thought & memory

in auguries of noisy snow
of iron-hammered stormy sons
they worship an emollient breath
of black masks in tangling roots
where he stations by charting death
in patched dreams you soon forget

someday he will rejoin me there
his war-eye sown on the ice river
like a long missed ally whistling home
impervious to the stinging age
of nomad bones ingesting  dark
on a moss-throne of hinting swords

someday he will ease the shield

like a mindful lover, heedful of wrath

waiting hungrily at my white-cloth altar

in the watery mouth of a young coffin

wearing the chapped smoking grin

of a burned down god


words = samantha lucero 2016 ©
image = not mine.

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11 comments

  1. Beautiful beautiful piece💔

  2. Your poems make it seem like you breathe imagery.

      1. Well fuck, I’m drinking beer.

  3. Shadowy movement and ephemeral visions, you are a sorceress with words!

    1. The best part about this comment is the comment that I just left on your page matches it. You’ll see what I mean!

  4. Reblogged this on RamJet Poetry and commented:
    Sam Lucero is a sorceress, and her magic is the best kind!

  5. I agree with Oldepunk, Sam is a sorceress. Your language is haunting and beautiful. I was stricken the first moment I laid eyes on your work, and I continue to be amazed. One of the things I am grateful for in 2016–the writing of Sam Lucero.

    1. I was telling him that I need to try different styles, because I end up sounding like I’m “performing a ritual” and he was over here with the sorceress line. Psychic.

      I’m glad that I decided to pick this place up at just the right time to meet you all. 🙂

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