What the Heart Wears


Image found HERE

What the Heart Wears

Show me how the apparatus milk rusts the summer to purple,
the petals to wax and oozing, embryo sunsets
in the bellies of the ink-crying stars
when the frantic, lathering ache
with its languid, delirious drool elaborates drunk forests
and the bitter, mad girls of water sprout from eggs in honey gardens
to watch the pink gowns of clouds,
the sordid, luscious symphony
that squeezes the knifed clerihews juice
from goddesses that fiddle on the rocks worshiping shadows
of their pearly woven wombs and snare,
and make blood be the color of my hair;
I waltzed through thousands of licks of raw darkness
in my moon-meat dress,
I was hot beneath my breasts
and nothing you can say can convince me
there was ever a death more gorgeous
than loving someone who wouldn’t.


~ by Oloriel on June 10, 2014.

21 Responses to “What the Heart Wears”

  1. Ah, but where is the clerihew (in your poem), my friend?

  2. This is absolutely genius love those closing lines phenomenal

  3. “embryo sunsets
    in the bellies of the ink-crying stars”

    Thus writes the empress of poetry herself. I would visit you, Oloriel, if just for the artistry of your words.

    • A very large portion of this poem was nspired by a place in my dreams which I tried to sneak into. The sign in front of it said “The Secret Garden.” I wish I could make you see it 🙂

  4. it is a pleasure of mine to be in such a creative place like Yours

  5. The intricate weaving of the imagery and emotions is just amazing in your words. There is no beginning, no end… your poetry is a continuing continuum. 🙂

  6. So vibrant, I’d love to visit in your dreams.

    • Thank you, Melanie, although my dreams are not the most whimsical place you would want to find yourself at, trust me on that one 😛

  7. Perhaps I felt a little as if visiting Norman Lindsay’s Gardens in the Blue Mountains here. A world secluded in its own mysteries and tales.

  8. moon meat dress. palpable.
    has the tree fallen if we haven’t heard it?
    is it a dream if we can see it?

    • I think it is on us to make the choice, if we turn our hands into mad, ravaging paintbrushes.
      Thank you very much for reading!

  9. the verse creates so vivid images in my mind… strong !! as always…

  10. tbh, don’t get it…it is beautiful imagery but can’t correlate

Tell me something

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Clacks Header

A massively unofficial fan site for Sir Terry Pratchett

Poet's Parlor

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley

Nemirne misli se poigravaju s umom...

Pišem ono što mi se mota po umu u trenutku kada naidje dama inspiracija

Ward Clever

Demons, Unicorns, and Cupid's Assassins

Pieced By HB

A Blog By Hudson Biko

A Lion Sleeps in the Heart of the Brave

Living, Fighting, Thriving. Till I Collapse.

Christina Strigas

You can't break up with a soul mate


Poetry by Shawn M. Young

A Word Of Substance

"Object Relations"

Insights from "Inside"

Sunshine on Razor Wire: perspectives from "inside"

My Peacock Books

Books, Art, Poetry & Peacocks!

Whisper and the Roar

A Feminist Literary Collective (& outlaw poets swearing)

samantha lucero

she writes stuff sometimes.

Bradley K Palmer Art

#painting #art #design #color #drawing #abstract #landscape #cityscape

%d bloggers like this: