-
4 votes
-
how gods are born
we enshrine our lords do we not call them Lord? the lords giveth and taketh they are the amalgamation the supreme product of history that is why they are sacred why their divinity is everlasting...
we enshrine our lords
do we not call them Lord?
the lords giveth and taketh
they are the amalgamation
the supreme product of history
that is why they are sacred
why their divinity is everlasting
or so it is thoughtgods are born, gods are killed
the only truth in them is order
and to the ordinary that is divine
their dreams start and end within
the lord's domain breaths life
it dictates what is allowed to be
it cuts the branches offyoung dreamer, knowing this
do you still desire The Dream-God?
is it not past time its death?
shouldn't its corpse nourish life?
and the many branches-to-be?17 votes -
Eleanor Johnson on how medieval christian writers accepted ecological collapse in contrast to evangelicals today
11 votes -
Multiauthor poetry anthology recommendations
I've recently finished Mary Oliver's A Poetry Handbook and have begun writing my own poems (just for fun). I feel though that I may be limited by my having read little poetry. So, I'm searching...
I've recently finished Mary Oliver's A Poetry Handbook and have begun writing my own poems (just for fun). I feel though that I may be limited by my having read little poetry. So, I'm searching for anthology recommendations to get some inspiration.
I'm not really looking for collections of "classics," just a large collection of poems generally considered to be "very good," and maybe leaning more towards contemporary (late 19th century onwards?). But I'd welcome recommendations outside of these guidelines too if anyone feels particularly strongly about some collection.
3 votes -
How Russian-language poets and their translators have responded to the war in Ukraine
8 votes -
Hobo Johnson & The LoveMakers - Dad's Bed (2024)
3 votes -
we pay
we pay for the violence of others blood yearns for blood to hurt the warped spreads the scarlet the horizons and the cliffs are rife i endure for i bear the deep song update: v2
6 votes -
Pebbles
I walk by the stony brook a path of pebbles at my feet. I bend to pick one up and it is lovely. Alas! They number far too many to read each one's story. But I will try.
15 votes -
Love
© 2014 u/ebonGavia Love Love's sweetly poisoned darts Are wasted on this heart Inerrant though they fly My shielding gives them lie These centuries-builded walls The keenest edge forestall Thus...
© 2014 u/ebonGavia
Love
Love's sweetly poisoned darts
Are wasted on this heart
Inerrant though they fly
My shielding gives them lie
These centuries-builded walls
The keenest edge forestall
Thus armored sit I here
At siren's call do sneer
By hours, years do toll
And cold becomes my soul
That blackguard, Love, I spurn
From treach'rous Hope I turn
At length my vigil wanes
Naught but ennui remains
With apathetic sigh
And dry, half-lidded eye
My senses, weak, are dulled
To fitful sleep are lulled
Thus primed for artifice
Undone by artlessness
A 'doring glance unlocks
My bitter heart. A shock —
A shining word, a koan —
The fatal shot is flown
Each quick'ning touch, now soft
Our scales, forgotten, doffed
Bewitched by winsome eyes
We don our honeyed ties
Yet venom's stings presage
Our bittersweet malaise
But how is it that we
Bemoan this malady?
In love — by Love, lovesick
Yet, healed, we poison pick
No Cupid bends a string
We prick ourselves, willing.
7 votes -
I Reject My Humanity
Born in the wrong family It left me a gaping void Stole from me my charity Burdened me with worry Born in the wrong district It showed me the savagery Darkness that lurks within men To untrust the...
Born in the wrong family
It left me a gaping void
Stole from me my charity
Burdened me with worryBorn in the wrong district
It showed me the savagery
Darkness that lurks within men
To untrust the ones of normalcyBorn in the wrong city
Filled my soul with mundanity
The unbearable banale
Empty of all wonder and beautyBorn in the wrong culture
Learned to hide my reality
Lest I be killed or maimed
In the rein of traditionalityBorn in the wrong country
Flayed from me my future
Gutted sense of commonality
It branded on me miseryBorn in the wrong system
Chained me to slavery
Feeding some malevolence
Corrupted my destinyBorn in the wrong time
Hurled into moment of history
Trapped within rotting remnants
Couldn't do away with the elderlyHereby I declare to all
I reject my humanity
For no matter the causality
But only in a handul few
I see nothing worthy19 votes -
recycled foundations
we recycle our emotions the foundations dread, despair, the nothing the isolation of it all these are all mine and anger poured on top disgust inbetween told by soil to extinguish sealed them all...
we recycle our emotions
the foundationsdread, despair, the nothing
the isolation of it all
these are all mine
and anger poured on top
disgust inbetweentold by soil to extinguish
sealed them all away
left adrift and devoid
unable to feel the whole
afraid that it would crushdespairing everything
i fed the void
it bloated and festered
putrid without a voice
it would swallow all
so i bestow it moutheight-pointed star
the father-mother
bear my witness
i am heartsore
and loathe the creatorswe recycle our emotions
i accept it all, the4 votes -
companionship
denied your own tragedy fun and cheery held back by ancient rites good sport and jolly these unspoken wounds banter along all day festered and putrid dish it out and take it marred by shallow's...
denied your own tragedy
fun and cheery
held back by ancient rites
good sport and jolly
these unspoken wounds
banter along all day
festered and putrid
dish it out and take it
marred by shallow's tyranny
here's to another round15 votes -
Random thoughts at daybreak
In shadows cast, a serpent sleek, With bands of black and white. In self-encircling, fate draws near, A moment tense, a future unclear. Yet, ere the bite, a raptor bold, Descends with grace, a...
In shadows cast, a serpent sleek,
With bands of black and white.
In self-encircling, fate draws near,
A moment tense, a future unclear.Yet, ere the bite, a raptor bold,
Descends with grace, a tale unfolds.
Its talons clasp the serpent’s plight,
A dance of choices in the fading light.Two paths converge, in present’s hold,
Humanity’s tale, a story bold.
Betwixt self-will and forces unseen,
The dance of fate, on history’s screen.17 votes -
Before I reach my enemy, bring me some heads
12 votes -
All of this year’s National Book Award finalists, reviewed by Vox
14 votes -
Premier Rap Battles (UK): Shuffle T vs Harry Baker
8 votes -
The great advantage of being alive
I desire more poetry on this site. So here is more poetry! I believe this is Cummings due to the style and some cursory internet searches but I was unable to find an authoritative source. If...
