Journal Your Journey

Just looking for a place to post my thoughts and writing. Feel free to submit your own work or open up a dialogue. #A.G.

[the-stranger-on-a-train]

Poetry Watching

Watch it when your heart hitches

Moments where it all matters

But only you see

The same word twice in a day

Images you can't escape

What kind of bird was that?

Writing is noticing

A memory is etched and imprinted

Not forgotten, forever felt

Fingers are clumsy, ink-and-grief-stained

Could never write the song of it

But I can hear it and hum along

I never noticed that angel before

But I see swords in holy hands

Swung from scales to level it all

Flowing dark curls and

Golden-brown swirls

The most beautiful poem never written

a.g.

[the-stranger-on-a-train]

Missed

Your heartbeat sounding squishy and whooshing batters breaking drums

Your existence and unexistence so intertwined in my mind I get dizzy, can't imagine you.

You are supposed to be limitless, hope, possibilities.

But not these.

Our futures hinged on blurry white lines and fuzzy black gaps

Read by cold corporate voices.

The knowing is churning gravel in my chest

But I can't know, I can't know.

[nessimaki-deactivated20141106]

[mumintroll]

u survive literally every single event in your life & still every time a new event happens you feel like this is the event that will kill you and that you will never move on from but actually you will continue to survive like you always have bc u have a 100% win rate of surviving events. btw

[the-stranger-on-a-train]

Alien

Paltry or just formless?

These petals dripping from kisses

Weighed with gold or nothingness.

Reveal the cessation of creases

As a pounding heart

Angles down toward escape.

Like many I coveted comfort

But was sprawled out timeless

Toward an itching pre-death

That reached back and held hunger.

The buds rot in senescence,

Blighted roses pricking poison;

How it turned out so wrong,

When you hit your unfound buoyancy.

Break me from intrusion

To send the moon down

But the bed is chained and locked.

There are senses fasted

Whose thoughts are in the walls

Stretched and folded over

And smeared on the chair.

Breath of volatile compounds

Only I can taste

Screaming sworn as true

Happens in a

silent

soft

dream.

a.g.

[the-stranger-on-a-train]

These hands held you

Now there's dirt under my nails

Crackling in my ears

Gritty when I chew them

Idleness to shifting feet

Creaking in the chair

Nothing is picked

But the worst things are chosen

Peer through my wisdom

Perceive my madness

Wait to feel...

...Wait...

...Naught but improvidence

State birds won't visit me

Too many angels

Purged feathers and

Glued to rafters

Auguring pity by some effigy

Get lost!

The only way to paradise

Is losing

a.g.

[the-stranger-on-a-train]

what was that?

a wisp of a smokey ghost

bunched up and swelling

puff out your chest to get noticed

but he'll blow right by you

who can stand to listen to those

dragged feet anyway?

drown you out with the tap

and hide in broken glasses

just find the skylight and go

maybe he'll see your shadow

[the-stranger-on-a-train]

the ground shakes

i reach out

to pluck crushed grass

and if i close my eyes

and pretend

and wish

it feels warm

sunlight prods me

with a roar

i smile

or just grit my teeth

some nights i need there to be a difference

but i forget my dreams in the morning

i read somewhere the tree tops are shy

and they won't touch their friends

to leave them room to grow

i always think of that when i watch them sway

while i'm pinned by you

a.g.

[the-stranger-on-a-train]

Staring at the black hole in my cup

I remember gentle brown with swirls of gold.

I burnt my mouth and everything was tasteless

But I remembered holding ice and following my blunted tongue.

You were the great hippie recycling stale but hallowed grounds.

a.g.

[the-stranger-on-a-train]

Visit Original Link

                                                                                                                                                   How the colors taste, smell, sound, and feel

Blue - is the taste of water after a sweaty endeavor, so enthralled in a task you were, you’d forgotten how humans crave. The liquid hits your lips and reminds you of thirst at the exact moment it satisfies it. You drink a little too fast and it spills on your cheeks. You wipe away the excess and take a breath, so deep even your muscles sigh. It is the goosebumps that prickle on your arms and neck. It is the exposed skin in winter. It’s the feel of your toes when stepping into a pool in summer.

Red - is the smell of dinner in the oven when you are a bit too hungry to wait for it to finish cooking. When you don’t want to know another minute without its taste. It is craving the warmth on your lips. Your body vibrates in anticipation. You grit your teeth, clench your muscles, even your mouth seems to salivate. It is the first waft of hot air from a freshly opened oven. It is distant screams that may belong to terror, or is it delight? It is a sting from an insect or a first kiss.

