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    1. [untitled]

      In Feudal Japan Kaze no Tsuyoi Nioi Tea Party Ninja Assassin of Joy Bringer of His Mighty Wind Most Fetid of Stench For a Tidy Fee Kaze no Tsuyoi Nioi Would Disturb Your Foes Piercing Defenses...

      In Feudal Japan
      Kaze no Tsuyoi Nioi
      Tea Party Ninja


      Assassin of Joy
      Bringer of His Mighty Wind
      Most Fetid of Stench


      For a Tidy Fee
      Kaze no Tsuyoi Nioi
      Would Disturb Your Foes


      Piercing Defenses
      Buddha Alone Knew His Tread
      In and Out, Unseen


      But Never Un-Smelt
      Kaze no Tsuyoi Nioi
      Bearing Bowels Most Foul

      8 votes
    2. there have been quite a few discussions on poetry on here and more than a few people post it from time to time, but i don't think anybody's asked this question recently if at all on this site, so...

      there have been quite a few discussions on poetry on here and more than a few people post it from time to time, but i don't think anybody's asked this question recently if at all on this site, so let me be the first to do that.

      alternative/bonus question for those of you who can't pick a singular poem: who is your favorite poet in general?

      (also just to be clear, non-anglophone poetry/poets are of course welcome for the answer here. don't feel limited or obligated to confine yourself just to english poetry because most of the people here are anglophones)

      20 votes
    3. Sisyphus.

      This isn’t what I want it to be. I’ve just had too many to care. Most days I don’t need any to not care. Yet I smile at them; servers and baristas. Try hard, smile, look happy. Maybe they’ll think...

      This isn’t what I want it to be. I’ve just had too many to care.

      Most days I don’t need any to not care.

      Yet I smile at them; servers and baristas.

      Try hard, smile, look happy.

      Maybe they’ll think you’re cute.

      You arrogant shit.

      “Sisyphus!

      Arrogant twat,

      How shall you pay

      For the sins you’ve wrought?

      I’ll hang your dreams

      In delicate swathe

      And leave you to work

      Forever for naught.

      .

      Sisyphus!

      You “god” among men

      I’ll number your days

      Count them by hand

      While you work, serve

      Slave to my end

      Your bones will strain

      And bend.

      .

      Sisyphus!

      You represent

      The whole that is wrong

      With the common man

      I’ll make you sweat,

      And I’ll make you beg

      (That) one day you’ll be free

      Again!”

      .

      Dear Sisyphus,

      I know your soul.

      Your struggle is mine

      And we share the goal

      That work, work, will come

      To an end

      And we’ll live again

      As free men.

      .

      Sisyphus,

      I hear your cries –

      Your yelps of pain

      In the dead of night

      When your muscles strain

      And your mind ain’t right

      My brother

      Your pain is mine!

      .

      Gods above –!

      Rescue me!

      .

      Sisyphus!

      I’m you, incarnate.

      I do my work and

      Sing my songs in

      Hope the gods will

      Hear my plea

      And one day

      set me free.

      .

      I am he!

      I aloud decree,

      assuming Sisyphus’

      identity.

      I live his plight,

      beg myself free

      that I’ll find a

      love for me.

      .

      SISYPHUS.

      THIS IS YOUR WROUGHT.

      YOUR MERIT THE PAIN,

      THIS DAY YOU’VE SOUGHT.

      YOU KNOW YOUR SINS

      AND NOW YOU BEG

      THAT YOU MAY FRESH BEGIN

      .

      THE GODS WILL REMEMBER

      SINS IN DECEMBER;

      DRAG YOUR SOUL DOWN

      DEEP TO THE EMBER.

      YOU AS THE KINDLE

      YOU AND YOUR KINFOLK

      FOREVER LIGHT OUR WAY.

      .

      SISYPHUS.

      “IMMACULATE.”

      WHAT A SHAME YOU’LL FIND

      COME END YOUR FATE

      WHEN THE TRUTH REVEALS

      YOUR LOVE IS FAKE.

      5 votes
    4. Boulder.

      are you so thirsty you would drink your own blood? do you feel so dirty that you bathe in wet mud? are you so alone that you make talk with yourself? are you so afraid that you, your own friends,...

      are you so thirsty

      you would drink your own blood?

      do you feel so dirty

      that you bathe in wet mud?

      are you so alone

      that you make talk with yourself?

      are you so afraid

      that you, your own friends, repel?