I desire more poetry on this site. So here is more poetry!
I believe this is Cummings due to the style and some cursory internet searches but I was unable to find an authoritative source. If anyone has one I'll edit it in! The formatting is taken from a book (I discovered this in a photo online).
the great advantage of being alive
(instead of undying)is not so much
that mind no more can disprove than prove
what heart may feel and soul may touch
--the great(my darling) happens to be
that love are in we,that love are in weand here is a secret they will never share
for whom create is less than have
or one times one than when times where--
that we are in love,that we are in love
with us they've nothing times nothing to do
(for love are in we am in i am in you)this world(as timorous itsters all
to call their cowardice quite agree)
shall never discover our touch and feel
--for love are in we are in love are in we;
for you are and i am and we are(above
and under all possible worlds)in lovea billion brains may coax undeath
from fancied fact and spaceful time--
no heart can leap,no soul can breathe
but by the sizeless truth of a dream
whose sleep is the sky and the earth and the sea.
For love are in you am in i are in we23 votes -
In search of fresh material to mine, AI companies are hiring poets, novelists, playwrights, writers, and Ph.D.s
34 votes -
The erasure of Islam from the poetry of Rumi
30 votes -
Looking for sources related to "The Repetitive Nature of Human Tribulations"
Hello everyone :) I write as a hobby and have had an article in my drafts for a long, long time. In essence, I'd like to discuss the "repetitive nature of human tribulations/suffering/life", that...
Hello everyone :)
I write as a hobby and have had an article in my drafts for a long, long time. In essence, I'd like to discuss the "repetitive nature of human tribulations/suffering/life", that is, the fact that regardless of superficial characteristics we all are confronted with extremely similar circumstances throughout our lives.
Whether it's 10 years into our lives or 40, there's joy, heartbreak, loss, a need to belong, some desire for freedom, a need for a purpose, lack of direction, obsession with a newly found direction, etc.
I'd love to come across poets, philosophers, psychologists, etc who have touched upon this subject: we are not defined by our circumstances, as they are, in very broad strokes, largely the same, but by how we are able to adapt and reinvent ourselves amidst those same circumstances.
Looking forward for your answers :)
Thanks!
7 votes -
Making the 2000 year old "pizza" from Pompeii
13 votes -
Does anyone here enjoy poetry? If yes, what are your gateway drug poems and what are your hidden gems?
So as an American whose love of poetry started in early childhood with A A Milne and Lewis Carroll, I have a theory that the teaching of poetry in typical schools (at least for my generation which...
So as an American whose love of poetry started in early childhood with A A Milne and Lewis Carroll, I have a theory that the teaching of poetry in typical schools (at least for my generation which may be 30 years out of date re what happens now) that poetry as taught is almost tailor made to destroy any interest in poetry. I like to compare it to introducing music by teaching music theory.
So, if anyone here reads poetry and is willing to talk about it, what poems would you use if you wanted to come up with a gateway drug. They should be easy to appreciate. And on the flip side, if you met someone who said they were really into poetry, are there sophisticated poems that you think are just cool and insightful and moving and impressive in some way? Please feel free to explain your choices or to talk about your experience with poetry in or outside of education.
36 votes -
Writing the impossible poem
5 votes -
Writer Neil Gaiman debuts his first music album with an Australian string quartet
5 votes -
What kind of Angel: On Percy Shelley
4 votes -
Ma's Canh Chua Recipe (It's a recipe and a poem and a meditation on being a refugee all at once)
2 votes -
Chinese poetry of the detention barracks at Angel Island
5 votes -
‘The Book of Disquiet’ is the weirdest autobiography ever
5 votes -
Don't blame Dostoyevsky - Culture, too, is a casualty of war
6 votes -
What will survive of Philip Larkin
3 votes -
The polyglots of Dardistan - At the crossroads of south and central Asia lies one of the world’s most multilingual places, with songs and poetry to match
3 votes -
Poetry Machine (project)
The concept It's a box that contains a receipt printer and an interface with several buttons. A user would press a button that reflects their emotional state (happy, sad, anxious, etc.), then the...
The concept
It's a box that contains a receipt printer and an interface with several buttons. A user would press a button that reflects their emotional state (happy, sad, anxious, etc.), then the machine prints out a more-or-less appropriate poem on a receipt printer, beautifully formatted and embellished with simple artwork.
It could be occasionally repurposed for certain themes, like Pride Month to print out queer poems.
I want to place it someplace public and well-trafficked, like Dolores Park or on Castro Street.
Feedback
I like poetry. The idea of a (free) vending machine that gives me a poem to uplift my day excites me. But I wonder if this appeals to others enough to be worth fully realizing. I don't want to spend time and money building something that'll go totally unloved.
Also curious about anti-vandalism measures or ideas. I'm sure some jerk will try graffiti-ing it or peeing on it.
Lastly, anyone interested in collaborating?
7 votes -
Kyla Jenée Lacey - "White Privilege"
6 votes -
An Ode to Undies
T'was picking fruit down under, where I learned the truth of underwear Davenport made the best boxer costed more but last forever At first my junk was hanging loose no more briefs snuggling like a...
T'was picking fruit down under, where
I learned the truth of underwear
Davenport made the best boxer
costed more but last foreverAt first my junk was hanging loose
no more briefs snuggling like a noose
but soon I loved it hanging free
it's quicker when you have to peeDecade later holes not in sight
Bought some more in case they might
Thought they'd be with me till the end
Thirty years they've been my friendNow I'm down to last seven pair
Out of business they went I fear
Brought down low by cheap knock offs
Where oh where is my Undie Guru now?12 votes -
Math Person
5 votes -
I sang her name in words forgotten
I sang her name in words forgotten Rough bellows of lost yearning A hurt hound without path A sorrow meaning without an end I heard the rain, heard the ocean Lick the sand without defect The...
