The Dream SMP Poetry Collective

sharing poems written by dream smp fans, about the dream smp: NOW ARCHIVED

[dsmppoetrycollective-archive]

Announcement

091523

Thank you all for a great time! Here are some DSMP poetry writers. Check out the bookmarked by mod seph tag for some of my favorites.

Goodbye y'all o7

DSMP Poetry Writers

@cupsmp @thelissbliss @snailsnfriends @nonotablechange @nekolikedacat

@aro-throughyourchest @honeyblockm

if i missed you, you can rb!

[markets]

raspberry juice a c!clingyduo exile conflict poem

[naogardunoyou]

very gripping poem, couldn’t get it out of my head :,]

[fossaheel]

SEVENTEEN - nlm c!tubbo poem

-

[saltvhs]

your son's favorite bedtime story // a c!tubbo poem

It’s nighttime and your son, instead of a bedtime story,

asks where his father is 

it is a hard thing explaining Death to a child 

no matter how half-dead, half-rot they are 

you would like to start at the beginning

with wars and withers 

countries and comrades 

traitors and trinitrotoluene

(trinitrotoluene is too difficult for your son to pronounce) 

you don’t know how to explain grief 

the icy pit that replaces your heart, 

spreads to your lungs, 

contaminates your blood until 

you’re in full-body shutdown 

you don’t know how to explain how you store grief in your pocket 

how you tuck it away for later 

how it clings to your boots when you trudge through a fake desert

you don’t know how to explain that grief ends on monday nights,

amidst the rubble and moonlight and hope escaped from its box

you don’t know how to grieve 

when your husband is no more than an apparition

and you’re living in his cold house with a colder hearth, 

neighbors with the man who killed you 

the man who took away your home, once

the man who took away your nation, twice 

you don’t know when ghosts began being more than relics of people 

“he’s in the next room, bossman. do you want me to get him?” 

your son nods. he doesn’t need to know about grief.

[kyyuis]

ME AND THE GUILT I RAISED; a c!tubbo poem

[awesomehoggirl]

new ctubbo poem

[honeyblockm]

before we cut to Alexandria (Manberg era cabinetduo)

1.

Between you is a desk and, an hour later, a wall, and your brother- let’s call him your brother, because you do not have to like your brothers, but you have to have them. And he is here, your brother.

2.

Between you and your brother is a desk and on the desk, paper that you pass over the distance, seventy centimeters, ten seconds each to write until the things you say to one another to hide what you really mean fill the page from corner to corner, side to side.

3.

Learning how to read between the lines is a lot like learning how to make bullets, or how to stop a baby from crying, or how to stop your friend from crying when he looks like he’s about to: you don’t, really, but one day you find yourself just doing it, probably doing it wrong. I’ll keep you safe: I’ll (I) keep (will) you (fail) safe.

4.

Here's your brother sitting on the windowsill with his heels tucked in, staring at the smoke he blows into the wind like he wishes that were him. He does, but it's just one of hundreds whispered into dandelion seeds that will invariably land on barren asphalt. Your brother is someone whose wants are countably infinite and does not realize it.

5.

You know three ciphers in total. One's for babies, one you teach your friend, the last you show your brother. It's numbers all the way down, signaling lowly your prevailing existence. Three, one, seven, eight. Shadows in the hallway. Five, five, four, nine. Shift. Lights under the door.

6.

Your brother finds a radio. Has a radio. Had, a radio. It’s yours on Sunday mornings and in the afternoons on weekdays. You spin the dials until you’re sure there’s only static, then you take it all apart, slowly. The sound travels through the air, unseen and unfelt. You leave a whisper in the transmitter.

7.

And there’s a memory, his lanky arms tucked between his knees, head against the open door of the van with a cigarette between his teeth; this other not-brother of a man who has never promised safety in so many words as the walls he built says I don’t do it inside because it’s not good for the baby. Says you (I) keep the (don’t) bad shit (want) outside (them) the walls (to) because it’s (see) not good (this) for who you love.

