INTUITION
Sometimes you lie down,
pretend you haven’t forgotten
how to bind your wrists
to the bloodshot grasses.
Crawl only in the mind—
gypsum limbs, belly thick with nectar.
I’m told, when still,
I have Father’s kind eyes,
& Mother’s harpoon tongue.
O but that blue crossing between heart
& lips—streaks of—sure, we’re loved, wholly.
These lashes—bent oriental fans
shielding from touch,
or plight rarely.
What I recall mostly happened elsewhere;
mouth stuffed with figs sudden flood,
a fire keening under the fingernails.
Lesson one—
when the beast arrives
I’m not worth it when I lie
it snows—or I’ve no place to go.
Vikki C.
Ars Poetica: Whitby Abbey, late autumn
I begin with what I cannot lose.
Despite stained-glass, & injury. Despite repetition.
We sail into the next ruin, anxious of losing meaning
—keep the haloed figure within eye-range.
Time elongates—cities constrict,
& rain mimics every device in one fell swoop.
The guests already know the exits. Archways
of sumac, red with refusal —another crack at devotion.
Most gaze skyward. I genuflect over century-wet marble,
see a swallow angling the world. Others close their eyes—& aim.
Vikki C.
I held on once, because you showed me
the yellow scaffold leftover-lore braiding
lumen-high bees before turning stone
broke against the pantheon's teeth
still I—waste I—refuse the nature of ruin,
contaminated by a shine worth jading.
Vikki C.
Thank you for another wondrous year of TTT creativity @blackboughpoetry.bsky.social and @matthewmcsmith.bsky.social Here are 3 of my "best" TTT contributions from 2025.
Much light to all poets and readers for the holidays. 🕯
To many more seasons of magic ✨️
#writingcommunity #poetry #imagist
