#writerscrees

[purgatorypoetry]

I wanted to be seen until you saw me. Wanted to know your heart until it spoke. I wanted you to paint me until you did. I didn't recognize me until then. You ask me questions I don't like to answer. I don't like thinking about how those answers even exist. Questions about where and when and whom and how. Most especially how. There's more steps involved and they're always leading up. I climb higher and I grow weaker. Weakening king of the mountain. Invulnerable pauper of the below. Ignorance is all I know. This bliss of a slumbering kiss. Where are you and when? When will you be again? Were you ever at all?

[rhapsodyinblue80]

"I think every writer stands in the doorway of [her] prison." -Sherman Alexie

Poetry liberates our thinking,

a cellar door left slightly ajar

where light envelops

the subterranean home

we frequently cloister ourselves within.

We are guilty of claiming silence

in daily living through casual interactions

Imprisoning our true voices of heartache

into rusted life lessons

abandoned, unexamined.

Poetry takes us out of such privacy

suspending thoughts openly

amidst the needlework of constellations

where we expose thoughts bravely

as they guide our spirits toward

a meditative, mindful expression

that questions, refreshes, reflects

heightening our consciousness

to clasp hands with understanding

charting courses of new beginnings.

Rhapsodyinblue80//

starlit poets

9/5/19

Image: Chris Rivera

*For all the writers who courageously unburden their emotions and transform them into art

[rhapsodyinblue45]

I’m writing my heart’s letter to faith requesting the world design a fate beyond the length of an elegant song to an endless melody that strips you down layer by layer until the raw soaked beauty of your soul’s essence is laid bare.

I am dipping ink deep beneath tide pools to swirl in depths of infinite desire to the realms of a russet sunset streaking liquid fire across sensuous fingers and a violet silk ribbon of suspended stars hovering over the chasms of breasts leaking through, replenishing the dry riverbed of my longing.

I am rolling words into scrolls dipped in the hunger of encrusted dreams and sprinkled with prayers, ensnared in the scent of night jasmine and caught in the breath of a hummingbird’s wing.

I am sending this letter to you by way of my devotion over a seascape of wondrous possibility knowing nature will conspire to bring us happiness shaped in the hands of two worlds destined to be.

mustard seed// ©️Rhapsodyinblue45 6.29.18

Image: @veverybeautiful

[redvelvetconfetti]

Missing you comes in waves.

Most months I'm going on with my life perfectly fine. And the there are phases like this.

It happened so long ago and it lasted for such little time! It should have ceased to mean anything to me by now.

Clearly it hasn't.

I miss you.

I can't say I miss you all the time.

But when I do, I miss you immensely.

[abysmalabstract]

Sometimes you need to let go of your most important part to realize it was not inportant at all.

Aastha G

[venoms-ink]

The Blank Slate

It’s almost too late.

To get away from this place.

You won’t let me refuse this.

As if, you’re just for my amusement.

I play my cards.

As I dream for a restart.

Restart.

Restart.

Restart.

O-o-o-oh yeah.

But I’m not like the others.

Due to the fact that I’m not a bag of broken parts.

And the last thing I’ll ever allow.

Is let myself fall apart.

Part.

Part.

Part.

Never allow myself to fall apart.

Oh‑Oh-Oh-Oh

I may not know my name.

But I’m going to make it and break it any ways.

I don’t play the foolish games.

Because life is not all about.

Receiving fame.

More so pain.

I’m just diamond yet unseen in the sky.

I’ll hold tight.

And fight.

All night.

It’s not much of a life.

We are living.

But no one takes it’s given.

I’ll try to convince myself stay.

I’ll stay standing in the light.

If it can’t be found.

I’ll stand my ground.

Even when there are phantom, demon and monster all around.

Above, bellow, or on their own.

I’ll keep trying to get to my throne.

Even if I walk alone.

On my own.

[rhapsodyinblue45]

When I see and smell autumn, I itch with the inexplicable feeling of forgotten leaves, vibrant and splayed upon the dock where we lay our heads twisted together against the bowed boards confessing our failings and waiting for sunset to leak forgiveness from the distant shore into our palms pressed into the contours of these effervescent selves, breathless, intense, seething, praying these feelings would always hover as rippling snakes tickling the waterscape of time.

I was/I am/I will be ©️Rhapsodyinblue45 1/26/18

Photograph: Stephanie Sloane, “Sunset Dock - Pelican Lake, Wisconsin”

[rhapsodyinblue45]

ease your toe from the ledge of yesterday float upon the soft hunger of today it’s yours to taste waft each textured hour beneath your tongue indulge in our slumber- you sultry lover!

slip your sleek fingers through my slow morning let’s awaken late to coffee whisper smooth verse beneath warm sheets today is our playful you and I will walk the slender woods naked of dismissive leaves chase me downward to the creek I trip as you fall into me (of course) laughing in surrender to the simple slips of time [yours and mine]

we can’t grasp today hold it straight align it so it never steals our time but we can feel it in our eyes’ tenderness the ribbon of willowy words threaded through my soul a locket clasped fastening today in jeweled memory

solitary surrender //©️Rhapsodyinblue45 1/6/18

A poem written for this week’s abstract prompt, an homage to my romance with Saturday mornings.🌹

Images: @fancitaste, @mslovejoy, and Pinterest