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Lone Week Typography

I keep

Seeing these flashing sparks

Under the fog that rests on the horizon,

Above the sea, trapped,

There is a light at my back,

It's so warm,

It's so big and so

Warm it reaches past

My sides; no one can

See my back change.

Sunset was an hour ago.

It was back up the road,

The TV remote light is cracked open,

It's looking at me (pointing away).

Please if I step out

Into the ocean take

Some salty water off my back

And let it not dry beneath my eyes.

I crave the feeling.

#2026 #lone week typography #i think this one means a lot to me #poetry #poets on tumblr

Bright Lights! Don’t Blink

The rain is long

The rain is long and

I can see the—

(Bright lights! Don’t blink)—

Smudge on your camera lens,

Fingerprint, I had forgotten what a puddle does

When huddled by a hooded light.

Breathe in feet cold rain wet lamppost

Glowing on a road with cars (still) rolling

Home. Stars flicker if you look headlights flash

If you don’t streetlamps fizzle if you

Blink.

(Dream)

Blink. Blink.

#2025 #poetry #poets on tumblr #written thanks to that photo of the streetlamp #was listening to Stop Us by Cephas/Datin at the time of writing #read this in quite a monospaced way in the second stanza

Dance Dance Dance Alive Alive Alive

What is your body doing? No,

What does your body want to do,

Be doing, where does it want to be,

How does it crave to flow, thirsty, parched,

Which rocks does it caress as it streams down the mountainside,

What skies does it whisper to,

Who holds it and drinks the blessing?

Sound is in your ears and in

My ears and in your hands and

In my hands and on your skin

And on my skin and our bones rattle;

They rattle and shake and wind in time,

A toy around a clock, time ticks and we hear a beat:

Hips arms knees hair heart beat

Dance dance dance alive alive alive.

#poetry #poets on tumblr #2026 #second poem written in 2026 but I probably won’t be sharing the first one #shout out dear friend for inspiring dance dance dance alive alive alive #dance dance dance alive alive alive #(one for the phrasing and a different friend for the dancing)#this was written as a straight oner but I think I enjoy it

A Poem Remembering How I Feel Alive

(For Josie, listening to Sufjan Stevens)

Cold rhythm is bright on your skin.

Memory, cold, woken by dreams of trumpets

Which creep, cold calling your name

In the rain. You forget the cold when summer comes

And when summer fades, the cold is for forgetting

But the drizzle in the dark lights veils the cold trees

(Which hug lest they shiver) for a while—cold

Earth unfurls my soul and you don’t feel me cold but

Warm warm warm

#poetry #2025 #poets on tumblr #a poem remembering how i feel alive #inspired by josie #lying on grass #also by love and cold and warmth and hugs etc #this isn’t really about Sufjan Stevens more the idea of Sufjan Stevens #i read this with some excitement #sort of jaunting my way to each line’s ‘cold’#before which there’s a sort of pause and the rest of the line deliberately follows #i hold a long pause before the penultimate line #aster asked how i was reading the warms and i said #warm1 with the realisation the love of your life holds you in their heart #warm2 with the adoration of a dozen campfire stories #warm3 with the warmth of a hug you crave so often it becomes a longing #given with mundanity and comfort of arms around you as you think or doze or dream #which felt useful when i said it. who’s to say if it is (it reminds me how i like to read it anyhow)

An Anchor Having Sex with the Sea Floor

Plunged deep, deep, wet, slick, sliding into

Cold? Smooth depths. Currents cannot hold me

Like you do (you do in the currents). I do

Touch down and I’m gentle your silt is hard you’re

Hard but I bury in and we meld and hold

And wedge and pull

And strain and shake

And ripple and rest in our arms.

A boat is the love between the sea and the sky;

We only love dreams of heaven when below it.

#2025 #poetry #poets on tumblr #an anchor having sex with the sea floor #anchor #gave a prompt to aster to write a poem not about themself #and then wrote this in a few mins #i have nothing else to say except #for some little writing from the boat’s perspective

Old in Orange

I can taste the crunch of the orange ferns

Ooh I’m shivering.

There was orange in the sunset last night.

