from the earth back
to the #wistful sky
Feminine swords of proliferation stir
in heart and hands of warriors
Necessary pull away
from necessary decay
writings from the mindpress of LAFogle
beacon captive hill mountain balk egg duet rain fall devil
January 18, 2022 to January 30, 2022
from the full to the new moon in Capricorn and Aquarius
The realization struck her like a beacon from the moon; held her captive in its lunacy, in the long trance of night. Flushes of rose and gold reached the earth first, outlining Hemlock Hill in amber glow. There. She’d prolong the scatter of violet light with ashes.
I sang up the mountain,
a balkanized cord.
Each step echoed
its linear thread.
contradictions of blue
and scarlet duets
key the triad
to strike at the top
of the whole
prompts: infinity tranquil solar perspicacity pop yawn hugs crisper dollops midnight
January 2, 2022 to January 17, 2022
from the new moon to the full moon in Capricorn
You soar from sky
to infinity in Blake’s
grain, glisten like snowflake
prisms, vapor altered
states: ruby bronze
mulls on leaf mold
for the tap
of bones when
the fertile earth
is ready for you.
For each harsh word,
I gained another tranquil
ruffle on the lake, a solar
marvel raring from a grayer day.
I am the end intended, take in
infrared, hug back the rays,
appreciate the symbiotic
interplay. You are the link
that breaks these atoms
into different shapes,
my blood picks up the relics
takes them to the places
where they ionate to give
my heart and marrow all
the strength you could not
spare to spare me. Take.
Your best aim.
“It’s called perspicacity. You explore, learn, reflect, and create with a comparably divergent drive. You’ll starve there. Actualize who you are and step into the light.” Maena crisply pierced the apple’s skin, tearing into its pulp before eyeing me. “Hungry?”
Honesty grabs one hand, loyalty the other. Vertebral seams pop, the serpentine column dances toward a new center, landing in perse moments of exchange: phosphene stories of love and pain ignite the mind.
The next words are butterflies.
She yawned and threw the message into the icebox. Yowls, crackles, and hisses flooded the moment before she slammed the door. The icebox kept words chilled and sentiments on ice. Hugs from the crisper were non-existent. She cupped her hands under the faucet and splashed water over her eyes. From what she’d seen, this one could take some time to cool off.
He felt the dollops of ink release and flow from some great telepathy of the sky; heard the phonological claps of thunder and mortal shock rain fractal words of the weary and fallen onto the page, like tears washing particles from a collective mind’s eye.
the witches gather
and abdicate their veils,
revel by the sconce
of fearless perception
on the winged misdivision
of the adder and the newt;
sing basilisk elegies and play,
then fly away when lore
gives way to darker hours.
prompts: barrage charm disguise quiet flashbacks reasonable spotlight passengers becoming renewals
December 18, 2021 to January 1, 2022
from the full moon to the new moon in Sagittarius & Capricorn
The salesman used a barrage of charm to disguise his goal of extracting as much money as he could from her. She stood abruptly and announced she would return after lunch. “Wait!” He cried, “$100 off!” But she’d been advised beforehand: Don’t rush, read the fine print, and always be prepared to walk away.
It’s a quiet connection now.
Some nights, flashbacks blare
and cough, their clamant yawps
muffled by a stuffed shift.
The redress alters me
into a reasonable
block of ice;
thaw will come,
internal, with hope
A spotlight glances across the land,
like twinkling stars to passengers
headed east; The beast, it flies
and reasons o’er the Black Sea.
hold on tight, don’t handle her;
This chauffeur-alien won’t be fleeced.
Backward, in the nick of sky,
in dark absence of moonlight;
it scans the clusters
searching for its kind.
like tangerine spray glint,
peel back a summer day when
sunlight filtered longer
through the pied air,
But he never wants
what he has,
so he never gets
what he wants;
then you realize
the circle disappears
beyond the undying horizon.
I’m proud of us: Strong
Our love renewals,
delight for life,
through growth, detach
suspicion as we do from
feeling what is good
about a friend.
We truly are
each other’s people
Agreed to expect
our loyal best;
To cast away
from the new moon to the full moon in Sagittarius
Smoke & mirrors collect us
as royal subjects.
In imbalance of power,
bow in gravity
It is not weight,
does not dismantle
value in effort—
Willing past the win
Yet the planets seem lighter than this phone.
