The red moon: blood spilt from the thighs of hungry women—
they weep; tears lying still
on the tongue of Mother Earth.
She falls into the sea;
a myth.
Her story
only a whisper, now
among the ones who know the dance
beneath a menstruating moon.
Waving arms like nightingales in flight;
sky drips
into the shadow of a bellybutton.
Author notes
blah... just posting nonsense.
unfinished
Comments
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Your nonsense is another persons poetry
and you are one of the very few I've seen on here who could touch a subject like this in a way that makes it seem earthy, real, and yet more, a song of something that runs through the blood of all..
and refined or not, that last line is wicked.. meaning excellent.
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Very menstruitive.
Ah, I'd know your writing anyway..
It feels like this hasn't been refined.. it's thick with powerful imagery and some wonderful images; maybe one day you might come back to it.
I've missed you. I am taking a break as well..
I've just bought a second horse. He's fabulous, called elliott - and he's a bit odd looking.. but he's great.
Hope you're well Meli.. all my love x
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"Waving arms like nightingales in flight;
sky drips
into the shadow of a bellybutton."
Go ahead Ms Annalise. Haven't heard from you in a while. Good to see you pennin' again.
One Love,
John
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Always love the "bellybutton" in a poem...there is a great poem about the bellybutton being our first rejection...I will see if I can find it.
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