volume-7-issue-no-4/
#LifeAsAWriter
54 reads
0 Comments
My poetry book on Amazon
I decided to release a collection of poetry on Amazon, in case anyone is interested. I hope everyone is doing great!
...
...
#LifeAsAWriter
106 reads
4 Comments
A Legacy
for my granddaughter Varley
I open my arms to receive you.
Cradling your tiny head,
I gently kiss the soft tufts of your hair.
A rush of sweetness envelops me.
Powder and lotion, long-buried memories
of holding such a delicate life in my hands.
Buried but not forgotten.
To hold you feels right;
to hold you feels like love and home
and Hope.
I marvel at your miniature fingers and toes,
how such a small thing
can make me want to live so much.
I burn silently with love and tenderness
for you.
You are...
I open my arms to receive you.
Cradling your tiny head,
I gently kiss the soft tufts of your hair.
A rush of sweetness envelops me.
Powder and lotion, long-buried memories
of holding such a delicate life in my hands.
Buried but not forgotten.
To hold you feels right;
to hold you feels like love and home
and Hope.
I marvel at your miniature fingers and toes,
how such a small thing
can make me want to live so much.
I burn silently with love and tenderness
for you.
You are...
#birth
67 reads
4 Comments
abandon
(Hi. I hope everyone is doing great. I'm sorry I haven't responded to comments yet. My daughter gave birth to my first grandbaby and I've been busy with her... But I'm so excited today. One of my poems has been accepted for the next issue of Rogue Agent. I'll post links when available. But for now, something I've been working on... It's a work in progress. Thanks so much.)
And maybe we were a little too much
in love with decay. The sensuous
slowness of entropy. Everything
frayed at the edges and dust falling
in our mouths as we slept.
The way...
And maybe we were a little too much
in love with decay. The sensuous
slowness of entropy. Everything
frayed at the edges and dust falling
in our mouths as we slept.
The way...
#dark
#grief
108 reads
1 Comment
a dream
At midnight, she wanted his hands all over her. The tall, hard tower of his body behind hers. His hands cupping her breasts, his lips on the pulse between them. How she ached for his filling in every pore of her being. His fullness which would obliterate her own waiting emptiness. She wanted to let go and lean into his power, his superiority, his answers that were infinitely better than her own. She tasted his name on her lips, savoring its sweet poison. Her love for him, what would surely be her undoing. But she wanted to fall, fall down, down, down, and let him catch her.
#crush
#FallingInLove
#lust #passion
#lust #passion
339 reads
6 Comments
house of empty women
(a work in progress)
All the women's lives were wasted. Sadness collected in the corners of their eyes. They could find nothing to do with themselves but clean for hours, then sit in faded armchairs, crying. Listening quietly to the ticking of the clocks, the slow rotting of their bones. The ineptitude of their frail, small bodies, all the dust constellations in the light fixtures they couldn't reach.
In silent houses, the women wait. For the water to boil, for the dinners to cook. For our husbands. We awaken to rooms scattered with debris. You can't get rid of the dust...
All the women's lives were wasted. Sadness collected in the corners of their eyes. They could find nothing to do with themselves but clean for hours, then sit in faded armchairs, crying. Listening quietly to the ticking of the clocks, the slow rotting of their bones. The ineptitude of their frail, small bodies, all the dust constellations in the light fixtures they couldn't reach.
In silent houses, the women wait. For the water to boil, for the dinners to cook. For our husbands. We awaken to rooms scattered with debris. You can't get rid of the dust...
#dark
#depression
#despair #emptiness
#despair #emptiness
112 reads
3 Comments
On Nesting
I’m becoming a grandma soon.
I nest more than my daughter does,
throwing crochet blankets over chairs,
arranging the hummingbird pillows just so,
symmetrically placing perfume bottles
next to framed pictures.
Hoping to be clean and ready.
And hoping to erase the dirt and grime
from my own mind.
I hope I can hide the sadness
from my grandchild that has chronically
marked my days since childhood.
The fact I am now old and alone.
And I remember my own grandmother,
once so beautiful, how she lurked quietly
in...
I nest more than my daughter does,
throwing crochet blankets over chairs,
arranging the hummingbird pillows just so,
symmetrically placing perfume bottles
next to framed pictures.
Hoping to be clean and ready.
And hoping to erase the dirt and grime
from my own mind.
I hope I can hide the sadness
from my grandchild that has chronically
marked my days since childhood.
The fact I am now old and alone.
And I remember my own grandmother,
once so beautiful, how she lurked quietly
in...
#dark
#death
#hope
100 reads
4 Comments
Ultrasound
My daughter returns home,
bringing black and white pictures
of the new life growing inside her.
You are waiting to emerge
from her womb; it is only weeks now
before your birth. In the pictures,
I can see clearly the liquid outline
of your beautiful face
–you, strange little alien from
a place I've never known,
some faraway planet
of purity and perfection.
I can almost trace
with my unworthy finger
the soft, angry flare of your nostrils,
your tiny fist curled
and...
bringing black and white pictures
of the new life growing inside her.
You are waiting to emerge
from her womb; it is only weeks now
before your birth. In the pictures,
I can see clearly the liquid outline
of your beautiful face
–you, strange little alien from
a place I've never known,
some faraway planet
of purity and perfection.
I can almost trace
with my unworthy finger
the soft, angry flare of your nostrils,
your tiny fist curled
and...
#birth
92 reads
0 Comments
Alone
flowers so crimson it makes your mouth ache
the deeper the cut
the greater the satisfaction
cobwebs sewn into the light fixtures
as I walk on the ceiling
something so delicate and heartbreaking
while snow coats the trees in Kyoto
like powdered sugar
is there nothing I can't get addicted to
if only
my fractured, hummingbird mother
as in a film
every color
of every dress
never by chance
because the broken are the beautiful
the deeper the cut
the greater the satisfaction
cobwebs sewn into the light fixtures
as I walk on the ceiling
something so delicate and heartbreaking
while snow coats the trees in Kyoto
like powdered sugar
is there nothing I can't get addicted to
if only
my fractured, hummingbird mother
as in a film
every color
of every dress
never by chance
because the broken are the beautiful
#WritingPoetry
95 reads
2 Comments
Waiting to Become Yaya
WAITING TO BECOME YAYA
The delicious chaos
of my bedroom
I live from bottles
–water, perfume, pill.
Gentle lullaby of generic Prozac
Framed orange crocus
Once
I thought I heard laughter
but it was my own haunted self
trying to fill up the holes
The delicious chaos
of my bedroom
I live from bottles
–water, perfume, pill.
Gentle lullaby of generic Prozac
Framed orange crocus
Once
I thought I heard laughter
but it was my own haunted self
trying to fill up the holes
#vulnerability
108 reads
DU Poetry : Submissions by toniscales (Lost Girl)