I could smell it, I hope you did too,

I hope you held your breath

Under a purple cloud

To be there for longer.

There's a kid drinking orange juice

At the table behind me, I can hear it.

It drips and makes rings on the wood and

They look like little suns. Or wedding bands.

Or eyes, drained, dredges of freshness,

Drunk up, seeing clearly through orange-tinted glasses.

You tell me it's nearly sunrise

Again, and I can’t wait to

Get old grow old get to

Grow and grow to get there.

Please. I am smiling

(I can feel it)

#2025 #poetry #poets on tumblr #old in orange #the orange ferns were the origin #I saw them in a video a friend sent #and later had a conversation with that friend about growing old #and children #and i was crying #(i had never really considered being old before)

Your Turn

There is a cat waiting for you

On the windowsill—

It would blend into the wall

That stands opposed to the empty

Balcony, but the kitchen light is on.

You had walked onto the balcony

To hug the wall at arm’s length;

Is it cold out here? Have you noticed?

The lights inside are so tiring,

So warm. And the balcony is an

Empty balcony (the windowsill is full).

#2025 #poetry #poets on tumblr #from a game with a friend in which we would describe a poem to each other and the other would write it #the description i received was quite detailed about escaping from a party where you didn’t quite know anyone and it was too noisy and bright #onto a balcony where you could see an office block [changed that in part bc I forgot it was offices]#one window illuminated with a cat looking out #all you can see its eyes.#I took some liberties and i enjoy this quite a bit #when discussing this poem after i said #suicide cw #the point is that the balcony is empty #you jump or you see the windowsill is full and return to the fullness of the party #in either case you kill yourself #anyway shout out aster who gave the prompt

I can’t see the ground yet

You’re holding my hand under the table and

I can’t stop grinning

Like I really can’t fail this dental check up or something

because someone on this floor is playing the guitar and

The smell of chilli leaks under the door and

Someone is sharing a light under the bus stop in the rain and

You squeeze my hand under the table and

I can’t stop laughing

Like a baby who’s just learnt what beauty is

Because a bird is sleeping on the lampost and

Paint is dripping off a fresh archway and

The heater broke last week and

The music is playing a bit too loud and

your foot is tapping like a frog inviting its friends onto a log and

The floorboards are creaking and

We’re holding hands under the table and

When am I going to land?

#2025 #poetry #poets on tumblr #alt music writing #i can’t see the ground yet #this is the third poem i wrote at the workshop #this is the spiritual sequel to #weekday night #in that i sort of imagine the pair of characters to be the same people at different points #I read this out at the workshop and it was a joy to read and I became surprisingly emotional?

Weekday Night

They’re trying to kick their feet

Back and forth with whimsy,

As the piano swings beneath them

And the music smiles through their fingers,

Splayed out on the surface

(Or wound together between them),

But their legs are too short to reach open air and swing

Freely—the parents should be here soon—and

I will be concentrating

About you until next week?

#2025 #poetry #poets on tumblr #alt music writing #this is the second poem i wrote at the workshop #the image of two children sitting on a piano while a bunch of other kids were running around doing whatever very much felt #i struggled to title this for a long time. Hinging was my placeholder title #concentrating about you is a line I like a lot #this is also the spiritual predecessor to the next poem i wrote #the next one being #i can’t see the ground yet #weekday night

Radiator, Wing Mirror

Hop skip strut

Back against the

Cold radiator wrinkles,

Wink smile spin

Coffee shop door

Rings its bell and slams shut,

Shout hold out hope

Head falls back.

I smell my hair as it burns.

(I think my hair is burning)

#alt music writing #2025 #poetry #poets on tumblr #radiator wing mirror #this is the first poem i wrote at the workshop #inspired by the imagined sliding panes film scene of someone strutting down the street and or slumping against a radiator #(as i was as i wrote it)

Alt Music Writing

Went to a little writing workshop where mostly dreampop was playing. One kind of piano ballad, one song of soft metal, and a slightly jazzy number. I wrote three poems, basically three happy poems (which I think is a record for in a row for me?), which will appear here soon. Twas a great time.

#alt music writing #2025

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