Imagination questions without fear,
for no one is listening with an ear to control:
to scold as parent or toddler,
to ostracize as jailers of faith,
or primitive posturing for rank;
to be revered rather than injured,
to be obeyed rather than swayed.
In our steeple of curiosity,
tolerance for ourselves and
tolerance for others
She grew up playing in the woods, orienting by sun, trees, water, constellations; but was lost here, starved for organic connection. Many had no use for nature but to consume, & nature had no use for them. They’d gladly choose a virtual life if she could only perfect the forebrain.
She sent vibrational
strings of thought
Tethered balloon animals
into a dove
and flew away
on a silvery gleam.
She let it go.
Trauma paused us.
We go back, reenact
where stuck. Neural arms,
flailing to connect, reflect
near easy lovers: fear,
Our scarry attempts
to block off, protect
Disconnect like cell death.
A plan will guide us,
laurel us through
The enemy-risk effect of the virus was isolation and inactivity. Productivity and trade slowed as the needs of survival shifted. But to Hunter, they were the real enemy and the prey. Meanwhile, all the predative profiteers laughed—a nervous laugh.
November 19, 2021 to December 4, 2021
from the full moon in Scorpio to the new moon in Sagittarius
Jake choked off his last shred of objectivity with piercing confidence and rode off into some kind of loner sunset, with only the curtains to hold his hand. Our shared wonder dismissed as magical thinking, wheeled away for correction, argued away as naive—just to argue.
Kill or be killed, child.
180 shots per intended minute.
Unregistered plastic bag.
Probable conclusion without a scratch.
Presumed protection with intent
to mutilate. Murdered property.
Hip-hop cowboy, good gang, posse.
Annie, Get Your Gun and a permit.
Marissa, the wall has rights.
Stand your ground unless stuck
interpreting the lunatic
interpreting the reason
interpreting the law
The wandering albatross bow,
widen their wings and scream
at the sky; they circle, preen
and snap at their spouse
in a mating dance for life.
Three million miles
of soaring the skies,
ever to return
to the island
of their love
Vulnerable, the reliant pilot hides in a pride of clouds/
seen, the sun comes out/ the complex speaks to the complex/
lowers a bridge open to valuation, closed to faulted criticism/
subject and object scatter, hide in the mirroring sky/
light faces the page, not the eyes
Let the worry fall away
from your clear eyes,
For the world turns
and we are in it;
Should joy escape your mind,
allow release to recommit
compliments of reprieve
I am your cherisher
thankful for each
Wake and tell us what’s good, love, as the daylight
reaches your mind. Promise to snuggle in deeper,
cross the heart on your chest and hope to die.
Code your secrets in my journal
where I can read between the lines.
“I had conversations, but the upper hand of the masher, phlegm, and baffled stranger would not salute. And the agro. Everything I said was ammo. So I gave him ammo. All of it.”
Cere opened the lid to find furry teal blotches moldering the tops of the apricots.
“Worry eats at your thoughts. I needed to be done with it.”
“Recognize crisis mode. Deflection is a way to cope, but it’s pretext. We eventually have to move past it to understand the dissatisfaction that leads to a major life change.”
“Huh. I’ll think about that,” Greg said. “You’re not mad?”
“I’m working on a new perspective,” she said, taping up the last box. The movers would be arriving any time now. “Ultimately, I’m on your side and hope we get to share a better future. Call me after you’ve answered your own call.”
You are shiny,
like teeth bared
Is it the love shown
or the love deserved
that makes us worthy?
Two lorn brood
in innate pattern,
their calls imitate
a wildish belonging.
If I were a ribbon,
I’d curl around your finger
to remind you
that I am always
there. In spills of ink,
siftings of sand, traces,
and twisted strands of hair
Snug between the wanton
hand of death steepling in prayer.
If I were your ribbon.
She placed her hand on the young king’s chest and closed her eyes: He floated in a river of blood, tethered to a casketful filled with paper money.
Fire cremated the land into black ghosts pillowing the lusty blaze. Through the roar, he heard his name as a boy dipped a toe in from the shore.
The oracle opened her eyes and locked gaze with the young king. “You have enough for now. Do not invade. Take a vacation with your son.”
In returning warmth
that refuses to leave
disturbs a winter silence.
