#poem 16

[brittneymelvin]

[sorry-im-paranoid]

The irony of this poem is that I am writing

To tell you why I cannot write

The words in my head

Have refused to align themselves on paper or on a screen

This poem is a struggle

I am struggling to make the words flow

Like they should, like they won’t

This poem is a test

Given by my mind and for my mind

And I am failing

This poem is an apology

To my empty notebooks, to my few readers,

To myself

This poem is a promise 

That I will write again soon

But it already feels broken

This poem is getting easier

But it is also becoming long

So I must go

This poem is a promise

That I will be back.

[dragonfootprintsprose]

April 2023 Poem a Day Challenge #16

This poem just doesn’t make sense 

[thehermitpoet]

the red thread

dangled listlessly

loose around her wrist

it had been there for so long

that she’d forgotten

when it was tied

while she waited

she rubbed it

over her wrist bone

idly rolling the fuzz

a familiar softness

anchoring her

fluttering fears

[eutrophying]

I think it rained when I was asleep

My dreams are hazy

Just faces last night

A vague serenity

A fading sorrow

All I'm asking

In my newfound insomnia

Is

Whose face did I dream of?

The air smells of rain or dew

I wish I could drink it

Instead my words are stupid

And I'm wide awake

[dreadfu1beautiesblog]

The Rain (Poem #16)

Rain falls, Storm clouds break.

Did I even know what was expected to happen, In my faith. Tears fall to the earth, As the angels cry. Singing, "My oh my, Our Lord has arrived." Our one and only Savior. Oh Lord send me to hell, Before I reach the end. Cause as my mother would say, "Nothing has died, Unless it's reached the gates." With a whimper in her eyes, I laid to rest, What I've last known to hold. A single rose. What done is dead? Please Lord, Tell me, Where have I been? Locked away somewhere, I have not known. But I'm home in peace. Where on earth, My mother tucks me in, And sings me to sleep. And the rain patters on my window, Letting me know, What has laid to rest was gone before. Just the darkest part has just began. And the rain stops, Letting me know, I'm not dead. That I'm here, Until the end.

[pepperwiggle]

"Though we are parted, If on Mount Inaba's peak I should hear the sound Of the pine trees growing there, I'll come back again to you."

[stopsayingimdifferent-blog]

For a class one of the poems I had to read started with a line that directly translates as “I will fuck your asses and fuck your faces.”

This is from about 60 BC.