Lacertae

Ducks. Snow. Tamed memories.

Little things I remember. 

Your presence. Essence. The place in the world your had. 

Eclipse. Moonshine. 

Pentagram, in a logical place.

Never, ever, even being. 

Your words that saved me. And these little things I do. 

Pain gone. That’s a comfort.

I’m trying. Trying to be worthwhile. 

Desolation the empty. Insidious clouds empty snow. But they are fleeting. 

Worthwhile? What is that to a tiny snowflake? To a duck on the lake waiting out the rain? 

The world, the essence of it, comes from our little bits of time. 

Yours, to breif. 

Art Portfolio is Live

Hi all!

Sorry its taken a while as I have been sick with a dreded cold fluy thing. I have had to have a bit of a hiatus, but am back now. In site news, I have now put up my art portfolio here:

Art Portfolio

You can even send me a email for a commission, if you like. My rates are resnoble.

Enjoy.

Note only one poem this month, but lots coming in August.

In creativity,
Anne

Endless fog to hide in, endless fog to hide from

Just as confused 

Flowing through my mind

Hiding behind a tree or a bush

My brain drying out like this biting morning 

Peaceful trees to sit on away from home 

Sun and leaves come and go

Hide from myself and everything 

As they all hurt me

Everyone, everything, it all hurts 

Domestic chords and monestic cores

Sometimes I wanted 

Dark, again already 

The bell rings 

Penitent lighthouse

On the coast

I don’t like to boast

Is the most 

Penitent lighthouse to ever fog horned 
I’ve got to tell you

I’m not trying to sell you

I can ring a bell for you

About this lighthouse so adorned 
I’ve crossed many seas

I’ve broken to many a ocean breeze 

I beg you on my knees 

The lighthouse is the sight for captains forlorn 
I’m eating the last

Of the salty crusted bass

And at the tip of the mast 

My lookout shouts for spotting the glalore’n 

Part and marshal

Purple sky darkens 

I cannot apologize for this present marking 

Sealed with my lonely life

Peeled like a bone thife 

Marshal right

Why I’m so cold, distant from plight 

Partly my thoughts, partly my fright 

Scared like I am 

Of all these thing that can and have

Traumatized by their shouts and fights 

Mind anexity going at the speed of light 

Part and marshal, white distance frightful

Will any grass grow in my barren mind?

Salted as it is by hate, cold, hard, fire and brimstone that isn’t even real

It’s my birth of the color 

Caution, doors open outside your head but inside your mind

And mine were shut such a long time ago 

You were the only one who ever opened them 

I hold a card with the moon

Fruit cake. Fresh and ready to age.

Old cirious books. Cold weather.

Guitar heroine, in blond hair.

I hold this card

Little bit of paper

I’m nothing here

I not

Visit you

I’m sorry. 

Hollow now, I stand

The wombat I drew

I’m not even sure it got to you

I couldn’t come

I hold this card with the moon 

And I just can’t stop thinking about 

How I couldn’t visit you 

Orc cleric barberian and cuttlefishes garden

Tendril islands

Gentle careful aches for touch

Much sense filled to almost brimming

In your kisses I am swimming 

Bring, bring us tendril islands 
Let’s go together 

Lost on our island forever 

Never, ever be anything but us

Oh, flounder and thrust
Tickle, trickles into a caress 

I’m sorry but I might make a mess

Wispering silence as much as you can best

The lick of a breast 
For long our nibbles

Trouble with tribbles

Plays quitely on your TV

I steal a kiss passionately 
Clever girl, your gasping breath says

Tendril of your tounge finds

Sipping your wine, for it’s time 

For partaking of mine 
Tendril islands

Put into motion

Drinking this potion

Lost in my ocean 

Mermaid

Grey and Wet, but giving me life

Trees sitting still in autumn rain

Sometimes, music comes to me 

Pain, goes and sits and watches

It’s just a reminding present 

Of my body’s sore and broken promises 

Past my mistakes and indeed was it fate?

Decided and debating and devised 

In my head it’s always active like a new hive

White is my life, grey woman is my namesake 

But new green, shoots and roots

Grow in my hair

I’m sure they’ll be the new trees ready to stand 

Still in the autumn rain