      .

      would you clean your skin with acid

      just to feel pure within your casket?

      would you feed on rot and mold

      in attempt to feed your soul?

      are you so cold, your blankets worn,

      you'd set your home ablaze for warmth?

      do you so fear the words you'll hear

      you'll drive metal spears into your ears?

      .

      are you so broken

      and without any help

      you would crack your own skull

      and find some gold to smelt

      in hopes you leave your corpse

      a void kintsugi shell?

      if not; then why, dear brain,

      do you want to burn yourself

      7 votes
    5. Lot's Job

      Oh god My God dost forsake me now? will you leave me to the perils of the world: the jaws that bite the claws that catch the frumious bandersnatch If, ever, in my suffering You notice somewhat of...

      Oh god
      My God

      dost forsake me now?
      will you leave me to the perils of the world:
      the jaws that bite
      the claws that catch
      the frumious bandersnatch

      If, ever, in my suffering
      You notice somewhat of that Grace:
      that Heavenly grace that lines the hearts of Holy men
      then
      grant me respite from my sins

      But
      if you do not
      worry not;
      I will obey.
      I will submit.
      I will endure.

      After all, that was
      Job's Lot.

      5 votes
    6. Mountaintops.

      Apologies for the spam. This may be the last one today; worst-case there's only one more coming. I see you, pretty home, with your couch, your floor, and kitchen. I see your sign there, hoping...

      Apologies for the spam. This may be the last one today; worst-case there's only one more coming.

      I see you, pretty home,

      with your couch, your floor, and kitchen.

      I see your sign there, hoping

      that I might call and visit.

      I want to tour your space

      and dream of how I'd fill it.

      What chair, what bed, what rug,

      and if it could home a kitten.

      .

      I can see a career

      that let's me furnish you to 9.

      I faintly feel a hope

      that one day you might be mine.

      I teeter on a plan

      that I could start, if energized

      that would lead me to you

      if I could try, and all went right.

      .

      A fireplace in cold,

      you'd stay lit, always, in orange.

      the warmest of colors

      keeps my mind free of contortion.

      Your firm, solid structure

      Keeps me confident, supported.

      What a beautiful dream;

      I hope, one day, to afford it.

      5 votes
    7. Is it self-inflating to label one's own work as graphic? (It is kinda graphic, clickbait title aside.) This doesn't even really capture the right imagery I was trying to go for. Might just have to...

      Is it self-inflating to label one's own work as graphic? (It is kinda graphic, clickbait title aside.)

      This doesn't even really capture the right imagery I was trying to go for.

      Might just have to re-write this idea into a completely different piece, I'm not sure. (mfw literally "felt creative idk might delete later")

      The "ball" was supposed to really be a watermelon, because we've all seen that YouTube video where they explode a watermelon with rubber bands, but I didn't leave myself enough space to develop that transition from ball to melon properly. (Brand new sentence?)

      Why am I even posting this if I feel its unfinished?

      Who knows.

      Anyway let's get to the thing here it is vvvvvvvvv

      slip.

      twist.

      smack.

      10 rubber bands on a ball

      all hold each other taut

      the inception of a toy

      that will quick be left for naught

      but brings a momentary joy - its only cause.

      .

      work.

      stoa.

      sweat.

      hustle on, man, that's your call

      you gotta love your boss.

      it's the struggle of a boy.

      that you never would be caught

      while feeling tears or overwhelm - lest you be mocked.

      .

      smack.

      stretch.

      strain.

      100 rubber bands slap

      starting slightly straining

      its appearances are coy,

      the ball slowly rolls to stop.

      picked up and bounced against the floor - it doesn't pop.

      .

      work.

      stare.

      grind.

      expectations are my all.

      you dream of taking off -

      escape makes you overjoyed

      daily grind just puts your off.

      your brain it strains against the skull - stressing nonstop.

      .

      pop

      waste

      spill

      500 rubber bands smack

      crushing and constraining

      such a carnage to enjoy

      they start rolling out the mops.

      the ball explodes onto the floor - as if a prop

      .

      rip

      slice

      tear.

      my fists crash into the walls.

      my skin, just rip it off

      rip out the bone, leave me void

      naked muscle growing moss.

      wrap rubber bands around my head until it pops.