Leave your contortions
where misery can find its
mirthless tune. I’m here
in life’s harmoniacal quietus,
a rival of the snow, parched
as the ground, threshing
its mortal boon.
November 4, 2021 to November 18, 2021
from the new moon to the full moon in Scorpio
The sugarcoat fairy has a white wand that sprays a sweet powder onto desserts, glass rims, and hard truths.
Often followed by the elusive tooth fairy who sneaks in to collect your teeth and the occasional sock.
o your voice
disturbs the air
in a lover’s mouth
open and close
bones and body
lash and tongue
How fast you move, swift Mercury
how slowly your myth wanes
Appearing to regress backward
as you pass in retrograde
Venus relaxes on cowslip wine
made from the primrose
of youth, when a paused
message of love was new
“Sorry about that! It’s a monthly saga. She sought help but her insurance might as well be a coupon for 10% off Midol.
Her support group changed locations without telling her and, oh no.., I can’t find my wallet—“
“GO!” The clerk said, standing in the rubble. “LEAVE!”
“The term ghosting is an insult to ghosts.”
Cere cut deep into the burning bush, removing dead weight from the dormant plant to stimulate growth in the spring.
“All you can do is treat yourself better than that—care well for yourself—and love comes back. New love.”
It hurts. The expectation.
But it was a lipless hypothetical notion.
A narrative unspoken neither guides nor implores action to reach that forever ending, where pride belongs to everyone.
plumes of lament
$2k in car repairs
filigreed wreathy elegy
time = money + interest
shearing scytheless stylist
resolve mends or ends
like a fresh
“Not everything has to be normalized. You don’t comb the beach looking for the least exceptional rock.” I looked at Ash. “Sorry, the graveyard, seeking unremarkable stones.”
Something like a smile broke through Ash’s stolid face. “Or the bones of sane people.”
I’m a firestarter
A ram bored with shame
Blood cut off from tight reins
Cold hand fumbles matchstick
A shrug-off warms up
this sympathy dance
Great romance cues
the strings, notes
like tears drop
Douse a flame
Relax the grip
October 20, 2021 to November 1, 2021
from the full moon to the new moon in Libra / Scorpio
Back to the wilder
It’s all temporary
in sentiment trapped
Prone to lucid dreaming’s
Steps into the yawn
of your own pitfall
Take to the trees
your agile mind—
swing from trust-
In his ghast and livid beam, no colors absorb; absence signifies his subject in virous torrents of rayed devastation.
I am spared—my eyes cauterized at first sight. Mere ash beside a vacuum, patient for the Spring. Cremains in the kindness of a friend.
I’m a tourist in their cafe
where they talk over a good song;
Collectors of the medium/ who trade
the pain of kids who don’t belong.
It bounces off the reclaimed beams—
factoids, brag, gimcrackery;
without a sole
analogy/ of us
on the island of loneliness
Innocence is a gift—mingled in commitment—of passage.
It has been slain on the altar of infant helplessness sulked in vengeance.
It has been saved by the certainty of power relinquished in permanence.
One day you won’t give your heart to bargainers.
At the corners of their bed sate epic tales of wind, fire, earth, and sky loving the anthropomorphized form of their senses, conjured from the aromatic pyre; a tinder nest, intimacy the tender.
Not even the fires of hell refined worked so well to warm the dead.
She was an accidentalist in one great big song about obedience.
More deistic than contrarian, because those small-town panderers just couldn’t be the gatekeepers of divinity.
They sounded more like creations of comedy.
“You’re being emotional and kinda paranoid,” Maena said. “Read the situation like a book.”
“Like look at a few words, jump to conclusions, and cry into my pillow?” Cere asked.
Maena smiled. “No, we don’t read books like the words are going to hurt us.”
In the afterglow
of a gamma-ray
burst/ in her hard
His silhouette whistles—
blocking the lumen;
inkling black hole,
a cold hero’s trope
I sleepwalk & talk
expose the bare truth
that fear & pain
hang from the pall
that covers the life of day
Mantle worn by soothsayer
who blankets infantile babe
There, in low waves
while the mind hides
memories, ring words
of the dissembler:
unpicked to rags
©2021 LAFogle / Lesley Ann Fogle
September 6, 2021 to September 19, 2021
from the new moon to the full moon in Virgo
My hair smells faintly of you living in the strands
The memory locks on briefly,
tightens in a playful pull for your reaction
The wolf, starved, eyed the food left at the door of civilization. A steel bowl garnered with rules.
