#poetstribe

[leonieanderson]

We are alive. And life calls us to be tender, more forgiving. More than anything else I want you to feel loved. To witness the string of light spilling over grasslands. To touch your own flesh as a kind of holy thing.

Excerpted from ‘Becoming’ by Leonie Anderson

After Molly McCully Brown ‘ Places I’ve taken my body’

[ginadope]

Sweet summer and its nighttime Their soul too would whisper Of a radiant wish The world's core between us What I knew then To be the celestial Falling Descending from whatever grace was left

[abrighterspark]

emotions make more sense

tumbled on the page...

fear is less intense

when the pen believes you brave

[euesworld]

"The fire in your smile almost burns me up with desire as these spires of me sire more fire.."

More and more fire blazing me to the floor with desire - eUë

[millen-poetry]

| the moon |

She is always like the moon,

Sometimes, I get to see all of her,

Other times, part of her;

And on the darkest of days,

None of her at all.

@millen-poetry

Artwork Cred; Pinterest

[sarvamentu]

stairwall

on the wall by the stairs we hung our first photo 't was a midsummer dream we covered our necks in ethereal kisses, promising we'd never leave

yet here we are at the bottom of the stairs hanging that last picture of us holding hands entering our final midnight  

~ L.B. | 22 sept. 2022 | #FromOneLine 227

[makemepoetry]

we go to stores that smell like wax crayons and it's really difficult to choose your favourite childhood memory when you are still kids that walk hand in hand, and then there's the song! the song we once made ours, the words we know as well as we know each other, it really sounds like a rom-com now

and i tune in to the tales

and your lips move, but i don't think i am listening to you, right now, i am only hearing the voice that sits like coal in my body and has me burning all over,

that lacquered, smooth voice that's music to my ears, but your voice gets softer and softer with every word and it feels like we are sharing a secret while we are still in a crowd

and i tune in to the tales

i run through my cupboards to bring some order in my day, and there i find nostalgia waiting for me, pictures of you and me, when knowing each other's beloved scoops and giving each other heart shaped cards was second nature

and i tune in to the tales as one does at such a time,

tales that have bitter endings, but memories of mirth.

~shaksi. //tales//

[putah-creek]

“We’re not looking for ‘I’ poems.” Outside the sky is the color of an old dime, and it is rather cool for May in California. Doves land on my patio and eat the bird seed that I left there for them. Every poem is an ‘I’ poem. Every last one of them.

-james lee jobe