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;)

Escapril #3. Prompt: Eye Contact

we stood in line and we swayed like inflatable advertisements barely tethered looking up from my phone and letting my eyes focus, defocus You were there smiling

Waiting for some schlup to take note of the surroundings

Twice my age twenty years back Hunched over the bar watching the folks who hadn't had their coffee yet

Letting my eyes, focus, defocus I hadn't noticed we were eye to eye

God grant me the presence that lets an elderly woman dispel overlong eye contact with a puckish wink ;)

#escapril #poems on tumblr #poetry #original poetry

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Had to catch up on both today, but I am solemnly swearing to hit them all this year, even if I am chronologically challenged

if anyone else is doing Escapril please let me knowwwww !! i'd love a poetry writing buddy for next month <3

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I SAW A BIRD

Escapril Day 2: INTERNET Blue, small, beautiful, warbling thing

leapt down to grab a bit of apple and one shelled pecan.

Here, hopping, pecking, gone

before I could open the camera app

Spilling what words I could into the search bar, I learned:

Indigo bunting

There he is!

Does he know he's famous?

He has his own Wikipedia article

#escapril #poem #poetry #original poetry #poems on tumblr

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Cognitive Superposition

ESCAPRIL DAY 1. PROMPT: CHANGE OF STATE COGNITIVE SUPERPOSITION Do you keep it stored, safely, in an unlit room? Do you shelter its potential, the cognitive superposition? A blameless seed of design, The flawless proposal of what could happen, if you had a bit of free time or some money; motivation, a room of your own, not in this light, not on this day. Do you fear it, dented and crooked, the narrow channel, with its faults and its clumsy hands, its neglect, that must carry these ideas? And are you worried, thoroughly, that wanting a thing is so much better than making, shaping one? Turn your eye, take your hands, hold the idea, collapse the superposition, nothing can be everything. There is joy in the doing. Is there joy in your terror of doing a shitty job?

#escapril #original poetry #poems on tumblr #poetry

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Werewolf Kid

by Skyler Oak

You tried To turn into a werewolf In front of our Spanish class.

My fingers curled against the edge of the antediluvian plywood desk gnawing into gum older than us

you BELIEVED.

while we laughed, the thing that cried out in you for power, retribution, reputation, justice For justice for justice for justice

Cried out in me too, squeezing my laughter with idiot strength, crushing its wet lungs

That keening wail is the -voice ------of ----------god. And if you can hear me, please try again.

#poems on tumblr #poetry #werewolf #original poetry #justice

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Tithe

by S. C. Oak

Crossing the street, I am certain that I will be counted among the cats and dogs and skunks and snakes who need very little, but whose inborne calculus could not account for everything.

Even the goldfinch Who just yesterday carried a french fry the size of his whole body triumphant who can weave between wind-whipped branches with thoughtless grace mistook the derivative for the tangent.

How can there be any grace for me?

I cannot sing or whistle. Walking, I collide with my own legs.

I need help with so many things.

Stepping up onto the sidewalk, I strike a bargain.

A french fry for the goldfinch,

Biting down —on the barrel ——-of a pencil ———–for the orange cat savoring the sound of tearing wood.

A shout in a quiet room for the black dog.

Birdseed for the grackle and for the skunk (Who loves a stash of anything)

I will not eat mice for the snake (what would I eat for the mouse?) but maybe a cricket, or a short rest in a warm place.

Wondering what raccoons like I think of one, on Nutmeg Street and stuff my cheeks with cat food. Dry, salty, not altogether bad.

My domestic obligate carnivore friends watch in stillness while I pay our tithe

#poems on tumblr #poetry #illustrated poem #illustration #cats #birds #dogs #snakes #skunks #pencils

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Interruption

by S. C. Oak

When thinking of a poem, and lapping at the fumes of big important feelings–

If a hand happens to touch your shoulder, or a cat happens to perch on your lap–

spare the wrath of the hermit torn, unwilling, from the womb of the heart.

Deign to think in prose for just a little while and live out a poem.

You will still be profound and tormented and maybe a little inspired when you get back to your desk.

#poems #original poetry #poetry #poets of tumblr #poems on tumblr

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dew point

by S. C. Oak

I want to scream; Only because, I am fresh out of ways to fatten my words. They ball up and fall away. The dew point is low,

low,

low.

Rolling from my useless tongue I love you What I meant was "OH THE FACE YOU MAKE WHEN YOU FLOSS YOUR BACK TEETH, IS THE CLOSEST I HAVE EVER BEEN TO GOD!""

"THE JOY OF SHREDDING JUST A LITTLE BIT OF CHEESE TO TOP YOUR DINNER JUST TO SEE THE PUCKISH SPASM OF DELIGHT SQUIRM UP YOUR FACE UNGUARDED, IS WHAT PILGRIMS SEEK ON STEPS OF HOLY HOUSES!"

And when I am angry with you, I am angry with you. And angry is an unflattering hat

#poetry #love poems #marriage #poems on tumblr

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Cat People

by S. C. Oak

in the fever

of my joy

I sometimes tear a thing to shreds,

and sleep

right by

the mess,

lamenting my bad luck.

That you sprout behind me (a mushroom in the shape of a person, the weight of your arm on my sighing ribs) is some consolation.

#poem #poems on tumblr #cat people

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Tithe

by S. C. Oak

Crossing the street, I am certain that I will be counted among the cats— and dogs and skunks and snakes— who need very little, but whose inborne calculus could not account for everything.

Even the goldfinch Who just yesterday carried a french fry the size of his whole body, triumphant, who can weave between wind-whipped branches, with thoughtless grace, mistook the derivative for the tangent.

How can there be any grace for me?

I cannot sing or whistle. Walking, I collide with my own legs. I need help with so many things.

Stepping up onto the sidewalk, I strike a bargain.

A french fry for the goldfinch,

Biting down —on the barrel ——-of a pencil ———–for the orange cat savoring the sound of tearing wood.

A shout in a quiet room for the black dog.

Birdseed for the grackle and for the skunk (Who envies a stash of anything)

I will not eat mice for the snake (what would I eat for the mouse?) but maybe a cricket or a short rest in a warm place.

Wondering what raccoons like, I think of one, on Nutmeg Street, and stuff my cheeks with cat food. Dry, salty, not altogether bad.

My domestic obligate carnivore friends watch in stillness while I pay our tithe

#poetry #poems on tumblr #cats #snakes #skunks #dogs #pencils