The mockingbird, its acute trills a duality unheard by the wolf, laughed and flew away.
“Try at least three times, really try and without pride, to talk to your friend and try to mend things.”
Grandma’s fingers moved deftly to the clicks of the knitting needles.
She paused to hold the big red sock up to the light.
“Darn it. After that, you might cut ties but don’t carry resentment.
Poison in your well is just as draining as holding on to trouble that can’t be solved.”
Strangers now but wearier, warier specie raised by sponges fashioned into mothers; wolves who left the pack in search of mate finding some single cell finale of fate; it was a self-exiled finality unlike the busy sorting aftermath through war or disease
a shortage of mason jars lids during the pandemic
a well-built corner store on every block
cherries, apple butter, cheese, and greens
lidded, rezoned into brightly packaged
sugar and fat, three for a dollar
leftover cottonseed once dumped in the river
One foot on the shore side of Scylla
A boat of chum, dog toys, and catnip
some chocolate for the lady and the palest hyacinth
matches and a thimbleful of gasoline
The score was 3 to 4:
quarter notes bending into position,
nodding to the stretch
of wholes ready at the relay.
Down the linear track in wait,
a chorus of eighths eager to pace,
excite, divide, and propagate
into a feverish, rapturous finish
This broken heart opens like a door
Death metaphor, transform
Ashes on the floor and a wreath
of nosegays and sycamore leaves
Through the door to deity
Entrance or exit, war or peace
Mr. Wentithird turned, spotted Ms. Theid, smiled, walked toward her, caught sight of her entourage, paled, checked his watch, then eyed the door to the stairwell. For a moment nothing moved but eyebrows: Mrs. Crane’s raised, Miss Applebomb’s left brow arched, and Ms. Theid’s bunched at the browline.
She listened though I’d said nothing worth saying. Even when my words in wake of sleep fell easy,
she never asked me to explain; said the stringing sound of poesy is the only worthwhile philosophy,
so I stayed. As I was never made her student nor patient, I remain.
Grief takes the very mystery of things and mines the awe; leaves you with a ball of unsorted confusion.
It doesn’t bounce or return—there is no further lore; a hard dull carbon thud.
The art, history, and monuments of battle
never quite depict the blood shed
Rivers of ephemeral red
Infernal tributaries of devastated
The noun ‘champion’ gores the verb
from the the peaceful heart of [hu]man
I missed the soft side; he who called looking for lifelines aglitter, to talk in poesy meandering the marveling day: a language-loving philosopher.
I waited for him at the Green Mill, ill-prepared for the glib aloof lounge singer who sang of his own beauty. It was the wrong night for this mood.
The sky, black and blue, through milky haze;
Stars alight on strings of night and candle flames.
Our bodies tucked in beds of softest grass—
light years from the past—
in the spiral of Orion’s arms.
A choir of highs and lows
with all notes stacked
and tween, moves
in untold ratio
We are resonated fools
in a sea of waves
enduring, brief ballads
fossilizing in the deep
©2021 LAFogle / Lesley Ann Fogle
August 30, 2021 to September 5, 2021
His words and deeded shocks, the paradox,
send reckless current rippling through my brain;
firing patterns change to shield-like shapes
sealing intel from his mission of pain.
He’ll write of your imagined devastation
On the dock of Bear Lake, Michigan, my weightless stick legs bobbing in the teal opaque water; I sat watching my father, almost young again, fish from a pontoon with his best remaining friend.
Ursula’s kingdom was a glittery tree,
a remnant of the Aracariaeae
Too prickly to climb but lovely to see
it’s refusal to be extinct.
The bones stood tall but water is water to rock
Cracks where stacks of slab lay with land
One cosmic shift in the whole honorarium,
the very idea, could buckle and fall. A lean-to
Devotees return to the land
The serotonin from this soil
the very reason to build here
Jock Camon grew from the bloody fists of Vales in its dirt sun-burned streets where trees once wailed under the axes of men with immediate need for wood. A doorway, stiles and rails of pink chipped paint unfitted in the frame; a plywood panel where a window had been.