like thoughts brewing. do you get it

21. any pronouns. dogwhizzer's poetry(?) blog.

[letterful]

i do love listmaking…

[letterful]

here be two decidedly incomprehensive lists based on highly arbitrary criteria — off the top of my head and in no particular order:

rattling like a bag of bones:

"gretel, from a sudden clearing" & "the promise" & "what the silence says" & "calvary" by marie howe,

"i watched you disappear” by anya krugovoy silver,

"the song of hen's head" & "this is a photograph of me" & "a sad child" by margaret atwood,

"bruise ghazal" & "i go back to may 1937" by sharon olds,

"harold's leap" & "deeply morbid" & "the orphan reformed" & "do take muriel out" & "not waving but drowning" by stevie smith,

"we who are your closest friends" by phillip lopate,

"the loft" by richard jones,

"eating together" & "death poem" & "party" & "you with the crack running through you" & "the numbers" by kim addonizio,

"thanks" by w. s. merwin,

"the bee meeting" & "lady lazarus" & "daddy" & "sheep in fog" & "fever 103" by sylvia plath,

"yesterday he still looked in my eyes" by marina tsvetaeva,

"we don't know how to say goodbye" & "the last toast" by anna akhmatova,

"unknown girl in the maternity ward" & "lessons in hunger" & "the truth the dead know" by anne sexton,

"anne sexton’s last letter to god" by tracey herd,

"aubade" & "the mower" by philip larkin,

"the blue bowl" by jane kenyon,

"her long illness" by donald hall,

"myth" by natasha trethewey,

"in bertram's garden" by donald justice,

"the drowned girl" & "the leavetaking" by bertolt brecht,

"ovid in the third reich" by geoffrey hill,

"musee des beaux arts" by w. h. auden,

"report from a besieged city" by zbigniew herbert,

"napoleon" by miroslav holub,

"me up at does" by e.e. cummings,

"snow line" by john berryman,

"the hollow men" by t. s. eliot,

"dedication" & "in warsaw" by czesław miłosz—

resonating like a bright bell:

"what the living do" & "my dead friends" & "magdalene, afterwards" by marie howe,

"funny" by anna kamieńska,

"woman unborn & "i'll open the window" & "i am panting" & “tomorrow they’ll cut me open” by anna świrszczyńska,

"the book of hours" by b. h. fairchild,

"there is a gold light in certain old paintings" by donald justice,

"when eurydice saw him..." (an excerpt) by gregory orr,

"sometimes, when the light" & "the blind leading the blind" & "there are mornings" & "monet refuses the operation" by lisel mueller,

"try to praise the mutilated world" & "transformation" by adam zagajewski,

"the end and the beginning" & "the tower of babel" & "discovery" & "thank-you note" by wisława szymborska,

"while eating a pear" & "the dead" by billy collins,

"never again would the birds' song be the same" by robert frost,

"a meeting" by wendell berry, 

"death at daybreak" by anne reeve aldrich,

"next time" by joyce sutphen,

"the god abandons antony" by c. p. cavafy,

"failing and flying" by jack gilbert,

"goodtime jesus" by james tate,

"all my friends are finding new beliefs" by christian wiman,

"angels" by maurya simon,

"the saints" by margaret atwood,

"dirge without music" by edna st. vincent millay,

"i’m glad your sickness" by marina tsvetaeva,

"you will hear thunder" by anna akhmatova,

"fern hill" & "do not go gentle into that good night" & "and death shall have no dominion" by dylan thomas,

"an arundel tomb" & "love, we must part now" by philip larkin,

"please read" by mary ruefle,

"men made out of words" by wallace stevens,

"ash wednesday" by t. s. eliot,

"on angels" & "this world" & "if there is no god" & "encounter" by czesław miłosz.

[bruinsbrewings]

i found this poem i wrote during the period of my life when my mother was dealing with religious delusions. Holy shit man

[anthropoetics]

kinder than man, athea davis

[poemhater]

growing apart & still feeling the cavernous love

“Self Control” - Frank Ocean // gentle.earth //Reunion - Salman Toor // “That’s Our Lamp” - Mitski // “July Poem” - @julykings // @archbudzar // “First Time” - Hozier // @qihanxiong // “Heaven” - Mitski

[skineater1998]

"Fat Top/Switch" by Emilia Phillips

[paradoxarchive]

here, i blur into you

(a love letter to my best friend)

ribs, lorde | kigiom | trista mateer | memorial bench for judy, from janice, source unknown | emma, jane austen | from a letter to doris dana, gabriela mistral | written on the body, jeanette winterson | sunsbleeding | friends, bts (jimin + taehyung) | we were girls together, delaney bailey

[dogrotpdf]

Prompt: falling in love with a friend

YOU'RE MY FAVORITE FRIEND. I'M SORRY I WANT YOU LIKE A LOVER.

fleabag (2016-2019) / unknown / fredrik backman / lee mandelo / stranger things (2016-) / salma deera / anne carson / her (2013) / tim seibles / chunking express (1994)

[therisingfog]

-Hanif Abdurraqib

[a-study-in-bullshit]

[heartmagician]

[bruinsbrewings]

now there are two things that could stand for

[poemhater]

she wants instant gratification and she wants it now (and she’ll get it, too!)