I sang her name in words forgotten
Rough bellows of lost yearning
A hurt hound without path
A sorrow meaning without an endI heard the rain, heard the ocean
Lick the sand without defect
The water, where it falls
Is always beautiful all the sameI saw, my God, that you made her
Carefully crooked, imperfect
And inside her deep mournful eyes
The tears that I could never shed9 votes -
Linda Pastan: Ethics
2 votes -
Your hat sucks: UbuWeb
4 votes -
signed char lotte
14 votes -
English translation of Finland's epic poem, The Kalevala (1898)
12 votes -
Elspeth Wilson - Two Poems About The Sims
3 votes -
Inaugural poet Amanda Gorman on her career-defining address and paying homage to Maya Angelou
10 votes -
A Word on Statistics
4 votes -
In My Dressing Gown
The sky is clear except for some soft grey clouds beyond the hill The early setting sun shines orange on the woods and the houses that sit atop the ridge Not a single bird crosses the pale blue...
The sky is clear
except for some
soft grey clouds
beyond the hillThe early setting sun shines orange
on the woods
and the houses
that sit atop the ridgeNot a single bird crosses
the pale blue sky
though I can hear
their chorus
and a gentle wind blows
cold
on my faceI can smell the traffic
from the road behind my house
mingling with
the earthy smell of trees
from the field in frontNeither my hot black coffee
nor my dressing gown
are enough
to keep the
cold
at bay
on this
the first truly frosty day
of the year7 votes -
Radio Nouspace: Experimental internet radio
7 votes -
Louise Glück wins Nobel Prize for Literature
6 votes -
Limerick thread
A lim'rick is like a haiku But five lines, not three; you add two They're often licentious Or funny; contentious But they can be nice if you choose
19 votes -
A Brave and Startling Truth: Maya Angelou’s stunning humanist poem that flew to space, inspired by Carl Sagan and read by astrophysicist Janna Levin
6 votes -
Occupation
Occupied by the primal cries of democracy and its dying eyes. Ain't no reason to keep pushing some days the infighting the outfighting the needless highlighting of differences in ourselves and...
Occupied by the primal cries of democracy and its dying eyes.
Ain't no reason to keep pushing some days the infighting the outfighting the needless highlighting of differences in ourselves and others, not some injustice just arbitrary maladjustment.
These words ain't here to minimize or demoralize but to quantify and qualify the true enemy.
We are cannibals, our self absorption and self adornment lead to self consumption and our mutually assured destruction.
As we consume we forget we need to resume what we started, we assume that we’ve done enough and that the movement will carry on without us.
It’s too late, in the death throws of Democracy we choose a different path, without occupation, preceded by preoccupation, we now find ourselves the subject of this new occupation.5 votes -
What's your favorite poem?
What's your favorite Poem? What thing do you find peculiar in it? At what age (or what time of your life) did it introduce itself to you? At what time did it stick?
9 votes -
Warrior Worrier - A spoken word poem about anxiety and depression
3 votes -
Remembrance - Emily Bronte
5 votes -
The Prologue to Another Man's Life
Deep are the sighs of unsung mariners, Drifting gently upward out of bottomless canyons Over hills and mountains Through snowdrifts and clouds, They make their way Home. Calling the stars (so far...
Deep are the sighs of unsung mariners,
Drifting gently upward out of bottomless canyons
Over hills and mountains
Through snowdrifts and clouds,
They make their way
Home.Calling the stars (so far out of reach);
Calling the moon (dispassionate waning gibbous);
Calling the trees (for the spineless tools they are);
Calling the ocean,
The ocean:
Home.Cry to the waves for the songs of land,
The endless dark crashing and shifting and moving.
Plead for stability. Remembrance. Peace.
Beg for an end to this oppressive
Home.Deep are the sighs of unsung mariners.
Sigh no longer.
I sing you now;
I bring you
Home.8 votes -
Poetry analysis/appreciation request - Morning, by Frank O'Hara
I'm an undoubted pleb when it comes to just about everything artistic (with the exception of music, in which I have impeccable taste). A while back, I suggested I'd be interested in seeing some...
I'm an undoubted pleb when it comes to just about everything artistic (with the exception of music, in which I have impeccable taste). A while back, I suggested I'd be interested in seeing some critique or general discussion of already-known or published poetry, if only so I could get others' opinions on things that usually go over my head. This is an effort to get the ball rolling, with a poem that is one of my favorites.
Also, I'm not sure if this belongs here or in ~arts, please classify as appropriate.
Morning - Frank O'Hara
I've got to tell you
how I love you always
I think of it on grey
mornings with deathin my mouth the tea
is never hot enough
then and the cigarette
dry the maroon robechills me I need you
and look out the window
at the noiseless snowAt night on the dock
the buses glow like
clouds and I am lonely
thinking of flutesI miss you always
when I go to the beach
the sand is wet with
tears that seem minealthough I never weep
and hold you in my
heart with a very real
humor you'd be proud ofthe parking lot is
crowded and I stand
rattling my keys the car
is empty as a bicyclewhat are you doing now
where did you eat your
lunch and were there
lots of anchovies itis difficult to think
of you without me in
the sentence you depress
me when you are aloneLast night the stars
were numerous and today
snow is their calling
card I'll not be cordialthere is nothing that
distracts me music is
only a crossword puzzle
do you know how it iswhen you are the only
passenger if there is a
place further from me
I beg you do not go7 votes -
"Man, I didn't want to grow up to this."
So we have all these people, and they all seem to be pissed. So many people and they all seem to have... something amiss. Many of these people, their concerns are just... entirely dismissed: By...
So we have all these people, and they all seem to be pissed.
So many people and they all seem to have... something amiss.
Many of these people, their concerns are just... entirely dismissed:
By other people with the same problems who somehow look at these perfectly normal people and react: "I have been nixed!"
These problems are pervasive in our memories and experiences and on a metaphorical wall they are fixed;
And yet the root causes are consistently misinterpreted, and ultimately missed.
And the result is we are betting everything for the sake of getting our cathartic and revengeful fix?
That is being delivered to us by people that if they were to meet us, would utterly reject us and loudly hiss?
And if that gamble fails I will be the one to pick up the scraps, and mop up the piss?
Man, I didn't want to grow up to this.
9 votes -
Never Let Me Down by J. Ivy on HBO Def Poetry
4 votes -
I wrote a poem - Coming Out 2.0
I'm working on this for a poetry class I'm taking, any criticism is welcome. Edit: Italicized some text I forgot when I copied it out of Word. Edit 2: Fixed some phrasing. Coming Out 2.0 When I...
