#shortish poem
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Gloves (ver. 1)
"I've always been told that I had cold hands...
that they were sharp and painful to hold so nobody ever did. I started wearing gloves even on hot summer days where my hands were boiling underneath the soft wool that caged them because I thought that would make them warmer and easier to hold, I tried tell everyone on those days...
"Hey, look my hands aren't cold anymore"
but they never believed me.
For awhile I got used to the gloves, they were apart of me. But as I started meeting new people (people that didn't know I had cold hands) I started getting questions.
"Why are you always wearing gloves?"
"Do you ever take them off?"
Suddenly the gloves became itchy and uncomfortable (as they once were) like they were scratching my skin every second I had them on. I remembered that they weren't apart of me, that they were an accessory I forced on just because I was told that nobody would ever want to hold onto my hands if they stayed that sharp and that nobody ever did.
I asked one of the new people that I met (one of the people that didn't know I had cold hands)
"Would you care if I told you that I had cold hands, would you care to hold them even though nobody else ever has?"
...
"No why would I..?
It became clear to me in that moment that maybe my hands weren't as cold. as sharp. as painful as I was told and maybe they never really were and even if they were maybe it wasn't as big of a deal as it was deemed, maybe it was just the hands holding them that made them seem that way.
In that moment after that realisation
I slowly took off the gloves."
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Unusual Playground
She was playing among
Structures of all kinds
Tall grass and dead plants
Seemingly unbothered
It was a sombre place
But she didn’t mind
It was where she’s played
Where she’s always played
Years ago, she’s played here
Currently, this is a place where she still plays
Among the steadfast gray structures
Tall grass and dead plants
A sombre place
Juxtaposed against the livelier sight across the road
She never joined the other children
Parallel play, clearly
The other children where it was colorful
While she played where it was sombre
Children would avoid places
Like where she’s played
But she’s unbothered
She’s always played here
Long before the other playground even existed
#written 8/2/2022#implied trope#written on the fly#creepy kids#death#alternate spellings#shortish poem#free-verse#ambiguity
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Identity Crisis
my villanelle poem In the series A Longing For Humanity! These poems are part of a project for school (also I don’t really like some of my wording of this poem, but it gets the point across)
~~~~~~
Someone tell me, what am I?
Floating through life not knowing
Forever I will ask why
Life feels different through my eye
Friends all seem to be growing
Someone tell me, what am I?
I often wish I could fly
Far away, where life’s slowing
Forever I will ask why
Why must my strange mind defy
The norms of life, all-knowing
Someone tell me, what am I?
Identity makes me cry (I was running out of ideas)
My zest for like is going
Forever I will ask why
Always needing alibis
For burnouts I’m undergoing
Someone tell me, what am I?
Forever I will ask why
~~~~~~
This poem was just a mix of a lot of stuff going on in my head lol
Again, feedback is appreciated! I don’t really have many poems/writing, so I’ll probably just reblog other people’s stuff for now :3
#Identity crisis#A longing for humanity#poem#Villanelle#poetry#my poem#poems and poetry#Shortish poem#original poem
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the urge to use this free hour before i go to uni to do some replies is strong but i also need to shower and walk my dogs so responsibility strikes again !
#we're doing dramatic monologues from the 19th century today n i am obsessed w this one poem we're covering#called porphyrias lover ! and its so slay guys#its shortish too so i highly recommend reading it !#big plot twist big feminist literature vibes big ecocriticism vibes yummy#˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ooc.
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This isn't to pester /gen
I'm just making sure I didn't accidentally send it to the wrong profile cause it was the middle of the night ^^'
But I sent a shortish poem rendition of the first tenet for the Saint of Blood and Steel and can't remember if I clicked on the right account or not to send it /lh
Apologies! i did see it I just haven't gotten to it yet. There are... a lot of asks in my inbox right now.
#answering asks#anonymous#i think i've received about 15 asks in the last two days which is a lot for me#rns asks
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House Snake
after Mary Oliver
You need to be free to decide.
You need to have the choice to lie on your back,
unmoving and frozen and unashamed.
You do not need to deny yourself the humanity of
resenting what has hurt you.
You can withhold your mercy as they withheld theirs.
Somewhere the void has closed in on itself.
