Portside Poetry

Greetings!! Porty | Any pronouns | Askbox is open!

[portside-poetry]

Astronaut

Where once no man had gone before,

You’re drifting, floating, lost in space.

My love shall reach you never more,

Unless you show your pretty face.

The sky is filled with blackened smoke,

Though I don’t care to see the stars.

Greenhouse gases make me choke,

I’d rather that than seeing Mars.

I never really understood,

How I give but never gain.

You loved more than I ever could,

Now blackholes swirl inside my brain.

[portside-poetry]

You ask me if I have a home,

And even though I answer no,

It’s not for me that you should fear,

For you are all that’s home my dear,

Warmth lives in your lonely eyes,

And coldness in your sly disguise,

All that you say is bittersweet,

A sunset on an empty street,

A pavement square is but a stage,

My empty promise turns to rage,

You won’t pick up the telephone,

How could you leave me all alone?,

[portside-poetry]

Gamble Avenue

You've wagered my heart,

But when you lose the bet,

When my arteries crumble,

Will they add to the set?

Of other bloodpumpers,

Beat till they're blue,

No love left for another,

Least of all you.

[portside-poetry]

Gingerbread Man

Did you hear of Mr. Gingerbread,

With buttons made from aniseed,

Whose solemn tale tells us the fate,

Of those possessed by their own greed.

Though in the oven he was born,

He spent his life running away,

From those who gave him sentience,

To hungry creatures from the hay

As he jumped into the fox's mouth,

His icing smile began to melt,

Twisting into a sour frown,

To show the pain he really felt.

So if you see a pile of crumbs,

Floating slowly down the stream,

Listen for Mr. Gingerbread,

And hear the echo of his scream...

[mychildren]

Every midwit literary fiction novel from the past 5 years has been called something like The Little Things We Do To Ourselves or Back Then I Didn’t Think So Clearly or I Have Been Trying To Venmo You.

[judygemstone]

[portside-poetry]

"Blorbo from the Sky"

There once lived a peaceful horse,

Who one day down to plinko fell,

From the doors of eeby deeby,

to the depths of superhell.

He was quite the scrimblo bimblo,

But some believed they saw him fly,

And soon that horse became their leader,

Their "blorbo from the sky"

So if you ever see glup shitto,

Or a scrungly little chap,

Ask them to tell you the story,

Of the horse plinko mishap.

[weirdbees]

SCP: Tumblr dni that is always an unnervingly specific description of whoever is reading it

[spookyskeltals]

[solaredarisen]

[marowreck-archive]

bingo!

[dalashas]

Check off how many times over you cannot interact, mine is 7

[weirdbees]

As the OP who has seen every single tag since I posted this almost a year ago I’m going to confidently say it’s 11

[portside-poetry]

Corylus

Your eyes are either green or brown,

Depending on the sun.

They shine and shimmer in the light,

Until the day is done.

They aren't like the violent oceans,

Who bring storm clouds to their knees,

More like branches softly swaying,

That caress the gentle breeze.

Neither loud or quite soft spoken,

Not the one to start a fight,

Like a flower in the sun,

No one to see you wilt at night.

[portside-poetry]

Ravine

I look down the ravine,

With no fear of falling,

The darkness and stones,

All seem to be calling.

Lava in a crevice,

Like blood in my veins,

I rode here on horseback,

But I don’t need reigns.

I jump past the monsters,

The ores in the wall,

Bucket in hand,

I manage to fall.

A splash of cool water,

As I land on dull stone,

In a game full of squares,

I’m never alone.

[portside-poetry]

Haunted House

I rock my baby deathly still,

With a lullaby on a sleepless night. The tape will roll just like their heads,

The ending scene will turn to white.

The kettle boils while you're asleep,

The floorboards creak when no one's home.

You each pretend to count your sheep,

Matched with a silent metronome. The zipper gets stuck halfway up,

Though nothing here is out of place.

You fall and tumble to the ground,

Though somehow manage it with grace.

If none of this was ever real

Why does it matter anyway? Should I act upon revenge, When you're already someone's prey?

[portside-poetry]

All the King's horses,

And all the King's men,

Couldn't put me together,

All over again.

They left me in pieces,

Covered in dust,

My fine metal fingers,

Turning to rust.

But I still tie my laces,

Still wash my hair,

Say things that don't matter,

And trip over stairs.

I scrawl things on paper,

Leave shoes on the floor,

Stare at the mirror,

Bump into the door.

Though my severed body,

Has been left behind,

Each fissured piece,

Is one of a kind.

[portside-poetry]

Dunce

I'm sick of being the smart kid,

Criticized and tired,

I'm sick of being broken,

Beaten to the wire,

I shouldn't be made fun of,

For trying to raise the bar,

Or just lacking natural talent,

Being a stone and not a star,

So let me sing just out of tune,

I know that I am wrong,

Why bother to disagree?

Just sing a different song.

[portside-poetry]

Kayak

I saw a man capsize,

Down on the beach,

The kayak flipped over,

Air just out of reach.

He'd tried many times,

To push through the tide,

But he gave up, jumped in,

Took his boat for a ride.

And though he upended,

I watched him arise,

From the blue of the ocean,

To the blue of the skies.

[portside-poetry]

Wake up babe, new alignment chart just dropped...

[portside-poetry]

Boredom

Ten empty cups,

Some sourdough bread,

The swirling of thoughts that infect my head.

Whiteboard reminders I'm taking to heart,

Symbols optometrists put on their chart,

Containers of beads,

But no more plain string,

The crack of my vocals as I try to sing,

One knitting needle,

I gave up on crochet,

The blinding new lamp I got yesterday.

My ten favourite books,

A notepad or two,

I sit at my desk,

With nothing to do.

[portside-poetry]

Flying South

You fly like a songbird,

But can't even sing.

And how can you soar,

With only one wing?

Your ash coloured feathers,

Now mangled and grey.

Whose caricature,

Are you meant to portray?

The flap of your wings,

A sorrowful climb.

And when he looks back,

You've run out of time.

He'll whisper your name,

To this curse he is bound.

A world of regret,

As you sink to the ground.

[kurtsvonneslut]

this is a checkpoint, please stop and collect your factory assigned gender, thanks!

[gnars-house]

oof

[hotvampireadjacent]