I'm working on this for a poetry class I'm taking, any criticism is welcome.
Edit: Italicized some text I forgot when I copied it out of Word.
Edit 2: Fixed some phrasing.Coming Out 2.0
When I first came out
I thought it was over.
Done.
I know myself now,
My life can finally be
worthwhile and fun.But there was always a mess I dared
not touch. Who do I like? What gaze
makes me blush? I suspected the feminine
but held out hope – only taking up one letter
made it easier to cope.And some people do change after starting
HRT, so patiently I hoped men would appeal
to me. I had some feelings before, it seemed reasonable
they would grow. But as time went on I realized I had
nothing to show. My feelings for men were entirely gone,
but still hopeful for a straight-passing future, I pressed on.I had definite feelings for women before,
But at times the attraction seemed a bit more –
Did I want to be them or did I want to be with them?
The former I assumed, as it helped to distract,
focus on my work, brush my desires under the mat.I’d think “She looks cute”, but “in that outfit”, “with that hairdo” and other qualifiers
I began to append, convincing myself what I felt was normal and, like a
Chicagoland road, no bend. When I began to notice some feelings bubbling up I said
“Female friendships are close, it’s nothing, the end.” But try as I might, they flowered
and bloomed, and soon I could not help but be all-consumed. Maybe I’m bi, I thought,
That isn’t so bad. More options for dating, how can I be mad? I told my friend my feelings, and as
expected, for me she had none. She’s still one of my best friends, so I’d neither lost nor won.I dealt with the rejection and moved on. I could still be bi, better not
jump the gun. You can’t take back coming out, you’ve got one shot – nail it
and be done. I thought everything would be the same, but the floodgates were open,
my restraints had been broken. I could finally be honest about my feelings
for women (endless, confusing and interwoven) and for men, which were at most
an appreciative token.A week after confessing to my crush, it was obvious
who won. The Sapphic feelings and desires made
their presence known, their intent to stay,
and more difficult than coming out
as trans was admitting
to being gay.15 votes -
All Watched Over By Machines Of Loving Grace
3 votes -
Books briefing: If your attention span is shrinking, read poetry
10 votes -
Behind the Teeth
always seem happy and dandy and talk of love and romance a riven smile on the face to hide thoughts of pain for her, everything has a verse a waltz at each step a flimsy variety of beauty that...
always seem happy and dandy
and talk of love and romance
a riven smile on the face
to hide thoughts of painfor her, everything has a verse
a waltz at each step
a flimsy variety of beauty
that melts after rehearsehuge hipster glasses
coffee without any taste
a window facing concrete
is now hummingbirds enlacedand when she sings all her love
I am always in disbelief
cause when someone shouts too much
I sense a hooded grief2 votes -
Infatuation Mishap
You were smart and pretty and praised every word I said Responded to my commands like a very well-trained basset You gave me food, shelter, affection in bed, you did as I pleased and such strong...
You were smart and pretty
and praised every word I saidResponded to my commands
like a very well-trained bassetYou gave me food, shelter, affection
in bed, you did as I pleased
and such strong devotion
was hard for me to receiveCause how could I trust someone
who clearly and truly loves me?6 votes -
Love Mania
In this grass where we sit, I saw many full moons lit Kissed them shivering in the wind, felt like solution, formed decision, ultimate end But the frenzy always fades, pretty mirage in the haze...
In this grass where we sit,
I saw many full moons litKissed them shivering in the wind,
felt like solution, formed decision, ultimate endBut the frenzy always fades,
pretty mirage in the hazeSilly me...
I just met you yesterday
And once again tremble my veins4 votes -
Wake Up Sheeple - An internet poetry parody
5 votes -
Untitled poem
Ask not for whom the cradle weeps; it weeps for you. O sly kitten, O accursèd cat, cry, cry for the weft and the warp of the world; cry, cry for the sin and the sorrow and suffering; cry, cry on...
Ask not for whom the cradle weeps; it weeps for you. O sly kitten, O accursèd cat, cry, cry for the weft and the warp of the world; cry, cry for the sin and the sorrow and suffering; cry, cry on the bloodshed, but more on the tears; cry, cry for divisions, and ill-wrought connections; cry, cry for the laughter, so far out of reach; cry. And in crying find solace; peace——rhythm——be still. cry and cry——cry for the widows and widowers, woven together forever, by weeping and painless heart-let. But your pain is not theirs. For, though burdened with truth, you will never be cut by the serrated and blunted edge of polite fiction. Enough! When the cat's in the cradle, the mice will play, And I hope that they fly far——far-far away. But the tears of the kitten forever abide, and someday they'll catch you. will you take it in stride?
11 votes -
Nocturnal Awareness
I lie awake Your smell lingers on my hand Bringing quiet contentment While you sleep
6 votes -
The Art of Centering: potter and poet M.C. Richards on what she learned at the wheel about non-dualism, creative wholeness, and the poetry of personhood
3 votes -
Recommend me a song based just on one line (or couplet) in its lyrics
I'm interested in finding more great songwriters across different genres and I want to defeat my own bias, so don't tell me the artist or genre (or maybe put it in <details> tags). Here are a few...
I'm interested in finding more great songwriters across different genres and I want to defeat my own bias, so don't tell me the artist or genre (or maybe put it in <details> tags).
Here are a few of mine -
Emancipate yourself from mental slavery, none but ourselves can free our minds
Song info
Bob Marley - Redemption Song
If you're really as tough as your defenses, you'd let them fall
Song info
Jimmy Eat World - Stop
Tried to deceive me, you only deceived you; what you thought was invisible was only see-through
Song info
One Be Lo - Decepticons
I said, "If you won't save me, please don't waste my time"
Song info
Oasis - Falling Down
Song info
Curren$y - Airborne Aquarium
Nothing no scary like a gunman voice when people beg a gunman think twice, and him say no
Song info
Damian "Junior Gong" Marley - Gunman World (Is It Worth It?)
To turn your sick soul inside out - so that the world, so that the world can watch you die
Song info
Gil Scott-Heron - Home Is Where the Hatred IsCoincidentally, not all those songs are necessarily at the top of my recommends, but they are the first memorable one-liners that came to mind. I won't mind if your picks aren't the greatest songs of all time either if the line still hits.