Somewhere the moon and the sudden storm of drought
have stilled the once-flowing water,
beneath the mountains and cityscapes,
the rice fields and the sand.
Somewhere the house snake, low in the dirt of its cage,
seeks to escape at every opportunity.
You may have been nobody, but because you are loved,
let the void no longer ground you to despair,
hiss to you like the house snake, subtle yet unnerving—
here, a private milestone of your liberation
from the confines of abandonment.
— jade a.
escapril day 3: a bit of advice
napowrimo day 3: Find a shortish poem that you like, and rewrite each line, replacing each word (or as many words as you can) with words that mean the opposite. — Wild Geese by Mary Oliver
#escapril#escapril 2023#napowrimo#napowrimo 2023#glopowrimo#glopowrimo 2023#poetry#poem#spilled ink#mine#mine: poem#mary oliver#mary oliver inspired#adventurerswrite
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actually now that i think about it if anyone has any recommendations of shortish poems for me to learn this year id appreciate it a lot
#im doing the learn a poem every month new year resolutions poll thing#for january i learned the natural numbers poem by tumblruser boycritter#and for February im doing the do not go gentle into that good night
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It is the middle of the night for me, so my brain (naturally) decided it wants to be vague/fake-deep on main /lh
So I wrote a shortish poem about the phrase "Would you still love me, if I was a worm?", cause why not?
Two lovers sit, in the tranquility of their silence, and the privacy of their company.
One of them, without notice, turns and asks: "Would you still love me, if I was a worm?"
"If I could no longer feel the intention behind the sensation of your touch.
If I could no longer serve you company or offer you connection in the ways you may crave.
If I simply layed, blissfully unaware of the world's news and problems, in my muddy home, unable to hold a single thought or care in my head.
If every time after it rained, I continued to climb onto the quickly drying sidewalk pavement, unable to see the correlation of my action, as you continue to place me back in the dirt.
If I could never recall the memories we made or the lessons we learned together.
If I became worthless in the eyes of the people around you.
If I could never communicate with you, if, just maybe, the feelings I held for you in my human days are still present inside.
If I could never uphold the promises or fulfill the dreams we had.
If I was just a worm.
Would you still love me then?"
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Day 3 of NaPoWriMo on the actual 3rd Day? Eff yeah. Today’s prompt was actually quite difficult, but I preservered— thanks to theasaurus dot com and my phone charger.
Prompt: Find a shortish poem you like and rewrite each line, replacing each word with the opposite meaning.
Original Poem: Invisible Fish by Joy Harjo
Invisible fish swim this ghost ocean now described by waves of sand, by water-worn rock. Soon the fish will learn to walk. Then humans will come ashore and paint dreams on the dying stone. Then later, much later, the ocean floor will be punctuated by Chevy trucks, carrying the dreamers’ decendants, who are going to the store.
My Poem…
Visible Birds by Max Shapiro
Visible birds fly that mortal sky in the future
defined far from winds of air,
far from freshly formed clouds
Later the birds won’t neglect to run
Now ghosts won’t flee from skies or paint nightmares off the lively clouds
And soon, a little sooner, the sky’s ceiling will not be frequented by Spirit airplanes,
Lugging the nightmare holder’s ancestors,
Whomst avoid the library
#national poetry month#poetry prompts#young poets#napowrimo#glopowrimo#joy harjo#invisible fish#visible birds#opposite aesthetics#quite the opposite#writers and poets#poets on tumblr
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Throwback Friday, Please! Let The World Stay Green (a Haiku), by Ivor Steven
Copied from my article on “Go Do Go Cafe” this morning. >> http://godoggocafe.com/2023/03/17/throwback-friday-please-let-the-world-stay-green-a-haiku-by-ivor-steven/A poem from St Patrick’s Day last year (2022), and here I am again today. Maybe another poem/haiku tomorrow … it’ll be a shortish piece … I’ll be extra tired … ☘Please! Let The World Stay Green
Afternoon / eveningSt Patrick’s Day at…
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A shortish poem I wrote called forever
A poem about losing the only person who was there for me through everything and that I thought wouldn't leave me
-----------------------------------------------
You said You'd be with me forever and that You'd never leave me no matter how bad things got and that You'd still love me the same even after witnessing me experience a full on rage episode and I remember how scared you looked and I remember apologising so much afterwards and I remember how you kept saying that you still love me and that you wouldn't leave me and you always used to be there for me, during the countless hospital visits and admissions you were always there, you were the only one there, the only one who still brought joy to my eyes and made me laugh like I had just heard the funniest thing ever, but where are you now? I need you now, it's been almost 2 weeks and you haven't said a single word to me, haven't sent a single text, not even looked at any of my texts, what happened to forever? What happened to 'I'll never leave you'? It's like you just vanished out of my life, it's like you died and I'm mourning you but I know that you're still alive because you still post on your various different social media's, I just want to know what happened to 'forever'.
