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.
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
49 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
67 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
272 reads
5 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
93 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
84 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
71 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
74 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
79 reads
Playing Eternium
I'm a mage
who sits in a chair,
casting arcane spells
and havoc from my phone.
I wire myself on coffee and vaping,
ready for the delicious pleasure
of fighting skeletons, summoners,
and healers.
Tap tap tap I go
dazzling myself
with the precision and beauty
of Frost Nova,
then Immolate,
oh, yes, freeze and burn!
--the obliterating damage
of thermal shock.
And stay up ten hours playing,
hoping to acquire
my Elemental Lord's Regalia,
blissfully zoned out.
who sits in a chair,
casting arcane spells
and havoc from my phone.
I wire myself on coffee and vaping,
ready for the delicious pleasure
of fighting skeletons, summoners,
and healers.
Tap tap tap I go
dazzling myself
with the precision and beauty
of Frost Nova,
then Immolate,
oh, yes, freeze and burn!
--the obliterating damage
of thermal shock.
And stay up ten hours playing,
hoping to acquire
my Elemental Lord's Regalia,
blissfully zoned out.
#funny
104 reads
3 Comments
Carnival Games
We read tarot cards,
divine lives of happiness
we'll never know.
Pictures of family we abandoned
tacked to the walls of our tents.
By day, listen to
cicadas singing in the Texas heat.
Swallow our fears and our anger,
no room for anything but
smiles at the show.
By night, firelight casting shadows
in the hollows of our eyes.
Dust and grease
in the creases of our bodies.
Everywhere, the scent
of stale popcorn and longing,
seeping into our very bones.
divine lives of happiness
we'll never know.
Pictures of family we abandoned
tacked to the walls of our tents.
By day, listen to
cicadas singing in the Texas heat.
Swallow our fears and our anger,
no room for anything but
smiles at the show.
By night, firelight casting shadows
in the hollows of our eyes.
Dust and grease
in the creases of our bodies.
Everywhere, the scent
of stale popcorn and longing,
seeping into our very bones.
#dark
67 reads
1 Comment
Cooking with My Daughter
I didn't want to say
how times have changed.
I knew you'd roll your eyes
at that.
But I was happy
just to bask in your presence
while you feverishly texted your fiance
and turned up the volume
on Gordon Ramsay.
I carefully washed each celery stalk,
trying to dice each piece
symmetrical to the other,
taking my time to stare
out the window
at wind ruffling the trees
while you laughed
and threw vegetables
into the pot with gusto,
saying how slow I was.
Though I...
how times have changed.
I knew you'd roll your eyes
at that.
But I was happy
just to bask in your presence
while you feverishly texted your fiance
and turned up the volume
on Gordon Ramsay.
I carefully washed each celery stalk,
trying to dice each piece
symmetrical to the other,
taking my time to stare
out the window
at wind ruffling the trees
while you laughed
and threw vegetables
into the pot with gusto,
saying how slow I was.
Though I...
#daughter
#love
#motherhood
77 reads
1 Comment
Once, There Was a House
Haunted and abandoned.
All the windows broken,
glass and detritus
covering the floor sensuously.
Everywhere, the beauty
of slow entropy, rooms
inhabited by dust and debris,
by ivy and silence.
And I forgot that the house
was actually my own self,
full of dark and neglect.
All the windows broken,
glass and detritus
covering the floor sensuously.
Everywhere, the beauty
of slow entropy, rooms
inhabited by dust and debris,
by ivy and silence.
And I forgot that the house
was actually my own self,
full of dark and neglect.
#dark
#depression
#despair #emptiness
#despair #emptiness
117 reads
4 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by toniscales (Lost Girl)