Poetry

 

Poems

by Michelle Lacey

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Autophony

Echos of my transgressors

was that my laugh or the jesters?

noisy eyeball assessors

the gavel struck- my jaw gestures

the bubbles coming up my throat burst under pressure

I’m not corporal

just a carbon copy of my Mother

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Face lined with the crease of thought

the way kudzu vines take over lots

was I intruded upon or were they planted there by my own hands?

How did I end up in this foreign land?

Through the dense bush potential is teeming

will this overgrowth enslave or redeem me?

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You don’t have to fight any longer, my dove

Just sit among the foxglove

Rest your eyes on the sky above

And let in all the love 

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A cautionary letter 

Miss, 

It would do well to address untended prayers to guard your chambers

Rest can become despoiled if not contained 

Be wary, Oh Darling, of slipping through guised portals

Lulling desire beside your bed- upon your pillow

and your breast

Lying under covers, don’t wait and see.

Slip through the idle haze to awake fully

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The mind wanders uncontrolled

’till it stumbles on leaves of gold

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Whirling wind finds its way swirling round my heartaches

amidst the trees sway

songs of ease play

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Utterances, utterances, creatures muttering

wiles the willing sleeper slumbering-

imitated voices of near ones invade

not sure where her armors been laid

Sword of the Spirit set upon disarm

A vision of a life beyond the life form

Here, here! you wont feel disgrace-

until the end days

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I veiled anguish—muffled bells;

Accept an abased charade was not something I could face, 

I’d rather tender depravity

than accredit tragedy 

to my throthful ways

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What a convenient lady!

She’s so lenient and handy

We love a girl who’s not a stickler

I think I’ll call her my trouble-free filler

Or better yet,

An exhortable figure!

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The shadows edge gives way to sight-

eyes can not see without the light

But without the night

there would be no spotlight

 

Still, this great light

In fate lies- the wirepuller of Most High

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There is something intangible in summers lull

Like the silk that hangs from the mimosa

Strong and warm but light and sticky