my poetry and other rambling thoughts @poetryandthingss - Tumblr Blog

jennifer cantwell, 2011

“the recording is of a blackbird in my garden in the north of scotland. the idea of the piece is that it's a letter home from a migrated bird, telling the family of its new life and making the connection between the migrant and the homeland.” - jennifer cantwell

bloodstainedgauntlet

my knight you have to live you have to get up you have to put your hand over your wound and hold it there. you have to keep walking and walking and walking because you cannot lay down yet, it’s not time. wipe the blood off your breastplate and look up into the sun. lean on your sword if you need to. lift one foot after another. get up. get up. this would be a pitiful grave.

sophsknight

this would be a pitiful grave.

two-bees-poetry

twenty years across the sea

On the idea of Orpheus and Eurydice being one person, and being a metaphor for Gender….

Only one of us can walk into the light, my love. On soft feet, we danced our way into the darkness - never once blaming the poison for our fate. We didn’t know things could be better, my love

But having won the mercy of a second chance Now I lead us to better days You are an echo in my head, darling, a ghost I cannot abandon As a separate self, I cannot help but love you Even if I cannot be you I know, now, as the first rays of dawn brush across my face Our face, though changed. That my next step forward will erase you Sending you back into the depths where I cannot follow. I mourn you, my love, in my heart. Goodbye, darling ghost of me

#poets on tumblr #poetry #gender thoughts #original poetry

inkskinned

you're not quite an emergency, is the thing. you're just having a bad spell. so what if you can't ever really catch your breath. can't ever really feel at ease. a buzzing, terrible feeling.

but emergencies are loud, and passionate, and hit the floor. you are not a lion or a hurricane, you just live in a pretty okay apartment and your back hurts. you wake up and drag yourself out of bed and banish what if i was dead thoughts like cobwebs. you pick out your clothes and try to stay active. you apply for jobs on the internet.

the anxiety is a wave, and the depression is a spiral. the other stuff keeps things "colorful." you mitigate your symptoms and take your meds when you have them and you try to hang out with friends. you go home and your head is full of riverwater. no matter how much you sleep, you still stay tired. you journal and practice gratitude and build from the bottom upwards. and still, the haunting.

you're not a 911 call or a shriek. you're just staring up at the ceiling and feeling the house settle into your bones. you feel you are playacting as a wolf when you're only a sheep. not quite dry and not quite drowning.

over and over, you slog through the creek.

There is something in my heart that always wants my poetry to be sharp

I don't know how to write anything else

But is that really true? Or am I so used to hiding behind bared teeth that I cannot find the words for the softer things I hold?

I always want to write what aches, what burns. I want to write so that others feel my hurt, translate it into something bordering on universal

Why do I not want to share my joys, my peace?

But how, how do I share the things that feel like sunlight? How do I share something so constant, so fleeting?

#Thoughts #not quite poetry #warm up? lol

metamorphesque

it is winter everywhere inside you

Claude Monet, Jennifer Chang, Sara Lefsyk, Joseph Fasano, Kaveh Akbar, Mahmoud Darwish

nosebleedclub

Has this year started with honey or with blood?

poetryandthingss

Truthfully, I wanted to start this year with blood.

But when I bit down,

He flinched, pulled away,

(I may have moved too quickly)

I will not sharpen my teeth on the unwilling,

So I turn back to those who feed me honey

Who gentle me

Am I growing anemic?

Does it matter?

poetryandthingss

I said that I wanted to start this year with blood With something visceral and needing (I was aching, hungry in a way I could not ease)

And yet, this year has been remarkably sweet, despite its pangs. I have struggled, I have lost But I have been fed, again and again, with Honey and Love and Pride and Strength

And none who fed me have bled

I think, perhaps, he was a scab I couldn’t help but itch A healing wound that I thought was done, but there it was, opened again. I think I bled, this year. I think I bled for him, and he didn’t see it. It didn’t matter to him, wasn’t what he wanted.

That’s fair. I’m not what he wanted, I never was

But I think I learned that he wasn’t either. I’m not scared I’ll starve anymore.

#reflecting on my year #and my choices #and the people that have come and gone

Winter Poem 1

It is soft, and quiet, and late There is snow falling in a steady pace that started early today There is warmth beside me, and soft snores Tonight it is the cat but tomorrow It will be you, my love, keeping out the winter chill

It is soft, and quiet, and late And I watch the snow fall and it should lull me to sleep But my cat is dreaming, and twitching, and I love him so And you are not here to remind me to rest

It is soft, and quiet, and late And there is peace in this that I so rarely feel And I can’t help but savor the moment a little longer

#original poetry #Winter #I haven't written anything in so so SO long #oh my lord i've missed having any words at all #poetry

taohun

who’s up thinking about after the threesome they both take you home by sue hyon bae i’m thinking about after the threesome they both take you home by sue hyon bae

taohun

normal time. im having it

kutyozh

[text ID:

After the Threesome, They Both Take You Home Sue Hyon Bae

even though it’s so very late and they have to report to their jobs in a few hours, they both get in the car, one driving, one shotgun, you in the back like a child needing a drive to settle into sleep, even though one could drive and the other sleep, because they can’t sleep without each other, they’d rather drive you across the city rather than be apart for half an hour, the office buildings lit pointlessly beautiful for nobody expect you to admire their reflections in the water, the lovers too busy talking about tha colleague they don’t like, tomorrow’s dinner plans, how once they bought peaches on a road trip and ate and ate until they could taste it in each other’s poers, they get out of the car together to kiss you goodnight, you who have perfected the ghost goodbye, exiting gatherings noiselessly, leaving only a dahlia-scented perfume, your ribcage compressing to slide through doors ajar and untouched, yesterday you were a flash of white in a pigeon’s blinking eye, in the day few hours old you stand solid and full of other people’s love for each other spilling over, warm leftovers.

/end ID]