LIVE FROM THE BULLPEN

transcript under the cut

“I’m coming in hot rage pumping through my veins an alabama summer—merciless

All gnashing teeth and bleeding lungs

I’ll tear you apart.

There’s no telling what’ll be left of me

when I finally leave the ring.

I’ve been waking up hungrier each morning

My teeth screaming for flesh to sink into.

I’m coming out as someone who knows

exactly what she wants (everything) and

when she wants it (now).

Jeans sticking to my thighs drops of sweat burning my eyes I’m searching for a bigger rodeo to take on a new territory to conquer

a new woman to call mine.”

[poemhater]

NO SIGNAL published in the inaugural issue of All Existing Mag. I am so honored to be a part of this magazine's inaugural issue alongside so many talented creatives. I love love weird art, and if you do too, then this magazine is the one to look out for!

Transcript under the cut.

[Transcript: "Let's get away from this place, / from these self-serving people and the / suffocating smog of animosity.

Take me somewhere warm, where we can lazily soak up the sunshine / where I can hold you close.

Aren't you sick of this place? / even the butcher with the missing / ring finger says, run, girl, and don't you look back.

Won't you grab my hand? / pack up your things, we'll be gone / before the sun leaves us / in the hands of the moon.

Laugh in my face / yours twisted in disgust, baring your teeth at me / so I'll leave this desolate place on my own, / smile knowingly when the butcher / says, you know, there's a reason it's my ring finger that's missin'.

and my lover eludes me once more." [/end]

[poemhater]

Withering Spring

transcript under the cut.

[transcript:

On the playground in the spring / picking honeysuckles off a bush and / hesitantly placing the stem on my / tongue, my insistent classmates promising / they are edible / I close my eyes and tentatively / suck on the stem / the nectar never reaching / my tongue but still I try / to believe

Now the playground is gone / my classmates unrecognizable / spring has returned once again and / my head floods / with the memories / of laughing in the shade with old friends / so I pluck a honeysuckle off a / bush and place the stem on my tongue / remembering the ritual I once partook in and / feeling the heat of disappointment / on my face when I find / the nectar is not sweet on my tongue / but sour with the rot / of my ever-decaying / childhood.

[nonbinarybeartrade]

i think it's both fucked up and beautiful how no one in the world will ever feel the same about these songs in the same context as i and my brother do. and how it's probably the same for millions of other parent's children with millions of other songs

[bruinsbrewings]

Often times butches or studs will come into the restaurant with their girl and as I take their orders (you tap the screen with your middle, not your pointer.) I'll notice their mannerisms and how, when they're sent away, when they're met with them, the cooks respond. And how it differs from their consistent response to me. and I sit and I watch and I think, well, okay. What is the difference between me and her?

Though I do put on a bit of a front at work, it's really only for customers, and even then, mostly for teenage boys and adult men. More masculine (duh), more lackadaisical than how I usually hold myself. I smack my gum (mint, or watermelon), I shift my weight (higher than I'd like), I roll back my shoulders (wide, my fathers), and slur my words (How y'doin? What can I getcha? Fer here'r tuhgo?) and with these words I've noticed I've stopped repeating the greetings and phrases I was taught by my waitress mother and millennial boss and started parroting the oldheads and young fathers and Soundcloud rappers I share the kitchen with. It seems to be working. I've gotten more sirs, mans, dudes, and bros hurled my way in one month than I have in my whole life. the cooks laugh once they leave, or hang up, laugh at the stupid, unsuspecting customer who needs to get their glasses checked because they fell for the ruse of the tranny dyke behind the counter.

I'm not too bothered, I'm not trying to fool them. I know they're too smart for that, know that once the lobby empties, they're the only ones who see any semblance of machismo wash away, the only thing left in it's place the 20 year old theater major who sneaks off to the girl's room with the broken lock to adjust her compression bra, who giggles on the phone, texting her girl-friends in the corner. She won't eat in front of you out of fear of seeming sloppy, draws on the napkins, and she's prone to panic attacks if it gets too busy.

Someone like that shouldn't be scraping off the spare winnings that easily, gnawing at the ankles of all the hard working men we serve, lapping up the testosterone laced sweat soaking the rims of their tube socks.

But for all they know, the butch on the other side of the counter might be pulling the exact same stunt. She pays for her and her girl's meal and takes the paper bag with a headnod but maybe when her girl places it by her feet on the passenger side of the car floor the butch is busy thumbing her cds for the right showtune duet for the two to croon all the ride home. Brother, we're on a joint heist, but there's no Bond music to signal the end. Man's demise will be backed by the soundtrack to A Chorus Line.

[mossbawn]

people on here are always saying “we NEED a story where the art of storytelling is abandoned” like ugh literary devices are soo annoying like that wouldn’t happen in real life that only happened to further the story (why is there story in my story) why would orpheus turn around when he was explicitly told not to why would icarus fly so close to the sun romeo&juliet catcher in the rye why are they so earnest why pour your heart and soul into anything why bother why cant all art be quippy logical monotony like my marvel movies there’s a void in my heart bc i refused to fill it and the curtains were blue

[mossbawn]

“i hate poetry its so pretentious” but then you reblog a quote or a throwaway line and say “why does this go so hard” you are desperate for poetry you are starved for it and u dont even realise you’re hungry