Poetry – Page 52 – Jayne.press

A Home Full of Hope

Hope floats around my house it fogs the windows and clogs the drains but it smells of lemons and roses. And so we just wipe our fogged windows clean…..

Moraldom Wrap me in white and send me along, away to a place where there’s no rules Rock me steady on a hollow log listen for my beats, while I drift along Gift me your love while in white I dream but what I want is to be alone, I suppose watch as everything escapesContinue reading “Moraldom”

Returning

Sometimes I write to escape myself sometimes I write to find myself other times I write just because I have to no matter what I’m always returning -Saschia Inspired by Freud’s Master Plot by Peter Brooks More poetry? The Third Trimester

puzzle

here are the parts some broken some whole and worthwhile others timeless but when hung together it becomes a symphony a novel a coming to that can be revealed in no other way -Saschia Another poem? Step

Moments of Desire

Why do I have to want it so bad it scares me to try I wish I could calmly face my desires no matter how large They say shoot for the moon but I tend to shoot for the sky I’m definitely a toe dipper -Saschia Step

Under Construction

There’s construction on the bridge makes me not want to cross it even though the construction is being done underneath it just slows things down There must be another way -Saschia Where

Elsewhere

The distractions are monstrous the drive to replace the mask of positivity and the plague of territorial jealousy like a jack in the box I never wound but I love when it rains and I love when you show your true face the rugged one the one you’ve hidden in your arm pit insisting itContinue reading “Elsewhere”

Caged from Words

I pace back and forth like a caged animal waiting for a stray hand and an unsuspecting little one Maybe just one time they won’t pay attention and I can slip them between the bars Some eye me down and to show them who’s boss I lick my lips and then theirs and then my ownContinue reading “Caged from Words”

Doors

Derrida, Deconstruction & Of Grammatology

Artists

The road winds in a manner that seems as if I keep walking in circles but there are very subtle differences differences only a curious person would notice like the flowers are a different shade of blue or the bugs are crawling on their backs rather than their bellies Makers of art wander on andContinue reading “Artists”