      6 votes
    8. What a beautiful night the stars are out like tiny pinprick holes in the sky illuminating our soft gray subtle shadows as we chat about life and random fluff and the moon shines through your dress...

      What a beautiful night
      the stars are out
      like tiny pinprick holes in the sky
      illuminating our soft gray subtle shadows
      as we chat about life and random fluff
      and the moon shines through your dress
          making it
                  transparent

      Back to my car
      a night full of passion.
      Come the morning: I stop and reflect.
      What could my life have been?
      If I had missed all this,
                  this artifice and sin?
      For you are only silicone,
      your dress a splotchy sheet
      The stars are a cheap plastic disco ball
      I bought it from goodwill for 97¢.
      My car's no more than a fluorescent-stained couch.

      Alas, alas for me
      I must do better—yes, I will!
      (I steel my resolve)
      (I know what I must do)
      (my heart, it pains me so!
      For you have been so good to me, and thus I will repay you?)

       

       

       

       

       

      I did it, threw you in the trash;
      I'll hire a human whore tomorrow

      9 votes
    9. June.

      You know they’ve got poetry on Spotify? That’s some cool shit. Ended up following John Cooper Clarke into a rabbit hole of other British poets. Decided to bite and try writing a bit of poetry for...

      You know they’ve got poetry on Spotify? That’s some cool shit. Ended up following John Cooper Clarke into a rabbit hole of other British poets.

      Decided to bite and try writing a bit of poetry for poetry’s sake.

      Anyway. ‘Ere go. “June.”

      I thought your voice was music

      And your beauty - work of art.

      I found your jokes amusing,

      Ponygirl, a golden heart.

      Your company, a journey

      Which I never could depart

      I really felt I loved you,

      Well, I did once, at the start.

      .

      See, music can be different

      Some songs good, and others crap.

      Some begin melodically,

      Then get crashing in a snap.

      Starting subtle violins,

      Then it blares with metal scrap

      They lure you malevolent

      Some music is a trap.

      .

      Some artists Donatello,

      Others Jackson Pollock.

      Some art goes well with wine,

      Some turns you alcoholic.

      Some is deep and intricate,

      Some is purely bollocks

      Can’t call this a masterpiece

      I’m not sure what to call it.

      .

      Thought your lips were pure cuisine

      And your beauty - work of art.

      I never thought the kitchen

      Would have mold and rot at heart.

      The oven sent asunder

      All the counters ripped apart

      You’re a diner with one dish,

      And it’s a dry and sour tart.

      7 votes
    10. Light it up hit the stage hit the dance floor. Fight enough start a riot there's a chance for love to grow for the hate to transform Feeling these knots in my head am I deformed? . Feel like my...

      Light it up

      hit the stage

      hit the dance floor.

      Fight enough

      start a riot

      there's a chance for

      love to grow

      for the hate

      to transform

      Feeling these

      knots in my head

      am I deformed?

      .

      Feel like my

      head, my heart,

      a rock show.

      Is this peace

      or pain, I

      do not know.

      I can't close

      my eyes and

      the clock's slow

      Pray I'll

      kill myself

      in Chicago

      .

      My head pounds

      bass drum

      memories of,

      days when you

      and I meshed

      and we made love.

      Wish that I

      went and bought you

      all your makeup.

      Maybe some money's

      all we needed

      to makeup

      .

      Feel like my

      head, my heart,

      a rock show.

      Is this peace

      or pain, I

      do not know.

      I can't close

      my eyes and

      the clock's slow

      Pray I'll

      kill myself

      in Chicago

      .

      With hate your

      voice went shrill

      you went cold.

      Who's this girl

      beside me

      don't know.

      Wake up in

      the morning pain

      or comfort?

      All your screaming

      I wanna go

      Van Gogh

      .

      Feel like my

      head, my heart,

      a rock show.

      Is this peace

      or pain, I

      do not know.

      I can't close

      my eyes and

      the clock's slow

      Pray I'll

      kill myself

      in Chicago

      9 votes
    11. Hand to God

      Father God I've got a favor to ask of you. . It is said you can justify the hell I knew. . So now I raise my tired eyes to the morning blue. . God above, I've got a favor to ask of you. . If I...

