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A puddle to splash,
perfect for my happy feet
in a joyous dance.
.
D W Eldred
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you are me
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2259.
driving past the church
I used to go to
with my aunt
listening with all sincerity
to unabashed devil music
and honestly really the difference
between who I was at fifteen
and who I am nearly thirty years later
is back then I had to try
really hard
and now I just kinda do this shit
on accident
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made a poem about that cyborg freak
[Image ID: A poem composed of fridge magnets. It reads, in all lowercase:
"a monster of a man
a savage vision
vile mentor creates the despised concept
serpent-like mechanism
to savor battle"
End ID.]
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random parallel between tsoa and hannibal but like hannibal's and patroclus' names are given so much importance in the narratives.
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Infinite fires
Rain reflects the /
infinite fires of evening: /
puddles are liquid glass.
.
.
#infinite #fires #rain #glass #liquid #evening #haiku #haiga #poem #poetry #photo #oldnorthknoxville #davidebooker #december #monday #2023 #121123
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What makes a...?
Inspired by the poem 'Not Music' by Joe Hills
What makes a poem a poem?
Perhaps it's the rhyme—but poems don't have to.
Is it the figurative language, synchronizing sound and sincerity, tying together thought and tone—
as anyother form of writing also does.
It's surely the structure—
But free verse forms its own foundation,
and focusing on verse, it must be
the verse—
but prose poetry presently perpetuates popularly
And songs have verses too
and on that note—
What separates a poem from a song?
The presence of a melody
Must be where sound shapes itself, surely, but
isn't a piece
that is only rhythm
still music?
And does poetry not measure up, does it not meet the meter, it does!
So what is the difference
between poem and prose
song and sound
sound and silence?
Maybe there is none
Maybe it's all just the same
Conglomeration
of human souls
peeking out of the heart
and into the air.
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you don't need a skincare fridge if you're clever enough to not eat the face mask just because it's next to the eggs
kitchen fridge puddle wet
socks the natural consequence
of not paying attention
to where you're going
suddenly it's november suddenly
it's a great big snowball
rolling down the hill if you
can see it it's too late
the ocean's quickly receding and
you're laughing in act v until
your head's through a table —
there's glass everywhere
there's blood everywhere
and your socks are wet again.
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the whole,
“I’ll take care of you.”
“It’s rotten work.”
“Not for me. Not if it’s you.”
thing simultaneously makes me want to cry AND rip my bones of out my body with sheer yearning. because imagine. just imagine being loved that much!!! akskaksjdnxnksje
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art school vending machine chocolate caramel flapjack (the current shade of existence)
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do you know
I am going
to leave you?
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why can no one hear me
they think they understand
but my words don't sink in
I keep repeating but in the end
I'm left with nothing
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"Under the umbrella, we kiss the rain away.. a drop of water drips from her chin as I tenderly kiss her face. It's cold, but we are warm in our embrace, my heart races, she breaks away and I give chase.. we are splashing in the puddles, dancing in the rain. It's such a beautiful thing, a wet, wet and wild date and I don't even know her name.. it's lost on my lips, so easy to forget as we live in the moment, as the clouds softly drip."
Even rainy days can be fun with you - eUë
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my brain is being really mean to me and i can’t stop crying which only means that some really great poems will be written tonight on the bathroom floor of this hotel💋‼️
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»You told me about this place - the feeling
And you told me the special thing about this place
A strong attraction
that makes me feel at home
I'm afraid I've forgotten that,
The name of this place
Will I ever find it, without a map?«
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