Latest Posts by offeringofsky - Page 4

Saturday Afternoon

I would peel you apples just to see fall’s crisp juice color your lips.

You are so far from me

though

that I wield the knife mutilating the fruit

and bury Eve’s sin deep beneath pastry.

Perhaps the smell of it cooling on the window sill will bring you here

and I will yet taste your mouth

and know everything.                  -Skye

The girl cutting apple, 1938, Andre Derain

Photo Credit: “Eyes as Big as Dinner Plates” Photo series by Riitta Ikonen & Karolyn Hjorth

Jord

Fecund life Comes through me Covers my back and lines my Throat Holding me silent

Tell your tales On the long night ‘round bonfires Wild pagan gestures

Appease The demands of lessor gods Looking down from the great hall

Then press your feet into my ample back I am the Mother I will carry you.

Eleionomae

Down by the water heavy with silt and frogs the quick green eyes follow you

The mud’s daughter Lingering among the reeds The winsome whispers keep you near

Old as the bayou gator   Hungry too Reaching out for you

A finger dipped Framing the lovely face in ripples Moments before you break the water.  

-Skye

      HAIKU

Partly Sunny

Cat crosses the road The sidewalk is sunny there What about Chicken?

-skye

The Wraith’s Requiem

Thin strips of flayed flesh String the bow.

Time is always conducting us in and out of measure.

The ghost of my own making holds fast to darkness

Though, I let go so long ago

Learning to play for no one with fingers once broken

Beautiful terrible music unleashed into the world for me for me

for you.

-Skye

Requiem by Burak Ulker

Walking

The sky is milk The sea is quicksilver The beach is leaden

No birds No nimble crabs Just human passengers Traveling along the break of day

-Skye

Abandoned Honeymoon Suite

Time Transient Taste of deconstruction

The graffiti coats my tongue

The sky ogles the bare mattress   The broken mirror calls back to her Bare naked light

Somewhere in the rubble We are submerged In frothy fragrant water

Somewhere in the motes of dust.

-Skye

Sacrament of the Sick

Somewhere north of midnight the priest’s prayers flicker through the hall a verse for each bead on the rosary twisted in your fingers a forgiveness for each sin real and imagined 

I have morphine and lorazepam I have a few precious minutes to wait with you

Yet It’s the priest with tired old prayers and absolutions in pleasing baritone that stills your thrashing that quiets your moans 

I don’t understand this young man in the cassock who will never wear a wedding ring bathing you in ancient words perfect in their cadence never straying from the book held absently

When you join him your weak voice dragged up from ether

I mouth quietly The relic of childhood Effortlessly bubbling up to join you

Yea though I walk through the valley of death…  -Skye

This is Wyoming 

The barbed fence undulates into the horizon The long rollers of the deep old sea feathered with grass Dotted with pronghorn and ghosts of buffalo

Capped in bright sky

The great plain The red car zipping Through the simmering tar

The woman almost 50 The woman bright and lively after 70

Talk rolls back and forth

Some thunder

There have always been hard lines Etched in old oceans There has always been wind cutting across the plane Changing everything

 -Skye’s Poem