Poetry Blog by Sara Dombrosky

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Stu Buck on Limbs (Wed, 25 Oct 2017 07:01 am)

Sympathies for the Preacher

I see that depraved preacher man

Spewing at me variations of hate

For knowing variations of love,

Male, Female,

Romantic, Lustful.

In the shallowness of skin deep I have learned self-love.

I have found beauty in my body

Where I once could only envision the brokenness

A gaping hole where my heart was.

For so many years I had to reject what I felt

Kept pulling chunks of...

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The Self

“You’re beautiful!”

I’m sorry what?

“I said, you’re beautiful”

Why are you lying?


“You have amazing hair!”

It’s really not

“But it’s so curly.”

It tangles, it snares

I wish it straight.


“You’re  beautiful!”

I’m sorry, I’m not

“But you are!”

Why do you lie?


“Your skin is flawless.”

It’s make-up

“I’m sure you don’t need it.”

You can’t se...

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The trees are flesh made.

 Gauntly etched to form gangrenous limbs,

Skeletal fingers lacing outward

For the heavens.


A multiplicity of fungal greens

That curl and sway about the breeze.

The trees are flesh made,

Blood racing within barcomulch veins

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Some would call our relationship cold and pale as that single snowdrop
Sitting in the gutter, bright in the harsh grey of an autumn day, thought to be alone.
His eyes are endless variations of red-brown, and when I look in them, all I see is desire for me.
We are not in love; we are in lust; a magnetism of iron and loadstone.
When we are together, I feel like I have climbed to the Himalayan to...

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