      Father God

      I've got a favor

      to ask of you.

      .

      It is said

      you can justify

      the hell I knew.

      .

      So now I raise

      my tired eyes

      to the morning blue.

      .

      God above,

      I've got a favor

      to ask of you.

      .

      If I don't wake up

      dead in the morning

      could you stand by me

      if just for a moment

      give pause to the pain

      put a break to the moaning

      while I'm stuck in this mind

      and I just can't control it.

      .

      If you're gonna drag me out

      of my bed in the morning

      then I ask I wake in

      a place I feel at home and

      I can pour a little brown, light

      a green, and get to hoping

      that I'll find good work,

      good love, and consoling.

      .

      Ya Allah

      Ana mish aerif

      Ana riyeh feyn.

      .

      My head

      is clouded, dark

      and the sky is grey.

      .

      I've found

      I hate the sun,

      and dance in the rain.

      .

      And at night,

      I close my eyes,

      dream of the grave.

      .

      If you're gonna drag me out

      of my bed in the morning

      then I ask I wake in

      a place I feel at home and

      I can pour a little brown, light

      a green, and get to hoping

      that I'll find good work,

      good love, and consoling.

      9 votes
    12. Life—what's life? half a second on the edge of happiness Life—what's life? half a second on the edge, in the shadow of Death Live life for death—what's the point? it's done before begun you can't...

      Life—what's life?
              half a second on the edge of happiness
      Life—what's life?
              half a second on the edge, in the shadow of Death
      Live life for death—what's the point?
              it's done before begun
              you can't outrun
                                                      forever
      Live life without death—what's the point?
              does it matter, does it matter?
              does it matter right now?
              if it matters right now, it can matter later; later matters more, 'cause there's a lot more later than now
      Live life with death—we get no choice
              but choose you carefully to stand:
                      on his shadowy side?
                      or his sunny side?
              both are fraught with peril
                or
                  do you dare to face him?

      13 votes
    13. Bishop The Musician

      <Insert intro explaining the lack of an intro.> raindrop on the tongue of the parched, de- flated beach ball in the hands of the young, lit cig 'tween the fingers of a nun, one sin's never gonna... <Insert intro explaining the lack of an intro.>
      raindrop

      on the tongue

      of the parched, de-

      flated beach ball

      in the hands of the young, lit

      cig 'tween the fingers

      of a nun,

      one sin's never gonna be enough

      fuck the prose

      words will never be enough.

      the writing's on the walls

      but you can't read it

      you aren't here

      i need a sign you

      can't ignore or a call

      you're bound to hear

      .

      the words just aren't enough

      on their own

      to pull my heart strings

      i can't find peace

      without my blood

      on guitar strings.

      .

      the words are going cold

      the poetry has not a heartbeat.

      i need to take the stage

      and pray to god that they can't see me.

      8 votes
    14. Lakeside Property

      Not sure why I always feel the need to preface these with something. Feels weird not to. As if I'm just "Hey chump, here's a poem, read it." Y'all hear that Lil Nas X track "Old Town Road" yet?...

      Not sure why I always feel the need to preface these with something.

      Feels weird not to. As if I'm just "Hey chump, here's a poem, read it."

      Y'all hear that Lil Nas X track "Old Town Road" yet? Never knew I needed to hear Billy Ray Cyrus on a trap beat until it happened.

      If that blends your smoothie, you might also like "Like A Farmer" x Lil Tracy ft. Lil Uzi Vert

      I like this whole hickhop wave coming through. Cool to see people playing around with genre-bending.

      For all those "that's not real country" folk, here's some Cody Jinks and some Brown Bird (technically blues I think, fight me.)

      Anyway, here's the thing. Feel free to read it. If anyone here uses one of those e-reader speech things for the vision-impaired, how does this sound? Does the reader have any rhythm to it, or does it just feed you line after line?

      Alright closing out for real. Later.

      I thought something strange

      skeleton felt out the closet

      In the house, the paint

      kept peeling off the walls

      and on the bed, decay

      as the wood went rotten

      Never could build a house,

      made a life making coffins.

      .

