#psjuly

[just-4-thought]

          “it has been a beautiful fight"

I know the sound a bottle makes when it falls to the floor and I’ve seen the sun rise many times from behind closed doors.

empty beds and tangled sheets        – it’s beautiful, you know – the sunrise: pink clouds and navy trees (the colors are wrong) but it’s so damn beautiful when shadows erode and break away.

I can see it even from behind these walls – the moment everything changes          we start to win                  suddenly          we start to win for a while

and I can feel it the touch of a leaf blowing in the breeze 100 miles away – it’s beating – bum               bum          bum              bum a little heart on fire shining golden with the dawn – it’s blinding – pounding against the night

can you feel it? can you see it? we have fought  – even when we’ve lost – we have fought

we are winning now.

          “it has been a beautiful fight

          still           is.”               – Charles Bukowski

[paperdollwrites]

Blue

His feathers are the color of the ocean The blues and greens of the deep With ink-like spots splattered ‘round

His hair dances and waves Reflecting light on its surface Like that of the seawaters

His body is of a man But with wings and tail Of a bird-prey

His eyes are the blackest So dark, it’s as if it could consume Not only light, but a soul — my soul

And he did just that When he took me off into the clouds— Beyond the clouds

He stopped my breath My heartbeat, my thoughts He did consume my soul

He did just that When he looked at me And the corners of his lips curled up

He did just that When he leaned to me And his lips caressed mine

He did consume my soul And gave me his In crashing waves and electric shocks

- Kath L. | @paperdollwrites

[leftiswhatgodmademe]

Do not feed the poets, for they hunger for starvation. Let them be sustained on the ink alone. Until their skin becomes their final parchment and their bones become their last quill. Do not feed the poets,

Creativity and Technique, cradled within method and madness

[lzlabs]

Eroding Away

Heed the speed of my flow wary of the depth of life’s ocean inside, my streams narrow my tides hide the undertow of emotions where the standing called home now fall and crumble the earth cuts the density of life a wide swath alters geography I watch the hollow driftwood sit dead as any stone

[ohdeerlilypotter-blog]

i wrote you a letter and sent it out to sea to tell you a storm was coming a warning dark clouds were overhead my timing was never the best thing about me (i always missed the bus) and through a telescope i saw the glass bottle shattered on breaking waves and drowned my voice with yours shards floated on the water it was too late my words can't swim

i tried. i tried.

[irregularspace]

...

Thirty autumns after memory

in effigy I burned

Sojourned in the flame

an empty bottle, the message...

returned

[pomegranatepithos]

worn down

walk the white cliffs in may breathe like salt and brine,

time will speak like masts of ships anchored in depths—

a breadth of years, chained, spanning wars and rumours

humour me, please I am weathered

untether me

[logorrheic]

The fog was dense that day

Your eyes could not see that far

Yet

You moved ahead with concrete steps and tired flesh

The air biting Rabid against your skin.

  Wading through the stench of fears you held within,

  Your soles firm on the slippery, rocks

You’re home

But so are your fears, Creeping in from the corner of the street.

The fog wasn’t poison when it found you.

It just eroded

those bridges

around you.

-HF

A/N the fog was “self-doubt”, that felt very solid sometimes.