The pomegranate garden

Unstitch my mouth of black threads & brine

Unbound my hands, I am in search of garden

I am marking with red seeds, this path, mine

Not on your ancient books or shrines

Not on your laws with heavy curtains

Unstitch my mouth of black threads & brine

Your morality police lacks spine

My voice, my face etched with burdens

I am marking with red seeds, this path, mine

Searching for my own power & shine

Your cruel blows kill - I can't pardon

Unstitch my mouth of black threads & brine

Do you fear that I will get out of line?

I am Eve and Anahita

I'm marking this body with red seeds, mine

With sacred twigs & water from the garden

I'll draw rockets, stairways, freedom

I unstitch my mouth of black threads & brine

I am marking with red seeds, this path, mine

The Pomegranate Garden,” acrylic on canvas mounted on shaped wood panels, 74 x 57 x 8 inches

Inspired by the Iranian artist, Arghavan Khosravi, Colossal.

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight.  Join us with your poem when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Have a good weekend!

the puppeteer

 

covers the small stage set

with canvas, his aged hands

folding away wires, strings,

brushes & paints on shelves

clanks

in meticulous beats as his

pocketwatch, precise

as his master list of lists-

autumn night settles in 

with ghostly musty air

his robe is 

immaculate in its whiteness

as he pats the summer's gold coins 

in his pockets,

he closes the room

muttering words only the wind

hears, 

the shop

floorboards heave, a big exhale,

a little movement, here

& there, a twitch & spasm

finally

the puppets are stirring awake

each wrinkled pumpkin face

with zombie eyes

is a flicker of energy

as they search 

scramble

for their chords & clicks

for their sinews & sticks

(where are our memory cards?)

shaking, jerking, falling tragically 

as the moon

watches

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics - Halloweeny Humans hosted by Lisa Fox. 

A commentary on the way social media giants manipulates and spins our lives with algorithms, sending us deep into webs of addictions and superficial lives.  

Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

when we move

 the beat goes off center &

        dives into an exquisite fusion-

high&low, crash&burn as if

       time is one long meandering s-e-c-o-n-d

slowly the hardness in our eyes

      & troubled words fall on floor 

smoke dissolves us

     green & light instead of black & weary fighters

we listen as the man grooves his heart

      & guts in his music, our sky retracts  

as we find our pulse,

     verses bare with excitement

flexes then another Ripple

     moves us like water  filled

with eXpectancy 
    
     optimism tears our chest, now a forest

we forget our scars

     battles that broke our wings, instead
        
we run, RuN aWay

     as if nOthing needs mending

                                                          nothing  

Kylli Sparre via Colossal Blog

Originally posted for D'verse Poets Pub - ~ This has been in my draft so finally happy to post it.  Writing inspired by beat poetry ~  Thanks for the visit ~

Shared with Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - Happy Anniversary ~  OpenlinkMonday