#pardypoet

[ashberryyyyy]

its haunting you know

my face frozen in time

is this how I looked to you?

in the cold November nights

when we sat by the basketball ground

and you asked me

what do you think about Ash?

I couldn’t tell you

about the fleeting thoughts

of ephemeral grief and love

that were larger than my hands

larger than the love I had for you

what do you think about Ash?

my friend asks while she freezes me in time

my skin warms of the sun that faces us

my eyes wander to the air that’s charged with us

my thoughts run all over the words of the song that’s playing for us

its haunting, this love this temporary permanence of life and moments

the soft passing of time

the harshness of memories

its all caught up within me

and i’m frozen in time, all over again.

[literatureandpoetry]

i forget sometimes how much it hurts

to put your trust in someone and have it thrown back in your face

I guess I’ll never learn how to be cautious 

- a.s

[itsdevra]

Rattlesnake Sermon

“Resisted, Satan retreats, and, with the venom of Milton’s archangel, poisons and lacerates himself…”

-- Josiah B. Grinnell

On Sunday morning, when the town had gathered under the warped roof -- green lumber boards, sawed by a horse-powered mill, housing vagrants and flour sacks, the slats bent and bowed like the round carapace of a prairie schooner -- of the city’s tavern (also its hospital, and hotel, and blacksmith, and stable: false shelter from autumn rain), Josiah discovered a rattlesnake coiled in the corner; prodding it with a stick, he found that it was blind, striking wildly, its buzzing tail clashing with the tintinnabulation of the church bells; boot heels struck the floor like cast iron slag and the small, yellow snake -- rigid as formica, on tenterhooks -- bit itself, the wounds quickly swelling, rising like bread dough in a wooden bowl; the people dispatched it and left its body, still waving, perhaps until after sundown, in the dusty street, the August heat.

© 2017–2019 DEVRA

[hownottopoetry]

I’m ready

For the greatest

Coming of age story

Of all time

.

I want the drama

I request adventure

I require romance

I need it all

.

I don’t understand

Why I’m stuck

In my lonely town

When the world exists

.

~AL

[writesoftlytay]

I do write about you.

Before,  the tone was always vibrant,  violently bright,  anger in every syllable,  disappointment in every breath. 

I wrote to work my way through the swamp of grief  I inherited from you. 

Each poem was a weed killer,  water purifier, hedge clipper.  I cleaned myself up,  Tried to make myself into  The daughter you deserve. 

I cleaned myself of expectations,  uprooted any ideas I had of how families should be,  and I planted the seeds I was given. 

Now,  the tone is always vibrant,  violently bright,  love in every syllable,  acceptance in every breath. 

[euesworld]

"When I think about you.. I think about skin kissing skin, lips dripping with sin. Fingers caress, how they do.. this bliss begins, and we linger, skirting as friends. A little touch of madness, insanity at it's finest.. a tickle, touch, brush, you can't fathom my kindness, you light up my night sky, the way that the sun does. Inside me, it would be a lie, if I said I didn't like you.. so kindly that you find glee, in the smiles that I give so you don't feel blue. There's a lot of days ahead, you in bed with bedhead, and reading my words.. that's what I said, serious as the dead, blood red like your favorite colors. I just wanted you to know, I'm a fool for your love.. hopeless romantic to the core, fiending for your hugs.. but ummm.. I need you even more, and ummm.. I believe you see me for, for what? A dude who could love you like the angels above.. ain't nothing stranger and better than true love. Yeah, true love.."

Open to possibilities - A poem by Eue

[heartofmuse]

And I'm yours not because you want me to be but because I am. Because I decide to be yours with every kiss you give me, with every caress you ignite me with , with every word of love that you deposit in my chest.

e.v.e. (Yours)

[whisperinglillies]

Towards the end my sister told me that she was so tired of being a person. Turn me into a painting or a poem, she said, her last words to me. I’m no artist, but sister, each word of this poem smells like the sound of your name. There are no goodbyes for us my dear Nova. Wherever you are, we will always be KoraandNova NovaandKora. -//Rupali Jeganathan • Epilogue // Hi, guys! I am back from a long hiatus. How have you guys been?

@whisperinglillies