21 votes -
The dognapping of poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning's dog Flush in 1846, and how she negotiated for his safe return just before secretly eloping with Robert Browning
8 votes -
Morning Commute
Illuminated signs Cut through the dark like harsh words Calling out like noisy merchants Vainly reflecting on empty streets
11 votes -
F*** me
1:45 A M Two divided Lonely bed, lonely couch Emotional drainage leaks Seeps into sub floors Foul and sickly Sticky and putrid Fuck me
13 votes -
Why don't you comment on poetry?
I post a fair amount of poetry to Tildes, with the hope of getting feedback or starting discussion. Yet, as you can see from looking at the poem tag, there generally isn't any kind of discussion...
I post a fair amount of poetry to Tildes, with the hope of getting feedback or starting discussion.
Yet, as you can see from looking at the poem tag, there generally isn't any kind of discussion on poetry posts. Even Bishop's departure post only received six comments.
So, why is this? What stops you commenting on poems? I would like to have discussions about what I write with the people here. I don't know if there's something I can do to make it easier to engage with me regarding my work, or if there's something else preventing the discussion.
37 votes -
Blue house
Blue house Foundation exposed Brown threadbare carpet White counters fadded dull Wallpaper curled and yellow Still it's theirs Contentment abounds
9 votes -
Untitled Mental Health I
I'm not quite like you A few words and that's it The façade fades Crumbles The carefully constructed mood dies Coping mechanisms defeated The castle is compromised A strong exterior only goes so...
I'm not quite like you A few words and that's it The façade fades Crumbles The carefully constructed mood dies Coping mechanisms defeated The castle is compromised A strong exterior only goes so far Each word pulls stones from the foundation Fragile walls, fragile heart I retreat to my secret home Away from the swords and arrows and fire No one can reach me here Safe and quiet and in control Equally secure, equally secluded
19 votes -
Untitled I
Tapped out on my phone in an Uber on the way to D&D. I write about more than love, I promise! the water laps at the dam seeking egress, seeking progress everyone inside so thirsty life affirming...
Tapped out on my phone in an Uber on the way to D&D. I write about more than love, I promise!
the water laps at the dam seeking egress, seeking progress everyone inside so thirsty life affirming liquid but the dam the wall we built to keep ourselves safe our salvation our condemnation seemed a good idea at the time but all our other crimes against ourselves did too how are we so smart yet so stupid it hurts it fucking hurts life without love may as well be an empty gift on Christmas morning but we all do it to ourselves every day so many boundaries and rules and norms all because we’re too afraid to get hurt too afraid to be ourselves too afraid to realize ourselves too afraid to give one another the best gift we can
12 votes -
Untitled Mental Health II, or, but
I’m sorry but I can’t today I want to but I can’t It’s not my fault but I’m guilty anyway I’m not understood but I’m pressured anyway I yearn to create, to do but I just stay in bed I want to live...
I’m sorry but I can’t today I want to but I can’t It’s not my fault but I’m guilty anyway I’m not understood but I’m pressured anyway I yearn to create, to do but I just stay in bed I want to live but I’m too hurt
13 votes -
Cotton Candy
Put your head over here and cry all the yearning away cause thinking will bring you nothing just thoughts and yet more pain Sleep, sleep my child breath slowly that way cause here there is no more...
Put your head over here
and cry all the yearning away
cause thinking will bring you nothing
just thoughts and yet more painSleep, sleep my child
breath slowly that way
cause here there is no more strain
under my loving gazeIn your cotton candy dreams
you embrace with such strength
a cloud above in the sky
sleep, honey, yes, sleep
cause here you're free from timeAnd there I am on this dream
imagining, imagined
the mark of a want, of a wish
a trace drawn in the sky
don't know if I'm the one dreaming
or if I am been dreamed aboutPortuguese original
encosta a cabeça aqui
e chora a saudade toda
que pensar não leva nada
só mais pensar e dor aindadorme seu sono infante
respira assim devagar
que aqui não vai sofrer
debaixo de meu olharem teu sonho de algodão doce
não sei do quê dá risada
e abraça com tanta força
uma nuvem no céu alçada
dorme, meu bem, dorme sim
que aqui o tempo não passaE nesse sonho estou lá
Imaginando, imaginado
A marca de uma vontade
Um traço no céu projetado
Não sei se sou eu que sonho
Ou se eu é quem sou sonhado7 votes -
5 o'clock nostalgia
So many wants that never were But that were mine nevertheless In the joy of many maybes Slow evening Time is cursed, it goes The body is alive and weary And stuck in hour a soul — immense...
So many wants that never were
But that were mine nevertheless
In the joy of many maybes
Slow eveningTime is cursed, it goes
The body is alive and weary
And stuck in hour a soul — immensePortuguese original
Nostalgia das 5 Horas
Tanto querer que nunca foi
Mas era meu ainda assim
Na alegria do talvez
A tarde lentaO tempo é maldito e passa
Ainda vivo o corpo cansa
E presa na hora a alma - imensa7 votes -
Gesture
Saw in you a trace, a gesture without any end a phrase with no reticences a shadow lost in the gaze A question you have not made a plot not yet heard a night with no resolution be calm, the sun is...
Saw in you a trace, a gesture without any end
a phrase with no reticences
a shadow lost in the gazeA question you have not made
a plot not yet heard
a night with no resolution
be calm, the sun is not latePortuguese original
Gesto
vi em você um traço
um gesto sem fim colocado
vi frase vi reticência
suspiro pela metade
e olhar desencontradoda pergunta ainda não dita
sequer pinçada talvez
da trama'inda inaudita
que a noite não tarda ou finda
mas calma que o sol já vem6 votes -
Who are you?
10 votes -
My Glowing Pet
Glowing friend, your light has given me everything I know. To run you require a sacrifice I click open my knife forgotten forever in the drawer with the butterfly yo-yo, the heart necklace of an...
Glowing friend, your light
has given me
everything I know.
