Homesick – Samantha Lucero

a recent piece of mine over at FVR.

FREE VERSE REVOLUTION

o’ willing death

that you should falter

from a barren road and howl

in the blood,

and like those homesick for the

womb

could ripple in the living dark.

or should you tap,

i wouldn’t dare a dirty look

over my time-worn shoulder,

where hard moments have made

runic mobs. rather would i,

wonderstruck,

gape up at that maudlin deathbed

of worshipping pinpricks;

those clean, bright stars.

where i have ever amused

a close embrace, i have been

half-hearted. watching an

umbilical of white-hot

lightning

dash across my life;

i watch it tramp out fires

in my warring heart,

one already ill with

yearning.

o’ willing death;

that you would whirl

and whisper in my arms,

but only once i wet

my scalp again in snow,

and endure yet

many moons

to come, that when they

bury my heart in los

cerrillos, the red soil

rejoices,

and those mountebank stars

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hours 

tumblr_me28hcxl621qd3ucoo1_500.jpg

 

I see those mottled photos, ornate albums

of yesterdays yellow sun

Of swollen women, dream-like, in a lavender field.

They leash their arms around an oval-shape

becoming empty; the shape deflates, the air comes out like water.

It starts to breathe it’s own small breath in the shape of a person,

someday a man, a woman, sometimes swollen, sometimes

stiff, stark, or bleeding.

Seeing those photos one day,

your nose has memorized leather and tobacco flower.

for her, it’s dr.pepper, Disney on ice

the coty musk she never knew she had just inside the pi of bone.

 

samantha lucero 2017 ©

art is long, time is short.

why the silence?

poems used to pinch me out of no where. they’d tap me on the spine in the bathroom, press their cold nose on my ear while i was at the grocery store. they’d well up in my mead glass and i’d drink them until the grin on my face was a glasgow.  they’re miniature autobiographies, fiction, non-fiction, the smallest stories, can fit them into a dollhouse.

but my time is scarce. this isn’t a personal diary (i wouldn’t have time for it, even though that might be amusing), and even if i’ve mentioned personal things here before, i prefer to just be my work as much as possible. ‘when mozart died, he just became music.’ — and so, all my time, tiny as it was, has been devoted to writing my novel. the novel is now finished. which means maybe, just maybe, poetry will stab me again. and again.

of course, this means editing for hundreds of years on that novel, but the accomplishment is done and the time has partially freed up. i’ll also be figuring out where i’d like to send it out to, whether or not to use kindle, as this is not my magnum opus. a first novel never is.

i intend to get to work on another novel soon, as well, but i’m taking this time to let the story take root within me. it’s actually a half-finished novel from years ago (the one that i may be working on next, that is.) and i need to bake longer.

as for my book i’ve just written, it’s about a woman who goes on a road trip to kill the man who’s killed her daughter. as i edit, i’ll post excerpts, perhaps from each chapter.

i’ve got a few drafts saved here on wordpress, full of cobwebs and carcasses and carapaces, of some rants about pictures i’ve found in vintage stores, being a mom, which i suppose could pass for prose, so i may be editing those shortly and posting them here.

i also have piles of half-done poems, sad, i know.

and a list of places seeking content…

so here i go to become music again.

 

‘Far From Any Road’ – Collaboration II – S.K. Nicholas & Samantha Lucero

Sudden Denouement Literary Collective

When I looked into your eyes that time not long after we first met, I told myself that if I was given the chance, I would go ahead and do it. And such a thing would really impress you and make you want me even though I was just a zero.

Because the black light has been here since the beginning.

When I first discovered what you were in the early hours of the morning while drunk and on the brink, you reached inside of me and brought me back. Sounds melodramatic, I know, but before I found you it was as if I were the only one and that being a zero was all I was good for.

And it’s been burning a hole for so long.