      In the morn, I wake

      and the skies are grey and cloudy

      Turn to kiss my babe,

      is it love me or get off me

      and my head, it aches

      the anxiety is starting

      so I say fuck it all and I make me some coffee.

      .

      Lips on me -

      desire.

      Arsonist

      with a lighter.

      Feed my soul,

      make the heart burn.

      Where there's smoke

      there is fire.

      .

      An infant strand-

      ed out there in the snow

      Sh'said "Babe there's a chill,

      you'd better close the door."

      Close your rain-

      bow, there's no pot of gold.

      And there's no one to sing

      you any songs of your home.

      .

      Fill my art-

      eries with bourbon old

      Loverboy

      til I am dead and gone

      Rip off my skin

      and leave my body cold

      My son,

      the devil

      is a pretty blonde.

      .

      And I said

      Mama

      I’m tired.

      My hands shake

      My eyes burn.

      Hair’s thin

      Heart afire.

      My lovely little lover was a liar.

      .

      Closed the door,

      the hinge broke.

      No chimney

      house filled smoke.

      Scents arose

      of burnt mold.

      A lake of blood and

      guilt can't support a home.

      9 votes
    15. For now.

      Hi everyone. Hello to all the new faces who don't know my name - (or how out of character it is that there are capital letters in this post!) This isn't really for you - or for anyone in...

      Hi everyone.

      Hello to all the new faces who don't know my name - (or how out of character it is that there are capital letters in this post!) This isn't really for you - or for anyone in particular I guess; I just wanted to write something to those who have followed my work on here.

      So, you.

      Howdy.

      It's been a minute.

      I just wanted to give you all a quick update; let you know that I'm safe. I've had a few of you reach out to me since my last post. I hope I didn't scare anybody.

      For those interested - things... aren't all that better now, hahaha. Sorry.

      But the good news is, they're trending up in a really good way.

      I've decided to stop drinking for awhile; I figured that isn't really helping my cause at this point. I'll pick that back up when there's something worth celebrating, when I'm in better company, and when I'm back in control of myself.

      I've started getting a lot more interviews for work; shouldn't be long now until I have a position landed and I'm back to being a functioning adult.

      And uh - I started therapy. Been about a month now. I like my therapist, they're very sweet, very weird in a fun/eclectic kind of way. (My kinda person.) And that's been going well.

      In fact, that's part of this.

      It's not just Tildes I abandoned.

      I've let a lot of very important people to be fall to the wayside lately - total isolation. Tonight, I started calling them back, apologizing, letting them know what was going on. And that's gone well so far.

      Now I'm here doing the same for you.

      I don't know if I'll be back on Tildes all too frequently. There's a lot on here I might just need to let rest.

      So I just wanted to say that I'm here. I love you. I'm sorry. And, bye.

      For now.


      eyes crackle open

      half past three

      stomach on fire and

      my body feels meek

      i stumble out my chair

      and here the creak in my knees

      you're only in your twenties

      and you're living ninety

      .

      my head feels funny

      and i'm tired of the numbing

      and there's too much week

      at the end of my money

      a little bumblebee lost

      wishing for his honey

      beat my head against the hive

      until the world starts buzzing

      and it falls.

      .

      and i

      set

      foot

      down

      on that unpaved road

      step

      forward like an orphan

      on a search for a home

      walk

      forward hand to God

      if he answers my call

      honey (i'll) be

      leaving for now

      hope it won't be long

      .

      soul

      full of gravel and

      a heart made of gold

      imma

      face my music and

      play my song

      send

      me down to hell

      if it rights my wrongs

      honeybee

      i'm leaving for now

      hope it won't be long.

      16 votes
    16. I like the idea of poetry, but I almost never actually read it. My knowledge of the form is pretty much limited to a handful of popular classics that I had to read back in high school; one or two...

      I like the idea of poetry, but I almost never actually read it. My knowledge of the form is pretty much limited to a handful of popular classics that I had to read back in high school; one or two poems each from Robert Frost, Emily Dickinson, Langston Hughes, Walt Whitman, and Shakespeare.

      Where do I start if I want to dip my toes into poetic waters? What are some good poems/compilations for poetry novices? I'm particularly interested in modern, contemporary voices, but I'm open to anything.

      19 votes
    17. April is National Poetry Month. It's also National/Global Poetry Writing Month, where participants write a poem a day for every day in April. I'm doing it this year, and was wondering if any other...

