internetagepoet

[internetagepoet]

Miss Piggy reads “I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud” by William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the milky way,

They stretched in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:

I gazed—and gazed—but little thought

What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.

[internetagepoet]

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

by T.S. Eliot

“I am no prophet — and here’s no great matter;

I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,

And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,

And in short, I was afraid.”

snippet from one of my favorite poems of all time.

[internetagepoet]

Am I Still a Stranger if I Exchange Greetings With the Stratosphere

sitting amongst the rooftops

in Venezia, cigarette burning

between my fingers, smoke

curling out my lungs, twisting

from two directions into the clouds.

I shout “Good Morning!” to the reviving sun.

Raindrops from the sherbert sky

tickle my bare thigh, crosses

and caressess my shins

and dips to my toes.

It continues slipping

through the slats

of the patio flooring, creeping

through the cracks

of a local’s ceiling

into a bucket she keeps

in her kitchen, which

she later tosses outside

to the cobblestone street to be

lapped up by

a jubilant stray kitten.

Am I

part of the cycle of

this life? Connected, and

for a moment, a key component

to the greater nature of

things.

Morning, the assertion

that the heavens, the earth, and

the body are a singular yet,

symbiotic being.

Her glorious tongue is omnilingual.

Sajah Francesca

[internetagepoet]

SOME UNDER APPRECIATED POETRY BY TERRANCE HAYES

from his collection “American Sonnet for my Past and Future Assassin” (2018)

finally got to read this collection after finding it in NYC. ABSOLUTELY AMAZING WORK 10/10! Would definitely recommend to those who enjoy political poetry that is form and boundary breaking.

[internetagepoet]

boston by Aaron Smith

[internetagepoet]

Leaving for a NY trip today and reminiscing about how time chose my future for me, despite my desire to stay a constant, lacking the desire to grow…

[internetagepoet]

Book Recommendation Post!!

Here’s a cute list of some unique book recommendations! Individual book breakdown will be below!

The Master and the Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov: “Written during Stalin’s time in power but suppressed in the Soviet Union for decades, Bulgakov’s masterpiece is an ironic parable of power and corruption, on good and evil, and human frailty and the strength of love.” What would you do if the Devil came to town?

Moldy Strawberries (short stories) by Caio Fernando Abreu: “In these surreal and gripping stories about desire, tyranny, fear, and love, one of Brazil’s greatest queer writers appears translated to English for the first time. In 18 daring stories, Abreu navigates a Brazil transformed by the AIDS epidemic and stifling military dictatorship of the 80’s”

Ghost Forest by Pik-Shuen Fung: “Buoyant and heartbreaking, Ghost Forest is a slim novel that envelops the reader in joy and sorrow. Fung writes with a poetic and haunting voice, layering detail and abstraction, weaving memory and oral history to paint a moving portrait of a Chinese-Canadian astronaut family.” This poetic novel left me in tears.

If I Had Your Face By Frances Cha: “A riveting debut novel set in contemporary Seoul, Korea, about four young women making their way in a world defined by impossible standards of beauty, after-hours room salons catering to wealthy men, ruthless social hierarchy, and K-pop mania.”

Blackouts by Justin Torres: “A reclamation of ransacked history, a celebration of defiance, and a transformative encounter, Blackouts mines the stories that have been kept from us and brings them into the light.” A beautiful fictionalization of true censored queer history.

[internetagepoet]

🫀✨

BUSY WOMAN, inspired by @smittenbypoetry's March 2025 prompt.

[internetagepoet]

the first book i read this year, and i havent stopped thinking about it since

james baldwin, "giovanni's room" // richard siken, "crush"

[internetagepoet]

happy international women’s day, 2025

[internetagepoet]

this poem radiates such a healing energy. Really beautiful 🫀

The Persistance of Individuality

By: Lakyn L.

Find solemn ground for which to lay upon your truths

Relive and relieve the pressures of your past

Plant a mirror for the world to wander upon

let them witness a life of a thousand memories

I shall look upon each one with teary eyed satisfaction

stories woven into fragments of the earth in a declaration of self

For creation is the root of individuality

[internetagepoet]

Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

[internetagepoet]

PostIronic Martyrdom

by Sajah Francesca

I am the evil incarnate.