To run you require
a sacrificeI click open my knife
forgotten forever in the drawer with the butterfly yo-yo,
the heart necklace of an immature love
and the compass
with the atomic symbol.With the blade I
etch
and cut
and stab
to draw sand
from the glass
long left unflipped.It slides along your surface
sinks in
and is gone.7 votes -
Betsey and I Are Out
9 votes -
lost
lost time like grains leaking out an hourglass lost feelings like love leaving a full heart lost purpose like a crusader without a cause all these years, feelings, purpose stolen, violated an evil...
lost time like grains leaking out an hourglass lost feelings like love leaving a full heart lost purpose like a crusader without a cause all these years, feelings, purpose stolen, violated an evil I never invited, never wanted it's not my fault, not my goal innocent yet guilty convicted more like cursed their hatred is my destiny never get back what was lost never recover who I could, maybe should, have been robbed of a life, of a happy, normal life I can't even hate them for it can't even have that comfort I'd be just as bad, repeat the cycle almost sympathetic only path, only cure, is love creamy center of a cyanide pill
9 votes -
fire
This is a reflection of what building friendships and close relationships is like for me. Mental health makes everything much harder, but I keep trying. it shines and blazes such light and warmth...
This is a reflection of what building friendships and close relationships is like for me. Mental health makes everything much harder, but I keep trying.
it shines and blazes such light and warmth stories told round the hearth cold nights kept a safe distance away beauty in chaotic dancing patterns it promises everything all at once no regard for consequences or the future just passion in the moment no foresight, only enthralling abandon its wake is ash empty, cold, dead no energy never burn again it destroys what it loves what it needs not because it wants to because it is destruction guised as passion
8 votes -
Untitled II
I wanted to write about self-forgiveness because it's such a hard thing for me to do. Past mistakes and trespasses stick in my mind for decades, and it's so hard for me to shake them. This work is...
I wanted to write about self-forgiveness because it's such a hard thing for me to do. Past mistakes and trespasses stick in my mind for decades, and it's so hard for me to shake them. This work is an attempt at expressing that difficulty.
Down in the foothills the peak is so perfect Covered in pure white snow Nary a tree in sight The peak carves a visage in the sky In the clouds It just is, it exists peacefully in its austere authority Calm, serene Impossible Yet I yearn to climb To ascend Down in the foothills among the trees The greenof the hills I make my preparations Breath Training Gear I practiceand I meditate I meditate upona life A life of mistakes and triumphs Each breath preparing and steeling It's time to begin my climb Each step and the air, the precious vital air, thins Lungs emptying and muscles weakening And yet I continue Not quite undaunted, but I continue The views are stunning Yet I don't see them, eyes ever on the peak Visualizing success, not the process It's so cold Bitterly, viscerally cold There's no air Even a yogi must stop for air But there's no air The ground slick with snow and ice Snow and ice with the oxygen I need Sealed away in the mystery of the bonds Just as beautiful as it is inaccessible But I continue my climb Slipping and falling, the rocks cut and score Gashes and bruises amass I take a moment and reflect Is it worth it? Shall I ever ascend? And as I slip into meditation, I slip down the mountain All progress lost The world turns around, up and down I lose my breath And land, dizzy and hurt, down the bottom Even further from the peak than when I started.
11 votes -
The Molten Saints Inside Me Do Not Quiet
3 votes -
Flower Girl
8 votes -
The Ward; and a goodbye to Tildes.
First, the piece. I built a fire from the branches which were missed by the snow. Drank the water of the cacti that in deserts still grow. Found the shade in the south where the sun forever glows....
First, the piece.
I built a fire from the branches
which were missed by the snow.
Drank the water of the cacti
that in deserts still grow.
Found the shade in the south
where the sun forever glows.
Clawed and scraped my way to freedom
of likes I have never known.
.
A starved, abandoned cub
lost in Greenlandic champaign -
I pawed about the lifeless floors
of snow-imprisoned plains.
With wind ill-matted fur I marched
and shivered through the rain
in search of hearts and hearths to
make me home again.
.
A ward of warmth appeared, assumed
to aid my ailing mews.
A securing shawl of summer softened
me from winters shrewd.
A multitude of miracles revealed
rejuvenating news.
I concluded countless colder winds
are warmer without you.
This site has given me so much: peace of mind, freedom of expression, cathartic release, and a sense of care and community of which I, over the last number of months, have deeply been in need.
Things are looking ever forward as I continue on about adult life. However, included in those plans of forward-action are a number of artistic pursuits.
In search of some semblance of belonging and community, I revealed a lot about myself in various posts and comments I’ve left about Tildes; and made the mistake of not publishing my works separately or under a pseudonym.
I would like to publish a book of poetry, release paintings, and create music. However, I don’t feel comfortable continuing to do so under my real name.
I will be well; I’m in a better place now. (Personally, of course. Not like that.) It’s simply time for me to separate the art from the artist, as it were.
Thank you all, so much, Tildes. I love you.
It’s been fun.
Bishop.
29 votes -
the city
Something I wrote after watching a scene in the Apple TV+ "The Morning Show" showing an NYC skyline. I've always had a love for NYC, even though I don't live there, and a love for cities more...
Something I wrote after watching a scene in the Apple TV+ "The Morning Show" showing an NYC skyline. I've always had a love for NYC, even though I don't live there, and a love for cities more generally. I've never not lived in a city after moving out of my parents' place, and can't imagine going back to the suburbs. Cities are my home, cities are where I belong. I don't think this one is finished, yet; there are a few rough spots, and I'm not sure about the ending. But, like people have said in a few of the timasomo threads, the important thing is to get the words out, to make the work exist outside of one's head.
the city is awake, alive lights dance in the dark of night little lifesigns, each a past and present each a history and a story not yet told subways and busses and ubers the occasional oblivious cabbie (cancer on the streets) each moving people to their goals their dreams veins and arteries in the city's body lights for seeing superstructure in steel and glass inspiration aspiration and ambition passion and drive these power the pulse and the breath each person, each cell shapes and grows the city, the body each experience shapes epigenetics no place the same after the city takes us all in gives us homes maybe not shelter, but homes we are alive and so is our home an energy ineffable yet indelible
edit: A friend has said that this reminds her of the opening of Murakami's After Dark, and I can absolutely see it. Perhaps a bit of subconscious inspiration?
6 votes -
A love poem
This is something I wrote a couple of weeks ago--not part of Timasomo, but something I'd like to share with folks here. It's becoming more important to me given events in real life and also as I...