When I swallowed what you had to say, I found a truth that had been denied me my entire life by those…

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It’s no comfort – Samantha Lucero

© Samantha Lucero 2017

Sudden Denouement Literary Collective

It’s no comfort knowing that you’re buried,
deep down, taking earth around you
like blankets that fall apart and crawl.

But seasons still disrobed like actors
backstage in a play, in front of
everyone. Even with you
gone, the world moved on.
And I watched. We all did.
Forced to watch, without you,
with seasons pouring the years
between us in vanishing old flannel,
smelling like Salem filter kings,
soft.

Spring grew through us both
like a blade.
And you died in the summer.

A diamond in that box
they buried you in, deep down,
where you fall apart and crawl, too,
by now. Still waiting to be proposed,
like the plan to go back to Santa Fe.

Sometimes I wait for you to show,
maybe at the movie I go to alone,
sitting next to me when I peek over
in the flickering dark.
You could come around a…

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hate the living, love the dead

I was blue on that blue moon
Or was it the wolf.
Where I was like Virginia or Sylvia,
howling with rage and gloom.
And death was there
And she was digging out as I was digging in.
I was the infant in the woods
dragged away.
The creature hating its creator,
But unlike the creature, our creator is obscure
we cannot hunt him down and ask him:
why?


© Samantha Lucero 

‘ This mess we’re in ‘ – Collaborative – S.K. Nicholas & Samantha Lucero

recent collaborative with S.K. Nicholas.

Sudden Denouement Literary Collective

   the lights are always on now, no one ever sleeps.

   i am one of those dreamless alien lights; one of those nobody’s cradled in the teeth of a high-rise window. my building’s a fang that pierces an eye of god. i loved you more because you turned away from me.

   i stare at my reflection until i become the memory of you; until i am become death and stones in pockets, and the formless outside in the velvet dark. you, the ghost that rushes in the corner of my eye, the reason i wear lace when it rains. i’m trying to read your mind, wherever it’s gone, but i can’t. i try to unearth the sandalwood smear of you on my walls and in between my fingers, but you’re not there. i’m not there either, not anymore.

   and so i’ll go to the hudson where they…

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here i go again …

submitting poetry to big(ger) publications.

here’s to waiting 6+ months to see if one, or both will be published in the new yorker.

the thing that sucks isn’t the waiting, in fact, that’s the best part because i forget completely and therefore all attachment dissolves. the thing that sucks is that i sent them two poems i ended up really, really loving and want to put them into my poetry book, which i might publish before they reject me. and then those two gems are left behind.

then again, i could just keep accumulating more work until then, it depends.

the novel is taking center stage in my time and attention lately anyway.

old friends

slay the beast
that like a dissolving silhouette
roams at the corner of your eye
leaves when you walk to it
stays a friendly whisper
in your ear
on your weakest,
ugliest days.

find the piece of you that’s rotting
(we’ve all got one)
hunt it out,
                     rip it out
before it makes everything else
around it decay.


words =samantha lucero 2017 ©.
photo = tumblr. aka, you tell me.

you’re not religious

some people are only religious when they see Mary
on the corner with a heart-wet mouth. h a i l  Mary,
full of avian bones and candy wrappers they pick up
at disneyland
that you never see get thrown
away.
won’t you be mine?
perhaps. she makes them think of their mother
smart and streetwise
with all those invisible skirts and ankles
or perhaps the cradle where it all went
down hill; it’s all downhill from there
from birth to showers of sparks
to final scenes fading to black
the camera now pans to an inky bedroom
where you’d cry out and somebody
would always come (or cry too?)
or maybe you used to pray there
like a wound by a candle
no one ever listened to you
— why would ‘they’? —
no one is there.
and that’s okay.
i’m comfortable with that
like sharks are in waves
i’m the steak knife on the kitchen table
by your mothers hand
when she’s crying in a mink coat full of smoke
i’m the girl in the dark; leave me alone.
i want to be here.


words =samantha lucero 2017 ©.
photo = alexa chung.