Good Poetry

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I take walks. 🌞

[this-immaculate-heart-deactivat]

Fig season was short

but my father would always

bring my mother

some to savor,

eating quietly together

after we were in bed.

I have been afraid for

a long time and I am ready

to be something else.

I used to think a name

was just a sound and love

was a verb—an offering made

until there was nothing

left to give—but you

feel like a prayer

and love is the faith that

the table will be filled

with figs next year.

[goodpoetryblog]

“I have been afraid for a long time and I am ready to be something else.”

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I had a dream about you last night.

We’re all still 11, 12 in my mind.

My dog hasn’t died yet; nothing ever ends.

Not the height of swing sets or the way I love

you, friend.

And the world is so much bigger and so much

smaller than I am.

Because before I was a woman, I was a girl

who feared no place and no man.

I had a dream about you last night.

I think it was a nightmare.

My fears have grown taller, and so have I.

I cannot resemble the shadow-shape of who I

was before. I would rather cast the dice and

die, cross my achy arteries like my fingers

behind my back and snap.

Ha! As if my pale glare in the mirror alone could

make you miss be back.

I wait to get that tattoo until after I turn 25, just

as you advised.

I’m fine.

I’m fine.

I’m fine.

Yet I loved you to the moon and back. I would

have reached even farther had you asked.

Our mingled laughs—do you still hear them?

I can.

— B., “J.”

[4lornly]

I want to be okay with wanting without ever needing to have. The enlightenment of the deep thinker, but the lightness of an empty head. I want to haunt my own house until it becomes someone else's and I want to keep haunting it until it's mine again. I want to sit in sunshine while I listen to the rain.

--the Thursday of impossible desires // 4lornly

[goodpoetryblog]

“I want to haunt my own house until it becomes someone else's and I want to keep haunting it until it's mine again.”

[intoguilt]

a poem i wrote a couple years back

[dandelion-fluff-and-stuff-deact]

Despairless

I almost give in to bitterness today, boo hoo, life’s not fair, why do I bother, etc. The mindscape that yields nothing but self pity and frustration.  I watch a bumble bee pollinate a yellow bloom, feel the intensifying sun pink my skin, leave the bedroom window open to listen to the echoes of skateboarders and wild parrots.  There is enough life to keep living, I possess no despair.

[goodpoetryblog]

“I watch

a bumble bee pollinate a

yellow bloom, feel the intensifying

sun pink my skin, leave the

bedroom window open to

listen to the echoes of skateboarders

and wild parrots.  There is enough

life to keep living,”

[cloudstar]

[goodpoetryblog]

“Laying in the morning haze, I whisper to

myself the same thing I’d been telling myself

since I was a child:

Harden your heart.

Harden your heart.

Harden your heart.”

[sumloonpoetry]

Whirlpool

Rain clouds keep falling,

Aimed at my head—so I look for escape,

But every road seems more like a maze,

And my heart keeps pausing—

Since disaster strikes everyday,

I used to have courage in spades,

Now it's all just stalling...

Can't find cover—when they fall it's like bricks,

I need some plan of attack...

Tired of playing defense and watching my back,

Every time I find footing there's another kick,

So I'm flat on my face and off of the track,

Can't ever relax—it all seems too exact...

To really call it a 'trick'.

End up circling—call it a spiral,

Like I'm funneling drains,

Can't catch my breath—there's always a wave,

If I wash ashore I'm ignoring any revival,

Prayed for peace so long I forgot my own pace,

Waterlogged: heart's heavier than my brain,

Try to grow jaded but the natures are tidal...

So how should I behave?

[goodpoetryblog]

“Prayed for peace so long I forgot my own

pace,

Waterlogged: heart's heavier than my brain,”

[carolynvandyne]

Tangerine

What is better than our bubblegum affairs,

than the reflection of sun on each of your tiny hairs?

What is better than our strawberry summers,

booming with cherry-pop laughter,

than our blueberry midnights in winter?

Your tangerine smile that follows shortly afterwards.

[goodpoetryblog]

“What is better than our strawberry

summers,

booming with cherry-pop laughter,” 🍓🍒

[candiedspit]

moon in speed

[goodpoetryblog]

Poetry Title Ideas:

“Masks, Or What Makes A Hero Not A Villain”

“The Grocery List”

“Graduation Unicorn”

“Tenderfoot”

“Open When You Are Angry”

“Rats”

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No, I don’t want the ordinary human affections. I crave the wolfish love of gods.

— B.

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It's sick when

giving into the black hole feels better than

the bitterness and

It’s infuriating how

I could be the Sun and you would still look

at me like I’m Icarus.

— B., excerpt from “Solis (Not Solace)”

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The heart is a muscle—

It cannot be broken.

It can only be crushed.

— B., “The Heart Is A Muscle”

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Before it makes you stronger: what doesn’t kill you, makes you wish it did.

– B.

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Santa Clara, California. Levi Stadium. Mother’s

Day weekend in May.

A Taylor Swift “reputation” concert is about to

start down by the bay.

It’s 2018, and there’s a girl on the edge of

seventeen.

First time with floor seats; no more dirty

iPhone screen.

And when Taylor descends from the main

stage, no more than twenty feet away,

she stands there, singing, “I had the best day

with you today.”

That night the girl’s eyes shown brighter than

those stars visible in the Milky Way.

She forgot the bitter taste in her mouth and the

bloodiness of new beginnings.

She thinks of you, right there next to her—and

all that you had given and were still giving.

The girl realizes you haven’t just bestowed

upon her the gift of life—but one, too, of living.

So, yes, there’s a Taylor Swift concert about to

start down by the bay.

Santa Clara, California. Levi Stadium. Mother’s

Day weekend in May.

I had the best day with you that day.

— B., “The Best Day”

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…When people say, “Everything happens for a reason,” and it doesn’t. You have to make it happen for a reason.