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Baseless incriminations heaped upon head of missus...
courtesy evil ferocious wraithlike grimace
Acrimonious scurrilous words
flew out the mouth
of vicious nasty shortish brute
leaving yours truly
as a key witness dumbfounded.
Outrageous spluttering claims
of stolen parcels
plus ransacked jewelry
totaling to the tune
of countless Benjamins
(hundred dollar bills)
viciously lobbed at dear wife of mine
as iterated in a previously written poem.
Camera phone thrust forward
(analogous to pointing a gun)
the miscreant recorded images
of stunned spouse,
and vehicular license plate,
which automobile property of yours truly.
Though Will-o'-the-wisp
of hashtagged wicked witch
(at the most, she stands five feet tall
and weighs all
of one hundred pounds),
nevertheless said sylphlike
slender as a reed human specimen
exhibited threatening behavior
justifiably prompted me to call 911.
The police person came
and peppered us with questions,
though clear cut validity of false claim
against the missus
could not be substantiated
since no surveillance cameras installed.
Meanwhile we fear thy harridan neighbor,
who possesses sinister motives towards us,
and could surreptitiously vandalize
our (actually mine)
white 2020 Hyundai Elantra.
Such brazen impudent verbal brickbats
cast a spell of distress
and methinks Wiccan sorcery invoked,
I now speculate on the verity
and strong suspicion
utilization of the black arts,
and would not be surprised
if unnamed fellow tenant
exudes diabolical capability
to inflict harm or misfortune.
The webbed wide world
houses inexplicable
supernatural phenomena
perhaps linkedin to invocations
loosed from the lips of a livid virago
possibly disguised
as The Venerable Bede incarnate
or some vestal virgin.
I count my blessings
to be in the good graces
(at least thus far)
of heretofore unnamed attractive,
yet malevolently unhinged
menacing mad as a hatter misfit,
(nothing but skin and bones)
whose predilection
towards poisonous
pronounced declarations
belies her aesthetically pleasing person.
If ever opportunity arises
why she wolf exhibits
demoniacal huntress role
evoking guise machination,
where pent up fury poised to strike
against my significant other,
I will bravely ask about baseless
flagrant kindled violation
jeopardizing ordinarily
peaceful easy feeling
toward lovely lady I married.
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Returning to the Prisms
She made a point
To return to the exhibit
Noting something different
"Welcome back!" it seemed to say
She still had time to visit
But she opted to visit again ASAP
And it welcomed her back
The colors being bolder and brighter
The Prisms shimmering more
Than before
This photo she took
Looked more cheerful
Almost a stark comparison
To the last time
She was able to stay longer
Enjoying more of the exhibit
Taking more pictures
(taken with people in them, such is existence)
The exhibit seemed like an old friend
That one friend from childhood
The one people get overjoyed to see
"So good to see you again!"
The exhibit, in its cheer, welcomed her back
Welcomed her back with open arms
Glad she was able to visit
Enjoying it once more
Perhaps, she'd come again
Before it left for the year
But, right now, she was taking her time
Joyed to see each other again
#Prismatica#Krohn Conservatory#poem with a pic#free-verse#reality subtext#sequel poem#shortish poem#prisms#cincinnati#written on the fly#written 9/4/2022#personification
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44/28
28/4/24
Format Final
#24gloponapowrimo #amitasinfinity
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#24GloPoWriMo
Prompt Dated : 2024 April 28
Response No : 1
Poem No: 44
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Prompt : Try your hand at writing a sijo. This is a traditional Korean verse form. A sijo has three lines of 14-16 syllables.
You could also write a sijo in six lines – at least when it comes to translating classical sijo into English, translators seem to have developed this habit.
