[beguines]

Chloe Hollowell Hooks, "My Lover Thought He Resembled Plato (and He Did, if I Squinted)"

[anoxfordscribbler]

In which we take tea together; one cup left unfilled in front of an empty seat.

In which I trace patterns on skin; drawing the border of the indent you leave behind.

In which I turn toward you laughing; only to hear the same cadence echoing back.

In which I lean into your warmth; falling through the chill, through the space entirely. In which I learn how you love; in which I miss its sharpness, pressed to my throat.

[http-void]

we've met and it doesn't matter how we end, you're now a poem.

[tinydancerinyourhead]

you cradled a guitar

a finger grazed string

unwound at the core

routed to an offering 

felt good to be worthy

to reach out for more

but nothing came softly

everything an aching 

a mind numbing sore 

my head on the carpet 

staring up at the ceiling

melting into the floor 

tuning out a droning 

the sound of leaving

one foot out the door

no lips left for speaking

thought found me simply 

we’ve been here before

i’m running on empty  

[tinydancerinyourhead]

head dipped into

ice cold water, i

awake to life and

death and all ugly

things in between

like careful steps 

in the mush below 

our old apple tree 

sweet and rotten

every piece of me 

i am not helpless

only damned and

unyielding in love

[letmebethecure]

And when the day slows down

And I am finally alone

You are always there on my mind

[n0tnowjohn]

I saw, in gradual vision through my tears,

The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years,

Those of my own life, who by turns had flung

A shadow across me. Straightway I was 'ware,

So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move

Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair,

And a voice said in mastery, while I strove, ...

Guess now who holds thee?'—Death,' I said. But there,

The silver answer rang ... Not Death, but Love.'

_____

Sonnets from the Portuguese, ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING

[takingstockofwhatmattersmost]

your lips were rusted verdigris fills cracks like cement holding you together the last remnants of him hanging on for dear life

you bleed poetry onto pulp the color of the ink depending upon the day or maybe the time his memory slices and it’s so hard to let go

a heart wrapped around a light post pronounced dead on arrival this time you finally let go this time you won he couldn’t flat-line you

sometimes love hurts more than it helps sometimes it kills you in it’s process

you always wanted to be a painting…

[madmansmisc]

@queen-of-the-sewers

[robertjw4688]

"Neon Repentance"

I galloped away from the needle

that salivated for every eye.

Outrage culture is a mass addiction

that gnaws on the anxious pacifier

that culture has become.

I cannot help the world

if we both choose to savor the gun

as if it were acquiscent sugar

instead of indifferent steel

so I built a fence

between myself

and the park

where we would play

with logos,

wars,

and zombies.

I would rather douse my forehead

in the neon ashes

of what we could be

without the burden

of the funhouse mirrors

with which we have replaced our emotions.

[sedehaven]

My Sweet Sixteen

I know a million things -- the atomic

weight of mercury, how to diagram

sentences, the right club to use to

get out of the rough. I don't know

people (unless they live in a book.)

There's a picture of me weeping --

snot-faced, wracking sobs -- under

a pink glittery banner for my sweet

sixteen. A cake shaped like a

hamburger at my elbow, a cake

that would never be shared.

I know the different cuts of diamonds,

the proper tilt and temperature of a

milk bottle for a baby kitten, how to

find my way by the stars. I don't know

why people evaporate like raindrops

on a hot car, why need will scatter them

like marbles through open fingers.

[snipehuntpotatosack]

Never fall in love with a poet (2020)

Do not dear hearts fall in love with a poet

they will satirize you

metaphorize you

objectify and ignore you till you stick your head in the oven

drunkenly celebrate your drowning in the Adriatic

turn you into a cosmic symbol of divine grace after you die at 24

win fame for saying you fucked them up as their mum or dad

leave you their second-best bed

strand you without carfare in rats’ alley

howl hysterically that they’re with you in Rockland

cast you as the Baptist with his head on a plate

eat all the plums and think it’s funny

win a million dollars for describing how easily you break

accuse you of walking the hills in a long black veil

give you chills and fever, fever and chills

call you something absurd like Cynara

use you as the model for Barbara Frietchie

or say you’re Sans Merci

while they break your heart to clattering bits

and never ever give you credit for their best line

which they overheard you one night muttering

as you put out the cat.

[musingsoftwistedpoet]

I’m blowing clouds imagining somewhere anywhere else

The insanity in mundanity has turned me quite irrational

Holding onto glimpses of some other world

Fading where memory fails, déjà vu

what have you

Re-create me something brand new

in your image

Dilate me sweetly beguile me with your innocent eyes

Erstwhile those out there wreaking and seeking my exile

Won’t you take me, keep us safe

Anything worthwhile never came easy just take it slow

[tinydancerinyourhead]

the end of the world

i’m not afraid to die

just afraid of perpetuity

beyond the traffic lights

the imagery is sobering

a hardened yellow eye

billboard autonomy war

streets of signs to glorify

those worthy of the lord

it’s an argument inside

a dead dog under skin

all bark and gentle bite

i follow it down again

any movement in spite

harvested and secured

in a black hole appetite

it’s the end of the world

[velvetversesjournal]

Underwater reveries

Game of fate and destiny

Unheard whispers, lost soul

Spirals of blue, same old hues

Days of bliss

They are rare and few

Let me reach out

Reach out to you

Do you see me too?

In your fading dreams

In fleeting reveries

[havingapoemwithyou]

Hon or We have both traveled from the other side of some hill, one side of which we may wish we could forget by Anis Mojgani

[havingapoemwithyou]

You With the Crack Running Through You by Kim Addonizio