      April is National Poetry Month. It's also National/Global Poetry Writing Month, where participants write a poem a day for every day in April. I'm doing it this year, and was wondering if any other tilderiños were as well. I'm a little late on the post, but there's still time to catch up!

      10 votes
    18. #19 by Lawrence Ferlinghetti So rent a museum and see yourself in mirrors- In every room an exposition of a different phase in your life with all your figures and faces and pictures of all the...
                                                    #19 by Lawrence Ferlinghetti
      

      So rent a museum
      and see yourself in mirrors-
      In every room an exposition
      of a different phase in your life
      with all your figures and faces
      and pictures of all the people who
      passed through you
      and all the scenes
      you passed through
      all the landscapes of living
      and longing and desiring
      and spending and getting
      and doing and dying
      and sighing and laughing and crying
      (what antic gesturing!)
      And walking through the house of yourself
      you climb again to all
      the rooms of youself
      full of the other lives & selves
      who passed through them
      Rooms rooms rooms
      piled up haphazard
      in the architecture of time
      And all the bodies clinging to each other
      or rushing to windows
      to break out of the room
      which they boxed themselves into
      All the people of your life
      in one house in the night
      all lights lit
      like a cruise ship at sea
      And you run up and down
      knocking on all the doors
      through which you hear
      all the once-familiar voices
      laughing or sobbing or singing
      And you run to the roof
      and look up to the mute night sky
      And in the wheeling template of stars
      see the faces of the figures
      of the lovely lovers who
      had once made time stand still
      now all fixed
      in their constellated relations
      motionless in time

      So that
      some day
      as time bends around
      to its beginning again
      you find them all again
      and yourself

      4 votes
    19. Hey everyone, thanks to you who posted in the original Workshop Wednesday; I think it went really well! Here we are for week 2 (sorry it took me til noon, I was busy this morning!) Some questions:...

      Hey everyone, thanks to you who posted in the original Workshop Wednesday; I think it went really well! Here we are for week 2 (sorry it took me til noon, I was busy this morning!)

      Some questions:

      • do we need a new topic every week? Or will one be enough?
      • any other comments/suggestions?

      Please begin your comment with [META] to discuss these. Otherwise, I'll copy and paste the guidelines from last week.


      What's a workshop?

      Basically, a workshop is when you have a bunch of people with poems or stories they've written, and everyone gets together, reads everyone's work, and comments on it, sharing what they got out of it and what the author could do to improve the work for publication. I used to do a lot of them in college, and I've missed the dynamic since graduating. I thought others might also be interested, so here goes nothing.

      How this'll work (for now, anyway)

      Each week, I'll post a "Workshop Wednesday" post. If you have a poem or (short) story you'd like workshopped, post that as a top comment. Then, read others' top comments and reply with what works/doesn't work/questions you have/ideas you have for the piece that could make it better. If you post some writing, try to comment on at least two other people's pieces as well -- we're here to help each other improve.

      11 votes
    20. So I was talking to @cadadr in this thread about starting a workshop on Tildes, and since today makes for an alliterative title, I thought I'd start one now. What's a workshop? Basically, a...

      So I was talking to @cadadr in this thread about starting a workshop on Tildes, and since today makes for an alliterative title, I thought I'd start one now.

      What's a workshop?

      Basically, a workshop is when you have a bunch of people with poems or stories they've written, and everyone gets together, reads everyone's work, and comments on it, sharing what they got out of it and what the author could do to improve the work for publication. I used to do a lot of them in college, and I've missed the dynamic since graduating. I thought others might also be interested, so here goes nothing.

      How this'll work (for now, anyway)

      Each week, I'll post a "Workshop Wednesday" post. If you have a poem or (short) story you'd like workshopped, post that as a top comment. Then, read others' top comments and reply with what works/doesn't work/questions you have/ideas you have for the piece that could make it better. If you post some writing, try to comment on at least two other people's pieces as well -- we're here to help each other improve.

      Going forward

      Since this is the first one, obviously we can change the format or do something else. Please start meta-discussions with the word [META] so that we know it's not a poem you're trying to workshop!

      I'm excited. Let's do this!