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Featured Poem :
Today’s featured participant is MellowYellow, which brings us a driving, musical poem in response to Day 27’s American sonnet prompt
Glass Heart Sonnet
Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash
once you pity the fig tree because its roots
keep it moored in this unfortunate place
twice you are jealous when you know its branches
take joy in stroking strands of longhaired wind
she is a wild woman, cool and hip and tripping
on acid jazz, loose lipped and adlibbing, freestyle mix
just breathe he says, just drive he says to the fields
the painting is really bodily fluids, life of the artist
as is music and poetry, the amniotic, the vomit
lymph, blood and ejaculate of their spirit, such inspiration
can feel unpalatable, yet truth does not require your appetite
someone sings to the siren across the lake, it is France
birds be dub, be good to me and I won’t bend this heart
it’s made of glass, and facetted like freedom, and reflects
…
Saffron 2024
Prompt 27th April 2024
Write an “American sonnet.” What’s that? Well, it’s like a regular sonnet but . . . fewer rules? Like a traditional Spencerian or Shakespearean sonnet, an American sonnet is shortish (generally 14 lines, but not necessarily!), discursive, and tends to end with a bang, but there’s no need to have a rhyme scheme or even a specific meter.
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Poetry Resource :
Our featured resource for the day is Harriet Books, the Poetry Foundation’s online website devoted to poetry book reviews, poetry news, and poetry-themed blog poets.
FEATURED BLOGGER
The Turmeric Poets (Part III)
BY VI KHI NAO
For myself, I have yet to find an interpretation that speaks of a potent tender rawness of the bucolic, aurous, inviting texture of “Đây Thôn Vĩ Dạ.” The poem holds the lunular strand of my existence on the prismatic brink of sedated, gilded mahogany, that deliquesced beige, dust-like state between disintegrated mortal recoil of a verdant, ephemeral, cognitive afternoon and my muted, ratiocinative love for a distant Vietnam. Despite encountering what many would consider a noteworthy translation by N.T. Anh in Modern Poetry Translation, the translation struck me as incomplete, somehow lacking or overly sanitized. Motivated by this sense of dissatisfaction, a form of constructive discontent, I embarked on the daunting task of crafting my own translation, drawing on the most authentic vernacular of my lexical lineage.
“Đây Thôn Vĩ Dạ.”
Here in Georgic Vĩ Dạ, translated by Vi Khi Nao
Won't you come visit georgic Vĩ ?
And, gaze at rows of newly awakened light
mounted on the areca trees
In satiny garden verdant as jade
As bamboo foliage hyphenates
& shades the field
Wind bands with wind, cloud with cloud
The river glides sadly while the cornflowers sway
Whose boat perches on the moonlit river
Will it escort the moon back in time tonight?
Musing of faraway travelants,
faraway travelants
Oh darling, your blouse so insolently
white, so insolently disguised
Here the smoke-smeared fog blurs the sylph
Mine or yours – whose love has more umami, is more profound?
Đây Thôn Vĩ Dạ by Hàn Mặc Tử
Sao anh không về chơi thôn Vĩ?
Nhìn nắng hàng cau nắng mới lên.
Vườn ai mướt quá, xanh như ngọc
Lá trúc che ngang mặt chữ điền.
Gió theo lối gió, mây đường mây,
Dòng nước buồn thiu, hoa bắp lay...
Thuyền ai đậu bến sông trăng đó,
Có chở trăng về kịp tối nay?
Mơ khách đường xa, khách đường xa,
Áo em trắng quá nhìn không ra...
Ở đây sương khói mờ nhân ảnh,
Ai biết tình ai có đậm đà?
In the act of translating the text, my aim was not to westernize it, but rather to capture its intrinsic 'nghệness' or its 'yellow spice,' endeavoring to extract not just superficial hints but the tunic of turmeric. Unlike the culinary process of taste-testing a dish to ensure the right balance of salt, pepper, paprika, and turmeric, translation is more about the nuanced garment of soul and soil. It involves posing the correct questions for appraisal. I consistently interrogate myself: does this poetic re-concoction contain an adequate infusion of yellow? Does it bear (bà gánh) the right measure of 'nghệ' or 'duende'? Does it appropriately shoulder the precise weight of (xứ) nghệ?
