on magic’s crest
of sacred, milk
dripped night
girl netted sky’s
every dropping
sunshine star
in crushed clown,
velvet gown
dismissing all
firefly cries
as they swirled
sick, sucked into
sour pits
of eyes
air went dark,
but girl beamed
brilliant
realms beyond
receded
decays of dreams,
clustered in timid
clouds,
done, devil
proud.
© Anthony Gorman 2018
in part pixelated pane
it’s just phantom
half i see
other, queer charm
butcher, me
with shame’s shank
pressed to flat of
blistered back
more itchy than
relaxed
glacial fresh
sensation
that,
don’t dare breathe,
don’t react-
attacked
fever sun scratch
moon is coming
soon
on prick of sudden
red crush gushing
© Anthony Gorman 2018
image: https://pixabay.com/en/users/geralt-9301/
This poem is about my daughter, who was born as the surviving twin at 25 weeks , weighing just 1lb 3 oz. She was in the NICU of the Ottawa General Hospital for four months following her birth. It was 2 weeks before I was allowed to hold her. I watched her resuscitated twice from cardiac arrest. She had bleeding on her brain and hole in her heart. The blood on her brain, miraculously reabsorbed and her heart was mended through surgery at a year and a half of age. She is now 8 years old, solid and healthy…. I don’t often provide context for my poetry, but in this case, I felt it necessary.
she, brutality’s wonder dawn-
emerging bird-sized and bruised
in cesious hues-
sulking pond waters, baby still,
still, wisps of warrior breath
breach pin holes in dewy, crystal head
lightning’s spark, spikes
new life blood
universe’s latent mercy, surges
bold through veined contains
of garnet flood
© Anthony Gorman 2018
a cold room and
you,
this duo’s song, does
not sing true
for you bring fuzzy slipper
heat with each
joy-filled donut beat
© Anthony Gorman 2018
a beaming bulb of vulnerability is in the offering of your blossom beauty to the thankless, smug and ugly.
© Anthony Gorman 2018
dried out
well of glass
cupped in hand,
flushed, rust of
faltered
hardening man
through
torment’s tubes
cinched
temper tight,
no gracious glow
granting safety flow
to solid land-
soft, paling
coast of
silver
sands.
© Anthony Gorman 2018
photos: pixabay
clay doll diesel tourist
vamps with tense
salacity
rear to the lean guy
with chiseled hair
and cocksure, inward thing
stained fabric, cold plastics
of the bulletproof glass
between
siren song’s, off-key
civet mist swayed
all the same
despair’s damp
band-aid stamp
© Anthony Gorman 2018
photos: pixabay
she inhales candid pathos
of his Islay fog
rasp,
he taps anxious intrigues
on deceptive counter sheen
in cored heart of
gutter bar-
she forgot to
feed the
cats,
he left
scrawny wallet
in the car.
© Anthony Gorman 2018
photos: pixabay
as i lax into leather chair of her
no nonsense eyes,
they’ve seen the good,
despite it all
been through the muddy shit,
and felt it all
loves self better
than-
to take it
all
©Anthony Gorman 2018
images: pixabay
i remember instant
our slit-wrist light surrendered
under shadow seamed
blanket pressed
finest spells spent
in lush sunshine, now
we thrive with
tones of less.
© Anthony Gorman 2018
photos: pixabay