This is something I wrote a couple of weeks ago--not part of Timasomo, but something I'd like to share with folks here. It's becoming more important to me given events in real life and also as I explore yoga more deeply as part of my teacher training program. There's clear inspiration from Whitman's O Me! O Life!, but the message is very modern.
That the powerful play goes on and you will contribute a verse Why not let the verse be love? It used to be so easy, so easy, just a simple choice Choose love All the conflicts of today and every other time Not enough love For one another For ourselves Not enough love All the religions and faiths of the world All our enlightened leaders All taught love The play used to be about love So many acts ago Only a few moments ago Seems like forever Seems we’ve forgotten the lines But no one to remind us what they are And we don’t get a rehearsal We get one grand opening day One somber closing night No matinee No encore Why choose any other verse but love? Love makes everything else possible Makes everything else worthwhile Everything else builds on love That the powerful play goes on and you may choose a verse Choose love.
note: Posted this with the wrong title first, so deleted and reposted.
7 votes -
Translation and the family of things - A young writer discovers her grandmother’s literary secret
3 votes -
GoDaddy Customer Newsletter - A Poem
A few years ago I got a rather self-congratulatory email from GoDaddy, the domain host, about all the amazing things that their customers do, apparently. Here is a representative excerpt: "One of...
A few years ago I got a rather self-congratulatory email from GoDaddy, the domain host, about all the amazing things that their customers do, apparently. Here is a representative excerpt: "One of the clearest lessons we've learned is that the one word to describe you best is 'courageous.' You go after what you really love, you chart your own course, and you create something (often from nothing) that usually makes the world a better place."
I found this rather silly coming from a corporation that hosts fucking domain names. So I was inspired to write the following poem:
1.
Dear Firstname Lastname
earlier this year we embarked on an effort to learn more about you
what makes you so incredibly unique
and the values you all have in common
we learned an equal amount about ourselves
you go after what you really love
you chart your own course
you create something
(often from nothing)
whether it’s
a neighborhood pizza shop
an organization to help those in need
or a company poised to launch a new industry
you believe where others don’t
you have the guts to strike out on your own
that’s courage
and it’s worth every ounce of support we can give
you’ll always be able to pick up the phone and talk to someone 24/7
sincerely
semi-legible signature
digitally scanned
followed by a name typeset in Arial
and a twitter handle
2.
i don’t create
neighborhood pizza shops
organizations to help those in need
or companies poised to launch a new industry
my values are not your values
i have a blog
it has a domain name
which i pay you to maintain
that is the extent
of our relationship
i will go cry in a corner now ok
sincerely
a customer
17 votes -
chocolate.
My phone sits, as I, in silence In my room – alone. I hate myself, but seem to lack the energy To dig into my bones. When I was younger I was told that One day God would call me home. Instead the...
My phone sits, as I, in silence
In my room – alone.
I hate myself, but seem to lack the energy
To dig into my bones.
When I was younger I was told that
One day God would call me home.
Instead the coffin calls my name in whispers
And beckons the unknown.
.
Why do I feed a body with a
Soul that keeps depleting?
When all my hopes and expectations come up
Short and keep receding – I
Start alternating between plotting,
Thinking, pleading
That I’ll make a rash decision, they’ll
Give my organs to the needy.
.
Perhaps I’ll drive a stake into my head and chest.
No one should endure this mind or heart.
Meditation never seemed to give much value,
All the medication felt a farce.
I’m an incongruent, uncompleted puzzle
Dangling from a bridge; falling apart.
I watch my pieces sink below into the water,
As this letter dances all about the hearth.
.
I carried out important shit in boxes;
Let the rest behind to be thrown away.
I hid and watched as they threw in the dumpster,
A bed now wrought with chocolate and decay.
As the memories flashed in to my brain,
Of how we chose to spend that final day.
(Of how) even on the best day of the end of my life,
I ended up naked, chocolate-covered, curled up on your chest and crying,
Begging you to stay.
.
The devil is a myth they tell believers;
Hell prevents their chasing earthly dreams.
I will not go to Heaven, and there is no Great Receiver
Who will comfort me and silence my screams.
There is no purgatory in the ether;
The earth is this one act’s final scene.
Fittingly, the water isn’t beautiful here either.
It’s choppy, warm, and a putrid shade of green.
.
Someone use my hands to write a sonnet.
Someone use my eyes to see a better day.
Someone use my legs to climb a mountain;
Use my tongue to find the words to say.
They’ll use my lungs to feel the oxygen.
Use my kidney when theirs is in decay.
They’ll use my heart to feel in love again.
I’ll rest easier that way.
10 votes -
[Kind Words] moonlight masochist\
I keep on my journey when the world's asleep, searching you out, like a bewildered sheep. If you'll come to my aid when you see me- with my knees bleeding red on these cobblestone streets. It must...
I keep on my journey when the world's asleep,
searching you out, like a bewildered sheep.
If you'll come to my aid when you see me-
with my knees bleeding red on these cobblestone streets.
It must be the price of my earthly sin,
that I've no food or water for nourishment
that I crawl alone, in the dark, hoping.
I am the moonlight masochist.
..
So hear me cry out your name, whoever you are.
Bring me the moon, and make me your star.
Protect me like mountains and be my guard.
Help me sleep sound when the noise is harsh.
Be the hearth for my fire; the warmth for my heart.
Get me into a home, and out of the bars.
Can you hear my infantile, crying heart -
My moonlight masochist matriarch.
..
I cough as I choke on the poisoned air.
No one around who seems to care -
Save for two beady eyes who approach and glare,
a thin coyote with a hungry stare.
I only hear howls in monotone
as two other dogs come sniff my throat
But at least when they carry off my bones,
I can kinda say I never died alone.
..
Hear me cry out your name, whoever you are.
Bring me the moon, and make me your star.
Protect me like mountains and be my guard.
Help me sleep sound when the noise is harsh.
Be the hearth for my fire; the warmth for my heart.
Get me into a home, and out of the bars.
Can you hear my infantile, crying heart -
My moonlight masochist matriarch.
