My Poetry Phantasmagoria: “We shall have a party!”
Darkness falleth 20th March ('41), rendezvous drowned gods, tears flood salt & sugar ne'er known a difference.
A Room O' Her Own ('29), leaveth vacant lives, kites doth soar only to weep alien tales, doth flood springtime sapphire skylines, all luminescent.
Tail o' heads, questions turned X-wards, lest upon Rodmell outlandish auras doth drift way geniuses ne'er fail, drift & flow.
“Adeline Virginia Woolf”. Oh! Hail thy heroine, thus chink o' Zippo's, rollies doth lean unto stanchions o' thought & women’s rights & how wrongs doth thy flowers grow?
Blue twine antique journeys aboard South Kensington bus ride out, rattling bleak memories & ever ready lilac envelopes warned.
Such was Bohemian Bloomsbury, a "stream of consciousness” high o' oxygen, doth waken metropolis.
Idea's floating peppermint tepid frogs, doth flit from lily-pad unto lily-pad, thrice tickets enclosed unto Byzantine entanglement.
Nor thrice ensconced doth cloudless Woolfe sky, a print press within multiplication o' twenty. How manuscripts, ternary submissions o' ostracized type-set, obviously.
For The Waves ('31) doth gleam mind enchantment doth flow wild cognizant. Smoke riseth, gravitational thrice aided strange-looking piquant meds downed a bitter lemon haze.
Her Orlando ('28). “How to concur self-doubt”. A Life less accustomed dwelt a rheostatic dynasty & followed cosmic breadcrumbs, all darker imaginary phantasms.
'Tis never entangled, To The Lighthouse ('27). As fought off fly paper ghosts, only ridiculed wildly sane doth put forth saucers o' catnip & cream.
Black nib pen, fresh ink pot Mrs Dalloway ('25) how so lost once, no longer twice.
Lest doth kiss desires incandescent torching all troublesome pasts.
Finally… Entangled, doth hold a plated pen-point, a wild prolonged spent emeralds upon thy pillow, leaving vacant lives doth weep alien sensations.
O' luminescence well thumbed if only she knew how to belong.
The Jailer’s Daughter Mysteries
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Her grandmother is murdered. Now the killer is after her. But why? After uncovering valuable items that have been buried in her childhood home for decades, she is just beginning to understand the depth of her family’s deception.
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Oh mademoiselle
Ethereal;
Thief of clarity,
Set in ether's thread,
Dressed in sunset,
A crimson tempest,
Walks the celestial staircase,
Of the boardwalk's abyss,
A whisper stolen,
In moonlight's glow
The flow of time stood still.
Prompt by:
#bionicanadian
Poem:
#13thwordsmith
#poetry#DailyWisdomWords
Lotus flowers drink moonlight in a waterfall garden. Where a luminescent eye is the universal starlight, so she is... dream colors of deep azure blue and electric cyan upon vibrant emerald green surrounded by midnight indigo and obsidian black!...
1
👁️Laissa gésir ma tête blème
🩸ainsi posée dans l'herbe.
Le Sort fatal de son Couteau acerbe
Livides et curieux des anges émus
regardèrent mon corps allongé
dans l'odeur parfumée
des Citronniers.
Tourbillonnant!Un drôle de Vertige dissonnait dans
l'envol de l'oiseau..
⤵️
In World By Design, @AikinNorb's third book of poetry, the question of whether we truly create our own world or are living in a world created for us is posed. Check it out in Kindle or Paperback.👇😍
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Take a trip back to the seventies in this Romantic Suspense. Bad Boy Rocker, Dylan Anderson yearns to return to his glory days with his band, and he’s taking the woman he’s loved since 1976 with him, whether she likes it or not!
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