Wanderings

A blog for my poetry and stuff I stumble upon.

[whisperthatruns]

I killed a spider Not a murderous brown recluse Not even a black widow And if the truth were told this Was only a small Sort of papery spider Who should have run When I picked up the book But she didn’t And she scared me And I smashed her I don’t think I’m allowed To kill something Because I am Frightened

Nikki Giovanni, “Allowables” (via whisperthatruns)

[pperegrinepoetry]

Mudcake

And here they are

Airing their thirty-day Marriage

Ending before a Baby came

Rolling along in a Carriage they were to bear,

Before three Dogs shed their Hair

All over the Stairs, Hallway, Kitchen,

Living Room now barren

Of the Husband who once sat, scared

Of the Words that’d roll out of his Wife’s Mouth

When her Temper flared up,

Before I found myself there

Carrying a raggedy Square of Fabric

To wear into the Mud still caked on the Walls,

The Fridge, the Washer, the Dryer

To feign she cares little that he’s been gone

Almost five months.

[samiieus-deactivated20160825]

STOP KILLING US

[badass-bharat-deafmuslim-artista]

Queer, gay, lesbian, transgender and bisexual Muslims exist too. They battle homophobia, transphobia AND Islamophobia everyday. Please don’t erase them. (Photos not mine)

[smallquiethings]

At this time, please do not forget the queer Muslims out there who not only feel threatened every single day of their lives but now are being scrutinised and lambasted by the media and islamophobic hatemongers for the acts of an American fanatic with absolutely no link to them in the midst of a tragedy that is terrifying and deeply painful for them as well

[pperegrinepoetry]

“Abu Nuwas Once Wrote” [tw: death, violence]

“I die from love for him, perfect in every way,”

“I die from love for him,”

.أموت من الحب له

I die from Love.

.أموت من الحب

I die.

.أموت

And we die

With the Fire in New Orleans,

We die

With the Rifle in Orlando,

We die 

With Stones from Daesh.

.نموت

But we, too, die

With every ‘That’s so gay!’

‘Faggot!’

‘Fairy!’ 

‘Pussy!’ 

‘Pansy!’

‘Dyke!’

‘She-male!’

“Tranny!”

Between American Teeth,

American Lips festering

In the Remnants of Plymouth, Jamestown.

We die from the Hate

We’ve had to swallow down.

And we will die again

If we point to the Mosque

And not a hateful Man

Who opened Fire,

If we point to the Mosque

And not GS4

Who ignored Daniel Gilroy.

And we will die again

If we silence the Dead another Time,

Scratch their Identities away.

And we will die again

If we try to bury Hate 

Inside “them.”

But Love will not die.

[pperegrinepoetry]

Solitude

Meet me in the Heat

Of a Shower that leaves my Skin

Red as a heating Lamp

Around domestic Hands on my Hips.

Meet me in the Bed

I’ve begun to carve with Shapes

Ordered in crumpled Sheets

As willed by insistent Feet.

Meet me in the Field

Whose Perimeter claims a Seat

Starry in spite of the Street

Presenting Haste to the Legs.

Meet me in the Woods

Where the Birds develop their Wings

Safe within the Twigs of a Nest

My Fingers never tugged from my Hands.

Meet me, and we’ll take a Seat

Alone together.

[pperegrinepoetry]

Booze and sunken Eyes, Waiting in Line for a Shirt They're too drunk to grab.

[pperegrinepoetry]

I don’t drink, and I had to teach an Arabic class this morning, so I just made it involve dolphins extensively to entertain myself for my last class of the semester.

[wnq-writers]

I felt everything and you felt nothing at all.

Nicole M. (via wnq-writers)

[pperegrinepoetry]

Carbon Carvings

I haven’t self-harmed, and this is not about self-harming for me, but I understand if the content of this poem would trigger someone who has, so please be warned.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You ripped off the Bandage today

To a Crater baking in the Sun

Ever distant on this Day,

Carvings of Cities collapsing

From Vacancy, burning alone

In spite of the Neon Lights

Stirring them to a Dance at Night,

To fill the Starless Sky

Choking on the Carbon Dioxide

Of only your panicked Breath,

Your Fingers fighting each other

To not desire Others’ Hands,

Not aspire to Castles, Towers

Occupied, full with Two

As if his Presence will ever end

The Crater baking in the Sun,

The other Craters feeding

Off the Time you take to listen,

The Time you saved for Buildings

Crumbling within the Depression

Of your Skin about to sink,

As if a Presence will never tug

That Crater open again,

Will never make you fall.

[pperegrinepoetry]

You’re gonna say it today,

You’re gonna rip the Band-Aid

Until another Wound decays

In the very same Spot . . . 

But then you don’t want the Decay

To return, to repeat the Burn

You’ve felt for seven Months.

[pperegrinepoetry]

Son guirnalda de amor, cama de herido, Donde sin sueño, sueño tu presencia entre las ruinas de mi cuerpo hundido

Federico García Lorca

[pperegrinepoetry]

My Kingdom

I'll show what Skin I may, Write what my Fingers will And sway as my Feet intend, For this is my Body And I will move it As my own Property, A Kingdom no ignorant White Boy May claim as their Colony

[pperegrinepoetry]

Cuando el campo reverdece

Y los árboles florecen,

¿Vas a darme una corona

De gardenias dulzarronas?

 Cuando sale el sol arriba

Y se esconden las glicinas,

¿Vas a regalarme el mar

Para que pueda nadar?

[pperegrinepoetry]

The Essay

Lay your Fingers to Rest,

For they have Toiled today.

Lay your Chest to Bed,

For it’s written away

Any Breath of Air,

Written away any Spark or Flare

That would keep your Voice awake,

Keep you singing in this State.

[pperegrinepoetry]

The Back of my Neck: Fingers scratching, digging in. He passes me by.