Poetry Haven @poetry-haven - Tumblr Blog

icon-brown-deactivated20211125

Her salt on the tip of my tongue- an ocean of her motion sways forever in my mind She is the moon and I am the tide pushing me and pulling me clawing me and pulling her hair Resolution is an illusion because I’ll never get a fill of her she is still an ocean and my salty tears are still a pond

⛬IconBrown - The Illusionist’s Sea (via iconbrown)

wnq-writers

Your love is like the rain in a drought. Long awaited and wondering if I’ll survive until the next rainfall. But you come unexpectedly yet so welcome. Consuming all of me so much that I don’t realize I could be drowning

WritingsbyAN (via wnq-writers)

candleweather-deactivated201609

Visitor parking, everyone here is dying, I never found you.

wnq-writers

You can’t always be somebody’s forever.

avecques, Six Word Story (via wnq-writers)

wnq-writers

‘She smokes a lot.’ He sighed pushing his hair back in frustration.‘I don’t know if it stops her from thinking too much or if it’s to fill the emptiness he left behind.’

avecques, About her (via wnq-writers)

sarahmariepardy-deactivated2018

Luxury

A satin dye Poured down our ragged throats Coloring our insides purple And our minds yellow Where our brawn and courage once resided

Broken backs So carefully snapped With one too many down feathers placed upon it

Flames and chaos Will reflect as but a glint in a diamond And marble

As our rich whispers Drown out Truth (Written and submitted by @wind-some-light)

radiantquotes

beggerprince72

Snowflakes Beautiful crystallized Snowflakes Glow silver in moon Unique Special Footprints in snow Marring perfection Cold indifference Reach to save Melt in hand Kneel in snow Tear burns Freezes on skin Realization Footprints mine

Thad Powell, Ode to a Roadkill Poet (via beggerprince72)

evergreenwords

Even now, as we drive beside the highway I try to find art in the edges.

Now I look for poetry.

I cling to it like a life raft in hopes I won’t drown.

Under the weight of my sorrow and regret.

But responsibility and realistic expectations aren’t beautiful.

I can’t describe those things like I can describe the curvature of your jaw.

I can’t write about taxes and student debt.

But I can write about the whispers of sadness behind your eyes that I try to kiss away.

How can I grow up when there is no poetry in the people we will become?

- s.z (You Used To Tell Me Not To Call You Baby)

ap-apt

When the crematorium whistle cried out, and the sound pelted tree leaves, the swimmers would dive below the surface, touching the bottom of the clear, soundless world.

–from “Swimming Pool” by Domenic Scopa

New poetry today at apt!

wnq-writers

Once one’s soul has taken the leap into an abyss of romance, a disease spreads throughout and engulfs the spirit’s entirety. The flames that rage within the heart after such an event are impenetrable. Any attempt to wash away the fire would be done in vain, for once one has acquired such an ailment, it lasts forever.

shimmeringmoments, the book I’m afraid to finish (via wnq-writers)

nehawriter16

Writer Girl Problems.

The last place I expect to run into you is in an airport lounge. But I guess you’re a traveller and I am always running away from things. So this is how we meet. As if my swollen eyes and sky high heels aren’t inappropriate enough, you ask me to lunch just to fuck me up. Italian food and flirting. I know you will go home and look for the poem of this even though you must have grown tired of reading them. Sometimes it is exhausting to be this transparent on paper and this sealed in person. I wish I could articulately scream all the things I mean in my poems as gracefully as my writing. I wish people weren’t always wondering if this new piece is about them. This is not a game, alright? This is my life. You are not a writing prompt. Maybe I actually loved you. Maybe there was more to us than just the poems of it.

-Neha Chaudhary