8.

Between you and your brother and the desk and the walls is not enough space. Too dark, too hot, choked out and the wallpaper too sticky. Too many shadows without form nor sight. You know, I don’t care if you smoke inside. He definitely doesn’t. The sunlight in the window feels solid, like it could hold your brother when he shrugs, stubs the cigarette out on the stone exterior, and looks down like he’s thinking of jumping.

9.

He won’t do it, you know. Your brother doesn’t look at you, looks at where the smoke has disappeared, wishing he could be like that: something with less of a heart and not so much desire. Something that doesn’t hit the ground when it’s thrown out a window. He won’t jump, even though he’s always thinking about it. You have to push him. Or better yet, leap and watch him dive after you.

10.

You conclude the fear comes from the lack of escape, because everything else has begun to slide over you. A boy holds the door open. A man. Whatever. On paper your brother draws a blueprint you can’t understand. He draws the lines tender, the way you make a bed when you’re waiting for someone to come sleep in it. Slides it over. The pen he holds out is an open question.

11.

We can have something better than cheap takeout every day and we can go out to eat on our lunch breaks and you know, I can always learn how to cook and teach you, too. It’s a good thing to know.

12.

Is it love? Do you throw someone from two stories up and watch their bones break below you and shout at them I love you? Do you need to? Don’t they know? Looking up at you. They know. They know. The only difference is who of us got here first.

13.

Say the building's on fire. Say the doorknob's melting. Say you take to the heat better. There’s a hand in yours, paper crumpled in your palm. Take it, smooth it out, do the math in your head. One, two, three, four, nine. I struck the match. I’m sorry. Suddenly it’s just you, and the window is gone.

14.

He turns the bitterness over, splits it apple-seed white at the core. Did you notice he’s no taller than you? Not even a little bit. Between you is a desk, and you trace the ring of water damage on its surface and wish you were the type of person who could crack it. For a long moment that is your only wish. Place your fist in the center of the ring. It fits. Now imagine swinging.

15.

It’s a summer night and you can’t hear the buzz of the flies in the room over all the shouting. It’s summer, so there’s always flies. You don’t even know where they come from, just that when you’ve finally managed to kill the two there’s a third hanging around your leg. Like they know where the rot is. Like they’re born here, young larvae chewing their way out of the wallpaper, tasting blood.

16.

He’s your brother, which you are comfortable with because you do not have to like your brother. You do not have to love him, and neither he, you. You have to have him. You have to not blow smoke at babies (who can bear nothing). You have to buy food when there’s none and you have to make the necessary phone calls. You have to be quiet, and be loud, and quiet again. You have to lock doors, turn off the lights except the one in the hallway. Until you don’t. Until you’re gone.

17.

One more thing. If you jumped, he'd jump after you. And if you walked through the front door?

Wake up every midnight for three years straight to unlock the front door. Wake up every morning at six to lock it. Wait until it gets unbearable, then wait until the unbearable becomes easy, becomes nothing. This is how we survive, long past the moment we think we should have.

18.

Your brother has one leg over the windowsill and he leans back, telling you to come look. Look at the wide ledge jutting from the side of the house. The air is so still. He holds your hand when you follow him onto the ledge. Streetlights start to come on. You can see all of them, signals pointing to far and distant places. Further than your sight goes. There’s a car downstairs and soon there will be nothing between you, and that car. What (where) will (will) you (you) do, (be?) then? Your brother is on your left.

This, this is what I can give you.

[honeyblockm]

BED [DIS]ASSEMBLY

A STURDY BED FRAME WITH SOFT, PROFILE EDGES AND HIGH LEGS. A CLASSIC SHAPE THAT WILL LAST FOR MANY YEARS. THIS CLASSIC BED FRAME WILL LOOK GREAT WITH YOUR CHOICE OF TEXTILES AND BEDROOM FURNITURE.

