#aprilpoem

[3wickedandlovely3]

* April showers bring May flowers * #helloapril #aprilwelcome #aprilpoem #aprilflowers #spring #plants #pinkflowers #whiteflowers #branches #leaves #sunnyday #wickedandlovelystore

[missinginthoughtsarchive]

Bloody Saturday (Winnipeg General Strike)

It was the Winnipeg General Strike That made employees of all kind, Begin to share the same mind That as a ‘small fella’ They deserved more like the story of cinderella And their voices should not be left behind.

Employees felt a strike was their solution; Business men wouldn’t spare 85 more cents. All they ever wanted was a better wage And to work for hours that are not doubled their age, Then the government’s reaction was intense.

Over time people went back to work, Realizing they couldn’t survive on the street. You’d think the government accepted the victory with a smirk, But they actually felt they were in defeat They began to arrest leaders of the strike, These were people they did not like And established the Riot Act Which a matter of fact, Caused violence.

A flipped-over street car blazed As hot and big as the anger of the strikers, The Special Police believed they were crazed, And that they must end the strike soon Because they believed it was starting a revolution So they told them to end it at the 26th, of June.

By the way, It happened because of Inflation they say, Loss of employment meant no pay, And women were sent back home and told to stay. This was also called Bloody Saturday, And it won’t happen again, I pray.

[missinginthoughtsarchive]

Who Am I?

M-I-A Short name they say, but have a lot to pay, such as my respect and attention, love and devotion Not pay money, life is not just about that thats when I find my career, okay? I wish to be successful, yeah I know cliché.

I am Mia and, In all honesty, When people ask me, What I want to be, In the future? I just want to be happy.

God, family and friends a list of important things to me can go on, but I am Mia I am from the borough, scar Love to sing like Bruno, mars but I’m not a rapper, bars That concludes who I am, au revoir

[awkwardcarnivore]

Poetry Challenge Day 5

I am a man I am not a man I am human Old chairs and couches The dent in a cushion that sinks as you sit The scent you smell just as you walk in But only for an instant, it is so familiar to you Bedsprings that groan Sharp corners to tables that are unforgiving When you bump into them As you make your way to the bathroom In the dark Home A new apartment A kitchen with cabinets that need to be stocked Boxes with old possessions The need to unpack for things to seem familiar Home Dreams of sunlit shores, high peaks Overlooking the sea Song, light, fire  

[awkwardcarnivore]

Poetry Challenge Day 4

“Keep saying it” Keep saying it Go on Keep saying ours is the worst sin or Keep saying every sin is equal while you shout ‘faggot’ from your doorstep or your pulpit or the inside of your head or Keep saying what we do is sinful to begin with Saying it is the only defense you have The fortress of your worldview is built on The fragile foundation of repetition so KEEP SAYING IT Wound yourself As you have wounded us Keep saying it Until your mouth goes dry, your voice turns hoarse Keep saying it Until you have no more breath in your lungs Until you choke and splutter forcing the words out of your mouth Scream until you cut your lips Until your gums bleed You have made us bleed Keep saying it Write it until you have no more ink Then write it in our blood and when you Run out of that  Open your own veins onto the page Bleed for your words We have bled for our words Keep saying it Don’t pause Don’t stop even for a second To breathe in the air you’ve forced from our lungs Don’t take time to bandage your lacerations Keep saying it The moment you come up for air The moment you drink to soothe your aching throat The moment you pause to sop up the blood of your children Who were us It will be too late for you We will have convinced you That we are just as human As you are

[awkwardcarnivore]

Poetry Challenge Day 3

Writing a poem a day for national poetry month. Gonna post the ones for days 3-5 Now. Hopefully tomorrow I’ll write two and be all caught up!! “Maybe Someday” Maybe someday we’ll do that whole White picket fence, 2.5 kids, a dog, perfectly manicured lawn, palette swap the neighbors house next door whose Kids carpool with ours to soccer practice suburban life Thing But maybe we won’t Maybe someday we’ll live on the coast,  Seattle or Portland California Working our dream jobs and traveling far off places Maybe we won’t ever leave the midwest But maybe we won’t Maybe someday we’ll be comfortable in our heads Maybe we’ll both figure out What to do Who we are How to get around in this imperfect Unfortunate and awe-inspiring world Maybe someday my heart will stop leaping  into my mouth every time you kiss me Maybe you’ll be able to breathe  Maybe someday we’ll have explored  each others bodies so much and so thoroughly that We’ll lose interest in doing so But maybe we won’t Maybe someday we’ll be over Maybe we won’t last Maybe you’ll get mad Or I’ll get mad Maybe we’ll lose interest or die or something But maybe we won’t And it’s early to be saying this I know it is But I don’t care what someday looks like I just want to get there with you

[awkwardcarnivore]

Poetry Challenge Day 2

Ok well and this one should have been posted on the second and sorry for that also. K bye. It’s untitled as of yet. I may go back and give it one.  Never fell so hard so far so fast We Have handholds and footholds for climbing Up and into one another’s jittery, racing hearts Each crevice and canyon has scores and gouges and scars already there, we’re scrambling Excited, apprehensive, alive.  What can I do when every hand hold, every touch Each soft word whispered, each gentle reassurance from your lips Feels like a crosshair A line being drawn on my already screwed up heart saying ‘Cut here’ Expecting you to Rip me open, stitch me up Poison me, wound me, make me sob Dry my tears and comfort me, heal me, give me the antidote Make me clean up the blood and the sick And gently blame me for the mess Grin as you watch me believe it I won’t do that again And I know you aren’t him But I need some time  To let myself be close to you

[awkwardcarnivore]

Poetry Challenge Day 1

Ok so this poem should have been posted on the first but whatever. You’re getting it today. “Magic” Magic doesn’t exist The bullet that shot JFK followed a predictable trajectory Dorothy was dreaming the whole time Heaven and hell aren’t waiting for us when we die And magic doesn’t exist Burning sage in your apartment Won’t chase away negative energies or evil spirits Because there aren’t any Reading tarot cards or tea leaves or palms or stars  or anything at all Won’t predict the future or tell you the past  Or who to be or what to do or how to feel  Or anything objective Because magic doesn’t exist

Nothing you’ve ever done Or I’ve ever done (including writing this poem) has ever held any cosmic significance whatsoever There is no meaning to life Every war we’ve ever fought Every tear or drop of blood ever shed Every feeling ever felt Every word that’s ever been spoken Every utterance of hate or love, of joy or crushing sadness, Every triumph, Every defeat The butterflies that come with every first kiss The sighing familiarity that comes with every last Every painful memory every happy one Has never ever been magic They’ve only ever been human Our lives are grains of sand in an endless desert that no one will ever walk through or marvel at or care about Our significance is limited to ourselves And it is endless Magic and poetry and meaning are there Because we endlessly futilely create them We are poems and we are tragedies and we are Addicted to telling ourselves we are meaningful And we are meaningful And nothing we ever do will  Be important to anyone but ourselves And we are magic