{ Poetry, Oh No'etry }

Between my finger and my thumb The squat pen rests. I’ll dig with it.

[goldcoasthoney]

by y3lda

[filmnoirsbian]

[anditslove]

Matt Haig, The Comfort Book

[birdandvine]

Good Morning, I Am Not Going to Commit Suicide Today, by Kimmy Walters

[rosegardendeprofundis]

Source: @laceypaigepoetry on Instagram

[newloverofbeauty]

John Updike, from Last Poems (2009)

[seekingstars]

HOW’S THAT HOUSE THAT RAISED YOU? - Lev St. Valentine

[glowcowboy]

WE HAVE ENOUGH DEAD FRIENDS by lena oleanderson [ID in ALT.]

[weltenwellen]

Wildness Before Something Sublime Leila Chatti

[apoemaday]

Miss you. Would like to take a walk with you.

by Gabrielle Calvocoressi

Do not care if  you just arrive in your skeleton. Would love to take a walk with you. Miss you. Would love to make you shrimp saganaki. Like you used to make me when you were alive. Love to feed you. Sit over steaming bowls of pilaf. Little roasted tomatoes covered in pepper and nutmeg. Miss you. Would love to walk to the post office with you. Bring the ghost dog. We’ll walk past the waterfall and you can tell me about the after. Wish you. Wish you would come back for a while. Don’t even need to bring your skin sack. I’ll know you. I know you will know me even though. I’m bigger now. Grayer. I’ll show you my garden. I’d like to hop in the leaf pile you raked but if you want to jump in? I’ll rake it for you. Miss you standing looking out at the river with your rake in your hand. Miss you in your puffy blue jacket. They’re hip now. I can bring you a new one if you’ll only come by. Know I told you it was okay to go. Know I told you it was okay to leave me. Why’d you believe me? You always believed me. Wish you would come back so we could talk about truth. Miss you. Wish you would walk through my door. Stare out from the mirror. Come through the pipes.

[letterful]

— MARIE HOWE.

[wovi]

*

vicki rivard

[havingapoemwithyou]

I loved you before i was born by Li-Young Lee

[apoemaday]

You with the Crack Running Through You

by Kim Addonizio

I can seep in, I can dry clear.

And yes it would still be there. And no I couldn’t hold you forever.

But isn’t it drafty at night,

alone in that canyon with the wind of the mind

dragging its debris —

I wanted to put my mouth on you

and draw out whatever toxin…

— but I understand. There are limits to love. Here is a flower

that needs no water. It can grow anywhere,

nourished on nothing. And yes.

[apoemaday]

You'd Sing Too

by Leonard Cohen

You’d sing too if you found yourself in a place like this You wouldn’t worry about whether you were as good as Ray Charles or Edith Piaf You’d sing You’d sing not for yourself but to make a self out of the old food rotting in the astral bowel and the loveless thud of your own breathing You’d become a singer faster than it takes to hate a rival’s charm and you’d sing, darling you’d sing too

[letterful]

Is it starting to rain? Did the check bounce? Are we out of coffee? Is this going to hurt? Could you lose your job? Did the glass break? Was the baggage misrouted? Will this go on my record? Are you missing much money? Was anyone injured? Is the traffic heavy? Do I have to remove my clothes? Will it leave a scar? Must you go? Will this be in the papers? Is my time up already? Are we seeing the understudy? Will it affect my eyesight? Did all the books burn? Are you still smoking? Is the bone broken? Will I have to put him to sleep? Was the car totaled? Am I responsible for these charges? Are you contagious? Will we have to wait long? Is the runway icy? Was the gun loaded? Could this cause side effects? Do you know who betrayed you? Is the wound infected? Are we lost? Will it get any worse?

— JEANNE MARIE BEAUMONT, “Afraid So.”

[heartshop]

Margaret Atwood, from Selected Poems II