Creative writing piece about c!Sapnap, written over an IKEA manual

Download the PDF on itch.io or view it on Google Drive

there is one TMG reference in here if you catch it I will kiss you. resource credits to IKEA and @/dsmptranscripts on twitter

Some beloved parts:

[dsmppoetrycollective-archive]

Announcement

090323

The Dream SMP Poetry Collective will be closing down on September 15th. This blog will remain up as an archive.

If you are a dsmp poetry writer, please sound off in the tags and replies! I will me making a tag list so people who still want to keep up with new poetry can.

Thank you all for a wonderful time 💕

-Mod Seph

[dsmppoetrycollective-archive]

oh come on man.

[dsmppoetrycollective-archive]

why did we just gain like five followers. im taking the blog and shooting it out back. why are people signing up to see its corpse

[dsmppoetrycollective-archive]

Announcement

090323

The Dream SMP Poetry Collective will be closing down on September 15th. This blog will remain up as an archive.

If you are a dsmp poetry writer, please sound off in the tags and replies! I will be making a tag list so people who still want to keep up with dsmp poetry can.

Thank you all for a wonderful time 💕

-Mod Seph

[mcytpoetry]

Important Announcement

It is with the deepest regret that we announce to you that, due to several life events within the mod team, the MCYT Poetry Zine is being cancelled. As much as we want to devote the time to make this zine happen, some personal events have prevented us from being able to do so. We are heartbroken to cancel it, but we believe it's for the best, and hope we can eventually come to a place where we can devote the proper time and energy to making this happen.

To those who submitted their portfolios and applications, we extend our sincerest apologies. We loved what we saw, and we were incredibly excited to start going through them to select our contributors. Unfortunately, life just hasn't worked out the way we wanted it to, and the mod team no longer has the means to make this zine function as smoothly as we had planned. If we are able to eventually revive this project, we will likely reach out to those that applied to gauge if they are still interested.

Thank you all for your support and hard work, and once again we apologize for not having the current means to see this project through. The entire mod team hopes that someday we can come back to this zine, but until then, we are suspending operations indefinitely.

Much love,

- The MCYT Poetry Mod Team (TJ, Dee, Ash, and Ren)

[stevethepolarbear]

a two, five, one progression or jazz chords and why I can't find home -> c!crimeboys poem

a two, five, one progression

you did not think it would go this far. 

you give your brother your arms and you think:

“please protect me” 

your brother smiles and takes them, and he thinks: 

“please be the thing that kills me” 

you did not think it would go this far. 

you say: everything that is mine is yours 

he says: are you sure 

you nod, it should be a fact 

he looks away. you’ve given everything you have 

he looks back. you’ll always have more to give. 

you did not think it would go this far. 

a ravine, a gouge in the earth 

a scar, a gouge in your body 

covered up all the same 

you did not think it would go this far. 

two boys against the world 

five men fighting for freedom 

one gone, left behind

now, mocking: 

you did not think it would go this far. 

[mcytpoetry]

Applications Open For MCYT Poetry Zine

The MCYT Poetry Zine is now accepting applications! This zine will combine poetry of all styles with illustrations to complement the writing. We are looking for contributors from all subsections of MCYT - no niche is too small!

All applicants must read over the Applicant Information before submitting. Applications are open until May 7th, 11:59PM EST.

POET APPLICATIONS: click here (or copy paste this link: https://forms.gle/D1LryrP86RH99UeF8)

ARTIST APPLICATIONS: click here (or copy paste this link: https://forms.gle/6Gy1E9Mu9yjH36RP8)

Carrd | FAQ | Schedule | Team | Applicant Info

[mcytpoetry]

One week left to apply!

[charles-simmons]

A c!Disc duo poem I wrote based on the fic "Try to Forget, That Your Bones will Dismantle" by lychee_strawberry

Maybe the poem doesn't make that much sense if you didn't read the fic. Or maybe it does, idk

I'm such a sucker for disc duo <333

[antigo-nicks]

THE GREAT WOUND — a c!fundy piece (2/2) (1/2)

this is the other of my pieces from the dsmp poetry zine :) go check it out!