Lincoln Neal

poetry for panthering

The Writer

I was born in Owego, NY and live and work in Portland, OR. Thank you so much for reading.

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Hearts

Post via ebbingusually

Yesterday's Arc

your eyes are my skies
they colour the seas that the sparrows
fly over
today, I fed them - the
sparrows - from the palm of my hand
which you kissed yesterday
when...

Post via ebbingusually
Post via ebbingusually

Salt and Light

We are human
after all.
Real love doesn’t keep a
record of wrongs.

Your blood, your bones, your voice, and your ghost
If you could take the fire out from the wire
And you could take another hit for me

Post via ebbingusually
Post via ebbingusually

The Destiny of Nostalgia

Nostalgia
derived from art.
A poem,
a play, or,
indeed, a

Post via ebbingusually
Post via ebbingusually

Song III

I open up
his chest, carved ivory
like piano keys
my fingertips bless his ribs
I am the first pianiste
and I can coax melodies
no one has ever heard before
my mouth to...

Post via ebbingusually
Post via ebbingusually

Heaven

all of
bliss
dispose of
you
‘til the sky ends
wait the sky

Post via ebbingusually
Post via ebbingusually

(wild)

When next we meet,
you will say,
Hello my deer,
and then
I will lick your nose.
Before I forget…

If you love going
onto the streets at night
naked, with antlers,
dance...

Post via ebbingusually
Photo via jessicanncats

oldtimefamilybaseball:

Where Tom Seaver, Dwight Gooden, and Dave Mlicki failed before, Johan Santana succeeded. Queens finally has a no-hitter to call their own.

9 IP, 0...

Photo via jessicanncats
Post via heart-is-a-metronome

042512

Sometimes the closer you get

words are less tangible

and all I hear

is the erratic heartbeat

drowning out most

coherent intentions.

Post via heart-is-a-metronome
Post via heart-is-a-metronome

Acupuncture

She put needles in my head

“that should fix it up”

leave me by the cold chair.

… I’m sober

and regretful

but my eyelids flicker, these liken

baphomet palms

lose...

Post via heart-is-a-metronome
Photo via heart-is-a-metronome

Photo via heart-is-a-metronome

Sand

things like these
we make
up at night one by
one and every
day they leave

every night i
dive for clams
that spit when
i run past

i awake
spitting sand
and go to sleep

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