I am the six tripled.

I am a fallen warrior

turned villainous in his final battle.

Pity the fool that is me.

Pity the bearer of arms-

I cannot control where my daggers stab

but I must

pierce something

to survive.

My arms are tied

to the devil’s trident

like a marionette

to its wooden manipulator.

I AM HUMAN GIVE ME GRACE

TO MAKE MISTAKES!!

I expect perfection.

I control the direction

of the path

to my own death,

dont i?

i demand perfection.

this is not a deflection

for my actions which I took

with one eye closed, with

tremoring hand on a pistol with

the safety clicked off.

I have shot the innocent,

I have watched them bleed,

but I feel remorse!

Does remorse count for nothing?

In the name of love,

I strike like a viper.

In the name of love,

I plant a poisonous flower

in a garden of Eden.

In the name of foolish

love for life,

I kill the victim and

drain their blood,

tenderly, methodically, and

string them up by a vine

so their feet

are one with the branches

of a tree; their life force

rains down on the roots

from their decapitated form.

Violence begetting growth.

In the name of youth,

can you forgive me?

In the name of naivety,

might I beg you for forgiveness?

I AM HUMAN GIVE ME GRACE

TO MAKE MISTAKES!!

Will I change?

Is that required?

Will I grow?

Is that required?

Will I learn?

Does it matter?

I expect perfection.

I control the direction

of the path to

my own death,

dont i?

I walk alone

carrying my cross on my back,

bleeding.

What is one more strike

from a glass-thorn whip?

Strike me again.

Strike me again.

I am begging for you to

strike me again.

Make me feel pain.

I deserve to feel pain

so i can

offer pain

in return.

An eye for an eye,

a tooth for a tooth,

a lock of my hair,

the nail off my toes,

the blood from my veins,

my soul or my brain,

take whatever you want from me

for I have already preyed

on yours,

and I am

truly

sorry.

Too much to put on you…

to replace my “i”s with “you”s,

my “me”s with “we”s

so,

I am the evil incarnate.

Pity the fool that is me.

[internetagepoet]

stunning ❤️

The ghost of his words still lingers

like echos in the night I'm stuck in my mind

The same breathless thoughts

Familiarity breaks the dream

Now I know how he regrets my love

and how he despises my touch

Instagram __supersonic.1989__

[internetagepoet]

To February and simple pleasures 🫂❤️

A WARM DAY IN FEBRUARY

[internetagepoet]

Im so happy to see people enjoying this poem!! It is one of my personal favorites of mine from a couple years back.

If anyone is interested, it is from my Poetry Collection “Nasty. Unpredictable. Nonsense.” I’ll add the link below if you are curious about purchasing. If not, no worries! I will continue posting poetry here for free regardless :)

The Best Thing For A Woman To Do Is Die

by sajah francesca

And there lies Ophelia, floating

amongst the flowers. In the slow

moving stream, her garb is pulled

up past her pelvis, revealing her

knees, both bruised and dedicated

to her lover. Her mouth is resting

open, and the wind and river collect

willow leaves to fill up her throat.

Her eyes are glassy, like her porcelain

skin, and they are rolled back into her

skull, looking where her mind was,

before she lost it.

And the forest still echoes

Ophelia’s song: The melancholy

chorus of “hey nonny nonny” pushes

past the brier and the farmers to

tell her story, but the farmers have

much work to do, and no time for

feminine whims. Her final verse of

teenage heartbreak and unrequited love

is still sung by the robins in the wood.

But did anyone search for her body?

Did Hamlet rally the guards to

look with lanterns in the night?

But no, Ophelia is the punchline

to Gertude’s gag.

But no, her final moments are

mocked by a royal court.

And, now, her suicide is seen

by museum-goers fascinated by

oil paints and vivid greens.

And they all talk of her beauty,

in front of her misery,

and all they see is beauty.

And there floats her cadaver

two centuries post mortem-

And all they see is beauty.

[internetagepoet]

“Love Poem with Apologies for My Appearance” by Ada Limón, originally published in The Carrying (2018)

There is beauty in the mess and imperfections of a shared space; They mean “i love you”