      22 votes
    21. art is trash.

      hiiiiiii everybody guess who drunk for the first time this year ayeeeee we're back i love it i hate it i miss you how damned lazy is the poet who only ever writes. how wasted is the painter who...

      hiiiiiii everybody guess who drunk for the first time this year ayeeeee

      we're back

      i love it

      i hate it

      i miss you

      how damned lazy

      is the poet

      who only ever writes.

      how wasted

      is the painter

      who drowns out his lines.

      how atrophied

      the pianist

      who cannot bend the light

      if this is art then it isn't mine.

      .

      a screw

      driver is useless

      when nails

      are the nuisance

      an easel

      is pointless

      with verbally

      mindless rhymes.

      .

      to what length in an artist?

      if you cannot wield

      every edge of the

      toolbox right?

      .

      not every thought

      is at best

      through emo

      writings expressed

      kid, sometimes

      you have to

      know your lines.

      .

      to better outline your problems.

      (better outline your problems)

      better sketch out your issues

      (guarantee she don't miss you)

      better sculpt out the tissue

      and try to attend to

      the shit you

      can only rhyme.

      .

      what a waste of an artist.

      .

      what a waste of an artist.

      .

      you call your poems cathartic

      but that's your only

      medium, right?

      .

      you wanna be a God

      you better step up

      better learn to

      do your makeup

      hopefully you learn

      to draw her thighs.

      .

      better off dead otherwise.

      .

      if you're not the greatest it's a guise.

      ich lebe noch von dir

      so if i won't be remembered

      then by your God

      i should prolly' die.

      .

      what the fuck is an artist.

      .

      wjo is reallt an aritst.

      .

      you call your poems cathartic,

      but that's your only

      medium - right?

      14 votes
    22. fuck you.

      God put me at ease deliver me to peace. if you're above deliver me to love. there's not a sign you're months without a call. i begin to think you never cared at all. in winter breezes hang me from...

      God

      put me at ease

      deliver me to peace.

      if you're above

      deliver me to love.

      there's not a sign

      you're months without a call.

      i begin to think

      you never cared at all.

      in winter breezes

      hang me from the trees.

      god i'm sick of

      never feeling enough.

      make me crease and

      break me at my knees.

      tarot prophet guide me

      with your crystal ball.

      .

      read the names i've

      written in my skin.

      banish me to walk

      alone in cold.

      hit my face and tell me

      this is it.

      kill me, say you

      never cared at all

      .

      screaming in your car

      you said you'd call the cops

      if i don't take my seatbelt off

      on our way home and walk.

      .

      screaming in our home

      you'd always slam the doors

      and leave the silence ringing

      in the halls

      .

      alone in dark i wailed

      you didn't care.

      as you sat there on your phone

      and talked and talked.

      .

      always acting like

      i wasn't there.

      even asked me to pretend

      that we were not.

      .

      remember back in college

      when you made some friends

      and tried to make me hide,

      not show me off?

      .

      tried to tell them

      i was just a friend.

      and when i protested

      god you told me off.

      .

      but when i made you mad

      how mad you went.

      and appeared inside my room

      without consent.

      .

      i walked in and found you there

      sat at my desk.

      it should've ended there

      but i regressed.

      .

      i said we would grow past it

      never did.

      always made me second guess

      the life i live.

      .

      it's not my fault

      that you stayed home alone.

      why do i slash and cry and pray

      that you'll pick up the phone.

      .

      tell me why i love you

      when it's wrong.

      .

      .

      .

      tell me why i want you

      when you're gone.

      .

      .

      .

      i want you to ignore me,

      miss my calls.

      .

      .

      .

      if at least you'll speak

      to me at all.

      fuck you.

      i'm sorry.

      i love you.

      fuck you.

      fuck you too.

      13 votes
    23. so i've just recently learned about this guy, and his work is quickly becoming a favorite of mine. i'm admittedly crazy poorly-read (is that the antonym to well-read?) when it comes to... well,...

      so i've just recently learned about this guy, and his work is quickly becoming a favorite of mine.

      i'm admittedly crazy poorly-read (is that the antonym to well-read?) when it comes to...

      well, anything besides self-help books released up to "The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck" by Mark Manson.

      and his work has been concise and just fucking accurate enough for me to enjoy.

      so i present you all,

      a journey through love, with Richard Brautigan.


