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bluestthingsonearth · 1 year

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a poem about stillness.

#poetry #my poetry #carrie #carrie white #poetry portal #poetic stories #13cupsofteareblog #my art

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juan-francisco-palencia · 6 months

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A flower on the road.

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pechaii · 5 months

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#something something a smothering love #something something bared teeth and tongues #poetry #prose #poem #poetry portal #spilled ink #spilled poetry #dead poets society #quotes #prose poetry #writeblrcafe #poetic prose #writerscreed #mine

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melloncolliegalaxies · 10 months

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i pick at memories like scabs on juvenile knees

and i bleed when i could be change,

but i am both the bird and the tarnished cage.

i think some people are steel-toe boots and some of them are sidewalks;

some people live and learn the names of humans, of streets just to run away,

and some of them are cities forged and born to always stay.

and if life is a tree, i have to say, some days i want to leave,

but i think my birthmark is a footprint, and i'm bona fide concrete.

— concrete // melancholy galaxies (t.e.t.)

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alexdelormepoetry · 2 months

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Sad is my favorite color

If it's you,

Your eyes

Ugly like mine.

Alex Delorme

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aliaspen · 26 days

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My heart is a house with a wooden floor

A picket fence and a red front door

A yard with a dog house, a hose and a shed

A garden, a walk way and one flower bed

Inside are trinkets, a kitchen, a bed

For Shame or Regret to rest weary heads

Guilt sets the table, Fear brews the tea

And Love haunts the corners where no one can see

But you'll sense her near if you listen close

For the boards they creak wheree'er she goes

'Cause my heart is a house with a wooden floor

A picket fence and a red front door

March 22, 2024

#spilled ink #poeticstories #writerscreed #poetry portal #words and other wonders #aliaspen #alia's pen

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evergreenwords · 4 months

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Glorious breath of the hare.

Discordant remnants of all that’s left.

Glory is to light as strength is to the flame.

Nothing will be left of us, and nothing shall remain.

Then the wheel shall forget to turn.

Strength then turns into that burn.

Our flaming light of a divine sun.

Once there was, and now there’s none.

But just like the wheel shall forget; the sun will one day go.

Discarding our possessions, as there’s nothing left to grow.

The lilies will bloom as the next passes on.

Immortalized forever in the rise of the dawn.

Discard all that weight and sever all ties.

To then arrive home in the bluest of skies..

-s.z (Dwelling In Divinity)

#poetsontumblr #poetry portal #writerscreed #twcpoetry #poets of tumblr #spilled ink poetry #written word #original poems #s.z #evergreen words #poets on tumblr #10-26-23

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death-born-aphrodite · 1 year

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It’s funny, I always thought we’d end up together. That we’d get a house and fill it with books we love and art on every wall. That it’d be our own little place. We can always say “in another life, universe, timeline it all works out” but we don’t know that. We just know the here and the now and maybe that’s enough. I need to let this idea go, I need to let you go. If it’s any consolation; you were my best idea.

- via (death-born-aphrodite)

#mine #my words #spilled ink #4bella #4trey #localloveletters #poets on tumblr #extrasad #loveserum #my writing #poem #deadwatered #my poem #writers on tumblr #poetry portal #highschoolhandjobs

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mortalghost · 9 months

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Worlds are born from moments shared with a lover's kiss and a stolen moment between bodies. Gifts of life are brought to time as the varied wishes of two souls unite to bring the world the magic that is you.

With passing seasons, and growing years, experience can teach us how to be strong, be merciful, be courageous, and push on. Throughout the years, while pushing aside the boundaries of calamities, you have walked all sides and shown the world your love, your fears, your hope, your words.

May you bring to these hallowed halls of innocence the gentle touch of your reverberating stories, as you have always done, for all the world to look to the skies and choose to live their dreams.

-H. Murcia 11:18 PM 7/12/2023

#twcpoetry #writerscreed #happy birthday #poetry portal #poeticstories #writeundertheinfluence #writtenconsiderations #writingthestorm #writeblrcafe #i love you #baby girl

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claphandsound · 6 months

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The generosity of mud puddles

They cover pebbles, erase chipmunk paw prints,

absorb acorns, and give untreed leaves

a place to float before sinking.