7 votes -
hey i have a question
it's kinda silly kinda nothing but i was thinkin kinda wondering hey. if i asked. would you pick the loose string from my sweater bring a blanket in cloudy weather go with me on an adventure give...
it's kinda silly
kinda nothing
but i was thinkin
kinda wondering
hey.
if i asked.
would you pick the loose string from my sweater
bring a blanket in cloudy weather
go with me on an adventure
give a little hug, a little pressure
would you grab a little snack
put my favorite towel on the rack
hear me sing, and try not to laugh
or light a blunt, hit twice, and pass
help me dye my hair
tell me i look cute in underwear
text me just to say you're there
snap your cookie just to share
or rub my neck soft when it hurts
tell my i've a way with words
walk to the park when wind's absurd
just to sip a tea and watch the birds
tell me that you like my lips
pick me clothes out for a trip
head to the lake to skinny dip
and blush a bit because you like my hips
could you
sweat with me at the gym
fill our popcorn to the brim
say that this shirt makes me look slim
and maybe love me limb from limb
instead of him
.
.
.
18 votes -
boats. (or, Kintsugi Bitch.)
I was a kintsugi bitch A dull, forgotten, broken pot And then you fixed me up . You lined me with your own dweomercrafted brand of gold Lac, Mel, et Saccharum . And when you’d starve me for...
I was a kintsugi bitch
A dull, forgotten, broken pot
And then you fixed me up
.
You lined me with your own
dweomercrafted brand of gold
Lac, Mel, et Saccharum
.
And when you’d starve me for attention,
Fed me more from your breast
Til you filled me up
.
And then I’d look you in the eyes
Sugar broiling in the stomach
Am I pretty now
..
Lost, full, and quite ignored
When you had leapt onto the floor
And said we’ve got to go
.
I grabbed your hand and followed blind
My stomach churned I lagged behind
You were the love I know
.
You said we’re going to the sea
My dear you’ll spend a life with me
We’ll make the waves a home
.
And I smiled ear to ear
Cheeks were blushing like a deer
Am I pretty now
..
And then we made it to the bay
quickly climbed into a boat
They never have to know
.
We headed south for centuries
They cannot take the memories
I never hunger now
.
And after weeks of solitude
A stranger came into the view
There was another boat
.
My stomach burned, concerned,
Not a soul had stood astern
You produced a rope
..
You gave a gentle kiss
And slid the twine across my wrists
And tied them into knots
Dipped my legs into the water
Either hand tied either helm
Stretched into a cross
I looked up at you in fear
Just to see you’ve disappeared
I started crying out.
My stomach burned under the water
And the sun was getting hotter
And I’m all alone.
I pleased come to feed me
Don’t leave me weak, depleting
I got no response.
The fish were getting curious
Flies buzzed something furious
They knew what I did not
That if you leave out milk and honey
In the heat, in weather sunny,
It’ll start to rot.
.
Months had passed in sickly motion
Head leaned back, my eyes were open
I died long ago.
The bugs ate at my open mouth
My skin was yellow, wrought with drought
My throat housed a mold
The waters smelled of sulfate
As the serpents ate my stomach ache
My blood has washed away
The rope gave up on hope and
Threw my purple, molten corpse into the ocean
Am I pretty now?
.
.
.
5 votes -
angel (short poem)
i have no idea where i am who i have been i have the slightest glimpse into the present a wavering image of a time long past my soul sits on siain heights above the fish and birds where we know...
i have no idea where i am
who i have been
i have the slightest glimpse into the present
a wavering image of a time long past
my soul sits on siain heights
above the fish and birds
where we know endless comfort
and a burning desire for wisdom
this version, far away from the peaks
that I am so accustomed to;
yet drawn to the body of man,
who screams in agony as he is raised to the heavens.4 votes -
metaphysical sigh.
one day i will die one day so will you. the pictures on the wall will end up in the trash or old and tattered in an attic. our greatest of great-grandkids won't know our faces or how deeply we...
one day
i will die
one day
so will you.
the pictures on the wall
will end up in the trash
or old and tattered
in an attic.
our greatest of great-grandkids
won't know our faces or
how deeply we were saddened
to never see them grow
to never learn the world they know
to never speak their modern language
or watch the trees around them
grow.
for we'll be dead in the ground
and we'll never hear a sound
for what comes next ain't only silence
it ain't blood and it ain't violence
it just
ain't.
so for now we're killing time perhaps
we'll get laid or
learn to paint.
but in the end, it all goes out
into the trash
into the dust
and rest assured
into the ground.
.
if you choose to abuse me
i'd rather hear threats for ever than
hear no sound.
because if you're still here to hurt me
i can say that someone
stuck around.
.
.
.
before i'm buried in the ground.
9 votes -
IF, Rudyard Kipling's poem, recited by Sir Michael Caine
6 votes -
What do you think the first sentence of this poem means? | Fiddler Jones by Edgar Lee Masters
THE EARTH keeps some vibration going There in your heart, and that is you. And if the people find you can fiddle, Why, fiddle you must, for all your life. What do you see, a harvest of clover? Or...
THE EARTH keeps some vibration going
There in your heart, and that is you.
And if the people find you can fiddle,
Why, fiddle you must, for all your life.
What do you see, a harvest of clover?
Or a meadow to walk through to the river?
The wind’s in the corn; you rub your hands
For beeves hereafter ready for market;
Or else you hear the rustle of skirts
Like the girls when dancing at Little Grove.
To Cooney Potter a pillar of dust
Or whirling leaves meant ruinous drouth;
They looked to me like Red-Head Sammy
Stepping it off, to “Toor-a-Loor.”
How could I till my forty acres
Not to speak of getting more,
With a medley of horns, bassoons and piccolos
Stirred in my brain by crows and robins
And the creak of a wind-mill—only these?
And I never started to plow in my life
That some one did not stop in the road
And take me away to a dance or picnic.
I ended up with forty acres;
I ended up with a broken fiddle—
And a broken laugh, and a thousand memories,
And not a single regret.I've always loved this poem. To me, it's about a man, loved by many, that recognizes his responsibilities, but can't help but forgo them to go and have fun with friends and loved ones (in short, anyways). The first line, however, has always intrigued me, and I can never land on a meaning for it. I think it's basically saying that in your heart is your true character (your soul), and that will never change. Or maybe it's saying that everyone has that "vibration" in their heart that yearns for enjoyment. What do you think?
4 votes -
Sylvia Plath: "The Bee Meeting" with annotations
5 votes