Beginnings – Lois E. Linkins

My piece on FVR for January’s theme, ‘Beginnings’



A curling yellow effervescence from whose expulsion
I could swing; sweet, bitter rope.

Filmy wet space, early home space
Of the golden moon, cracked on enamel edge

A grassy thud. Crimson skin
Allays the hungry weakling months like baby birds.

Quiet night for this solipsist
And that new symphony, no-one hears but me.

Broken acid membrane shoots its
Shot of fruit, sticky fingers and nails clogged with white.

Flicked bristles on white, baby cotton
Like Pollock’s blood.

Somnolence beckons, but that silver rogue
Creeps along the wires of time

Film, crisp as glue
Crackles like mid-morning snowflake.

All these things placed. In savoury readiness,
For a transformative play; cloves, orange, brown sugar.

That sumptuous squeak, that strain; the spoon’s
Eager lip dips the scarlet jellied head.

And the recantation, a new blink. Some freedom,
Still so alien, distant foibles await their unwrap,

So it knells. A fresh breath, a pink…

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Hail the Empty Page-Lois E. Linkens

A post from New Year’s Eve on Sudden Denouement:

A Global Divergent Literary Collective

Hail the empty page; like an empty sky
It itched for birds. It ached for clouds,
Pined the cooling rain and wept for kites.
‘Twas a simple duty upon my maiden look,
To do as God; orchestrate the days and nights.
I might pull strands from blank, bald faces
Like wires through a net. And, behold this maddening thought –
I might love them, though I made their lives
In my own object. No matter. A golden child, and her floral friend –
I regret beyond my pen you’ll ne’er extend.
‘Tis responsibility more wild than parenthood.
See, this pitied child at yonder gate?
Her sorrow, wretched writer, did thee wickedly create.
One might a palace build, a place construct
Of Uncurbed Peace and Perfect Choice, easy plucked
From heaven, with fruits like jewels and space
For All. Would that be a sweet, kind thing?
Aye. But what use is…

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