Puddles offer splash landing-pads

to any child in flight;

display their dreams

through windows into the world above:

limbs and last leaves of sumac and hickory,

a passing black-capped chickadee,

and – down in the far blue –

an enticing ghost or blouse of cloud.

Mud puddles are courageous, too,

when returning the unblinking, burning

gaze of the sky’s white eye.

#scottpoem #writerscreedchallenge #poets on tumblr #twcpoetry #inspiremuse #writtenconsiderations #poem #poetryportal #x-anthippe-x #writingthestorm #poetselixir #poetry portal #brokensoulsreborn

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fleurpoetic-blog · 11 months

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I can feel it when I sleep.

I feel it when I walk.

Gnawing at my heels.

Even in the most soothing of lights, I can't sit still.

Voids have a nagging, clawing and cavernous way,

of begging to be filled.

"Voids" © Fleur Poetic 2023

Image Credit- Daniel Jensen on Unsplash.com

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alejandropoeta · 11 months

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Pan-Erotic

Walking in the breeze,

As I stroll around

Through a silken eve,

The sun lays down

To rest…

As it spreads its charms,

Soothing warmth of gold,

Wrapping gentle arms

Around my fractured soul’s

Unrest…

Stirred, in healing ecstasy,

And head-to-toe I fall

In love with nature’s scene,

With joy, dancing in her ball

Undressed…

Mind and matter softly glide,

Shackles melt, types unbound,

In wholesome Pan-Erotic pride:

Male & female fused, just one,

So Blessed…

Alejandro Fabián

Pittsburgh, PA 05-25-2023

#poets on tumblr #original writing #writerscreed #poetry portal #spilled poetry

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persephoneshellhounds · 11 days

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Eve's apples rot in the kitchen, black peel sinks further into the flesh, tainting, leaving marks of her sin until it turns into fists — rotten to the core. A young girl slowly grows up to be like her mother, peeling apples in the kitchen but they have a bad habit of turning black and rotting in the refrigerator, untouched, uneaten. a young girl slowly grows up to be like a wife — rotten to the core, tied to her core nightmare's theme.

When I started writing this poem, I thought I was writing about love but Eve's lover takes a bite of rotten apples in the kitchen and it isn't love — a heart is just the shape of a little girl's fist in captivity, just a rotten apple that I finger and toss and squeeze inside my angry fists until it bursts into a swarm of flies plaguing the air my lover breathes, like Eve's first sin — the downfall of man, an apple, now rotten, now small enough next to my fists, small enough for my precisely-cut corruption — the anger in my chest caves in on itself to tailor-fit, snuggles like a baby bear, it almost looks as soft as my grazing fingers but i know better than to trust my hands, my age, my plastic mirror saying "You are her, you are her, you are her." I am my mother's ultraviolence daydream — I leave teeth marks on your neck, like Eve licking the poison on Lilith’s neck, taking a bite at her demise, microdosing a prayer addressed to the wrong god. I am my mother’s cackling shadow — motherhood's anti-thesis — a rotten apple for fuck's sake — rotten to its infested core it's tempting to slice and lick and eat it all up — my madness, my rage, my femininity and its ironic tendency to destroy like a man don't you think? (I am beyond god’s forgiveness)

— Fray Narte, "Eve Outside of Eden" | Written November 29, 1:54 am, Revised December 27, 2023, 12:44 PM

Photo screencapped from: Ovoce Stromů Rajských Jíme (1970) // Dir. Věra Chytilová

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things-never-spoken · 1 year

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The unspoken words and thoughts eat away at us until there is nothing left to dine on.

//things-never-spoken//

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alexdelormepoetry · 7 months

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There are languages inside of me of which I do not speak.

Alex Delorme

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wordsandmorewords · 8 months

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My honesty

I live alone this is not one of my most difficult choices with the wind, I have a voice

why would I be lonely? I am surrounded by the birds, and by the trees with them, I find my honesty

this is solitude I am away from the noise of the cities away from all anxiety

I am on my own and I can adhere to my responsibilities my first love is me

#poem #smittenbypoetry #writtenconsiderations #poetry portal #writerscreed #twc #twc poetry

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