      -2

      Everybody wants to go to bed

      with everybody else, they're

      lined up for blocks, so I'll

      go to bed with you. They won't

      miss us.

      in this first stage, we see that little Richie's met himself someone special, and off they go arm in arm to live happily ever after.


      Romeo and Juliet

      If you will die for me,

      I will die for you

      and our graves will be like two lovers washing

      their clothes together

      in a laundromat

      If you will bring the soap

      I will bring the bleach.

      and here we see something that, personally, i found surprising from a poet who got his start in the 50s.

      this piece emulates the incendiary, passionate, limitless love that some of us have been lucky enough to experience in the early years of our lives. the love where it's the both of you against the world. the love where the most mundane tasks seem incredulous solely because they're done together. the love that i have only seemed to find in life, through trauma bonding.

      their love is powerful. their love is radiant.


      I Feel Horrible, She Doesn't

      I feel horrible. She doesn't

      love me and I wander around

      like a sewing machine

      that's just finished sewing

      a turd to a garbage can lid.

      their love is over.

      the crass yet poignant imagery somehow simultaneously flashing feelings of uselessness, self-loathing, and loss.

      you are here.


      Haiku Ambulance

      A piece of green pepper

      fell

      off the wooden salad bowl:

      so what?

      the sheer stoicism here is inspiring to me.

      this is the mindset that i want - and don't have the emotional energy to cultivate.

      were Brautigan still around and kickin' today, i'd buy the man a shot of the best whiskey i could get with $7 and thank him for emulating the exact mindset i want, need, and desire

      in four lines.

      it's simple - the green paper is a fraud, illusory. from afar or even from near with a quick glance - the green paper is another leafy green of the salad. a leaf of lettuce, a bit of cabbage. even if you press your face into the bowl and smell, the paper will smell of salad and nothing but.

      it falls onto the floor, you pick it up to throw it away. you notice the texture inapropos with more roughness, and frailty than a leaf of a vegetable. you test it - you tear it.

      it was paper.

      it was not the spinach you'd desired.

      it was not real.

      it was not what you wanted.

      regardless of the time you've spent preparing the salad, chopping your veg, blending your dressing, tossing it all, and fixing it for presentation,

      if you throw this paper out - it will be no loss, and your salad will only be better for it.

      a green piece of paper fell off the wooden salad bowl.

      so what?


      Love Poem

      the piece that brought Brautigan in to my attention in the first place.

      It's so nice

      to wake up in the morning

      all alone

      and not have to tell somebody

      you love them

      when you don't love them

      any more.

      resolve.

      clarity.

      peace.

      the earlier bleach has gone unsipped. she has come, she has gone. he has suffered, he has grown.

      and now, he is at peace.

      his world back to...

      normal.


      this has been a journey through love with Richard Brautigan.

      5 votes
    24. I'VE GOT red wine nicotine fresh chocolate chip cookies the plaid heated blanket that keeps me cuddled up in the recliner that doubles as my bed. I'VE GOT red wine daydreams moving to a different...

      I'VE GOT

      red wine

      nicotine

      fresh chocolate chip cookies

      the plaid heated blanket that keeps me

      cuddled up in the recliner that doubles

      as my bed.

      I'VE GOT

      red wine

      daydreams

      moving to a different city with a different scene

      i wanna meet new friends,

      try codeine

      find love or find drugs to console me

      I'VE GOT

      red wine

      thin skin

      pink like your soft cheeks when they're sunkissed.

      haulover beach, you were naked

      on a trip,

      and you screamed, and you screamed, and i hate it.

      I'VE GOT

      red wine

      ain't shit

      except seven little boxes full of bullshit

      old love notes kissed with red lips

      seven boxes of evidence you didn't mean shit.

      I'VE GOT

      a lotta bit of lethargy

      all my energy drained.

      i remember the day where you looked at my eyes

      and you said "babe since you met me you don't look the same"

      you looked at the bags,

      (beat.)

      and you said "that was me"

      (beat.)

      and of course i dismissed it

      said babe don't be silly

      i envisioned us happy and said that "you make me complete."

      I'VE GOT

      red wine

      white lies.

      red wine.

      red wine.

      GOT.

      red wine

      no time.

      it's time.

      lifeline.

      7 votes