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Prompt : Try your hand at writing a sijo. This is a traditional Korean verse form. A sijo has three lines of 14-16 syllables. The first line introduces the poem’s theme, the second discusses it, and the third line, which is divided into two sentences or clauses, ends the poem – usually with some kind of twist or surprise.
You could also write a sijo in six lines – at least when it comes to translating classical sijo into English, translators seem to have developed this habit, as you can see from these translations of poems by Jong Mong-Ju and U Tak.
The Faithful Heart
Jong Mong-Ju
1320 – 1392
Though this body die and die,
though it die a hundred times;
though these bones bleach and pulverize to dust;
whether my soul will be or will not be––
This heart was pledged to my lord:
how could it ever change?
Jong Mong-Ju, born in 1320, was an ambassador, and a poet. He was assassinated in Taejong in 1392.
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2060
U Tak
1263 –1343
The spring breeze melted away the snow
on the hills and was quickly gone without a trace
Would that I borrowed it briefly
to blow through my hair;
I wish to blow away the ageing frost
thickening behind my ears.
This poem is in the public domain. Classical Korean Poetry: More Than 600 Verses since the 12th Century (Fremont, California: Asian Humanities Press, 1994).
U Tak, born in 1263, was a Korean philosopher of neo-Confucianism and poet. He died in 1343.
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Poem Title : Impotence
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Spring after spring has come and gone with its plum blossom promising
High hopes that rise like frothy waves towards the sky to pluck the moon
Branches bear fruit, waves fish and weed : hopes ebb, fade infertile.
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Poet : Amita Sarjit Ahluwalia
Poem 44 / Day 28
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Day 28
We’re in the home stretch now, with just three days left to go in this year’s Na/GloPoWriMo!
Today’s featured participant is MellowYellow, which brings us a driving, musical poem in response to Day 27’s American sonnet prompt.
Our featured resource for the day is Harriet Books, the Poetry Foundation’s online website devoted to poetry book reviews, poetry news, and poetry-themed blog poets.
Finally, our optional prompt for the day asks you to try your hand at writing a sijo. This is a traditional Korean verse form. A sijo has three lines of 14-16 syllables. The first line introduces the poem’s theme, the second discusses it, and the third line, which is divided into two sentences or clauses, ends the poem – usually with some kind of twist or surprise.
You could also write a sijo in six lines – at least when it comes to translating classical sijo into English, translators seem to have developed this habit, as you can see from these translations of poems by Jong Mong-Ju and U Tak.
Happy writing!
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NaPoWriMo Day 4
(......Our (optional) prompt for the day challenges you to write a poem in which you take your title or some language/ideas from The Strangest Things in the World. First published in 1958, the book gives shortish descriptions of odd natural phenomena, and is notable for both its author’s turn of phrase and intermittently dubious facts. Perhaps you will be inspired by the “The Self-Perpetuating Sponge” or “The World’s Biggest Sneeze.” Or maybe the quirky descriptions of luminous plants, monstrous bears, or the language of ravens will give you inspiration.)
.
.
In nature's vast and wondrous scheme,
Where oddities roam, like in a dream,
Discover marvels strange and rare,
In our world that is beyond compare.
A sponge that perpetually thrives,
In hidden pools where mystery thrives,
Evolution is a fascinating dance,
In unseen realms, it takes its stance.
Amidst the forest's ancient trees,
A giant bear, if you please,
With thunderous sneeze and mighty blow,
Shaking mountains in its wintry show.
Plants that glow in twilight's hue,
A magical sight to behold and view,
Painting darkness with gentle light,
A fairy's dance in the peaceful night.
And wise ravens in the shadow's hold,
Speaking secrets, tales untold,
In a language known to their kin,
That echoes of the wild within.
The strangest things in the world, you should explore,
Where nature wonders, that they implore,
A tapestry of marvels told to me and you,
As each enchanting tale unfolds into something new.
~ A poem by me - P.V.
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NaPoWriMo 2024: Day 4- Cave-Dwelling Birds
Today’s resource is the Instagram account Read a Little Poetry, where you will in fact find a lot of poetry.
Our (optional) prompt for the day challenges you to write a poem in which you take your title or some language/ideas from The Strangest Things in the World. First published in 1958, the book gives shortish descriptions of odd natural phenomena, and is notable for both its author’s turn of…
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