Yellow - is the feel of the sun on your skin on a breezy late-spring day. It’s the excitement of intermittent pops of open sky between the marching clouds. It’s the little smile you can’t help but feel escape the corners of your mouth when your hear the happiness on your best friend’s voice as they recount their day. It is the smell of sunscreen and campfire smoke. It is the laughter that hits deep in your stomach.

Green - a mix of yellow and blue - is the sound of the leaves lightly crashing into each other. It is the sound of a room full of people, not speaking, enthralled in their work - keyboards clicking rhythmically, pencils scratching against paper. It is walking down a familiar trail, finding fulfillment in the peaceful forward steps. It is every time we learn and grow. It’s 72 degrees underneath the shade of a thick and gnarled tree. The smoothness of a freshly fallen leaf and the stories between the crevices of the bark.

Purple - a mix of red and blue - is the taste of buttercream icing on top of a cupcake. It smells like the mixed fruit aroma of an artificially scented candle. It is the five minute dream between the snooze button and the second alarm - when you know you are asleep but will the last little bits of some nonsense story to play out. Purple is a hug or a pile of unkempt blankets in the first chilly days of fall. It is a purring cat on your lap when your ankles are a bit exposed. Purple is the last grasp of each day and the tender release of night. It is wild and soft and dreamlike.

Orange - a mix of yellow and red - is the feel of steam against your cheeks. It is all the chirping birds gossiping in early summer and the bugs squealing back, trying to win the right to speak. Orange is the moment your feet and arms grow tired, yet you set your jaw firmly in place and fill your muscles with grit. It is warm wax from a recently extinguished candle, it’s the crunch of dried leaves beneath your feet in the fall. It is loud and not quite passionate as red or excited as yellow. It is instead a subdued determination.

by just-4-thought

[the-stranger-on-a-train]

voice creaky from disuse-

we always spoke through letters anyways.

i sit at the table to touch you

crisp and smooth;

fingers glide over your surface

your smell is clean despite

the ink splatters blurring your precision.

once i unfolded you i could never unread the things written there.

but i traded you for train tickets.

a.g.

[just-4-thought]

Mornings made with misty mountains,

rounding bends in memory trails,

returning again, my feet find

the red pine needles, a soft padding for these strides --

different leaves,

same trees.

The mossy stones and logs

become a familiar bed

where my hands find yours once again

like magnolias in this water carved gorge.

Massive cliffs did bend to time

and so it seems did you and I.

As the ferns cling to the hillside,

the canopies rise.

The heat of day gives way to something more,

and your lips --

again

and your hands

again --

the same

yet grown,

the same

yet something more.

[the-stranger-on-a-train]

the wheels keep spinning

but the paper peels away thick and sticky

i don’t remember how it used to go but

sometimes i can get it to sound familiar

holes in your jeans were drilled into you

and i was ignored by bright screens

and chattering

-the day dies and me along with it-

crush me beneath your golden soles;

because everything touches

and nothing is apart from something

a.g.

[the-stranger-on-a-train]

how subtly you break me

relentless-

built up and raging

to obliterate

gently kissing,

lapping,

eating away;

swallowing up the earth then

fleeing

salty tears left in your wake

everything is clean but i’m still here

i can still see you wave.

A.G.

[the-stranger-on-a-train]

stone walls

keep out-

keep in.

white wolves guard the gate

with layered enameled frames

thin curtains stretch down

wrinkling and brutalized

flecked with salt

caress and crush,

i leave my grimy hand prints

no joint is loose enough

eat my way in

but the dye runs

i’m stained with lust now

i’ll sharpen my bones against the city

A.G.

[the-stranger-on-a-train]

My doors no longer open

Pounding feet don't echo in my belly

I decompose

for smoking teens

and amateur graffiti artists

I’ve been gutted

My pipes are dry and i reek of mold and

stale cushions

But sometimes

When she’s feeling nostalgic and

Inexpressible

She ripples through my stillness

A tender wisp that tells me who I was

Suspending my senescence;

She swells until she fills my skin

And transudes my walls to shake the world.

A.G.

[medusapoetry]

bee stings

He left bee stings on my cheek and—

They still burn years later—

It’s become a disgusting,

Bulging mass,

A purple, distorted image—

And my eyes are swollen shut,

So I’ve forgotten

What my face used to look like—

But the bee stings on my thighs

Remind me of why it changed.

[icy selene woods] 

© 2017