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[mutteringmarigolds]

A Storm is Brewing

the sea swells

throbbing like a bruise

against a steel-gray sky

and as clouds boil before my eyes

each thought becomes a pebble

grinding in my gizzard

the waves are crashing to shore

and churning in my stomach

they foam into bile behind my teeth

but I choke them all down

because parting my lips

and screaming them into the abyss

would be a waste

I am not stronger than the rocks

worn down to sand by the ocean

nor more powerful than the cliffs

crumbling into her arms

and the tide would wash 

the vomit from my clothes

just the same

[mutteringmarigolds]

Thalassophobia

the water swallows the house

thick and black, it seeps in through the walls

like ichor from a god that cannot bleed

and soon the memories begin to flood

ardent and cruel, they caresses your lungs

like a mother's fingers on your temple after her fury has passed

the furniture peers through the murk

bearing witness from the shadows as you sink

like spiders with hunger gleaming in each set of 8 black eyes

and you, O precious little fly

you, O beautifully drowned rat

will remain here among the wreckage 

preserved in the adipocere prison your forefathers built

[mutteringmarigolds]

Positive Feedback Loop

you put out your cigarette on my tongue

igniting the kerosene that drips from my teeth

now my smile is an explosion

and dark eyes are pits of flame 

there is glass everywhere

shards of my skull piercing your feet

until your blood is as gasoline soaked into the carpet

and everything we've built has become fuel

the flames burn hotter and hotter

devouring the house and the flesh

until all that is left is an after image 

burned into the ground where we once stood

and a pile of ashes so poisoned

that not even a phoenix could rise from them

[mutteringmarigolds]

rainer maria rilke, sonnets to orpheus: sonnet i,4

[mutteringmarigolds]

Earthquake 

the ground bucks beneath

just a little tip, but still

a glass of water trembles with the aftershocks

I am conditioned to crack foundations

when the earth will not oblige

[mutteringmarigolds]

poetry problems

I see a lot of posts about “artist struggles!” or “writing problems!” but never ones about poetry, so here we are! shout out to all my fellow poets haha :) (also these are just from my personal experience lmao) enjoy!

- when you have a Vibe but it just… isn’t translating. like the words just aren’t coming. you wish you could just project the images in your head onto the computer screen and have it put it in words but. you can’t. obviously. >:(

- when it SOUNDS so FLAT and DISGUSTING but it won’t get better no matter what you try

- you’re swimming through poem fragments and incomplete stanzas you wrote that have a ton of potential but you just. can’t. finish them. so they just exist… floating…. unmoored… and you feel so BAD because they are GENIUS but that was the extent of your creativity and that inspiration is NEVER coming back 

- scrolling through your notes app trying to find that ONE POEM but it’s buried

- bad, flavourless metaphors

- bland imagery

- reading your poems to non-poets and them staring blankly at you like “okay… what does it mean tho…” or even wORSE “uh….. i didn’t like it :/” and both ways you feel CRUSHED

- not writing for months then BOOM ten new poems

- the poems are always in your head and you can’t stop analysing them and picking apart their flaws

- thinking of a really good poem idea or specific line when you don’t have the opportunity to write it down so you forget it… wasted potential :(

- words just floating in your head at all times. you can’t get your brain to shut up.

- something mundane happens and your brain narrates it with a line of poetry that’s just. kinda lame and you gotta be like “NOT! NOW!”

- feeling unable to call yourself a writer even though you’re constantly writing bc you never have to deal with like. the problems story writers complain about, like worldbuilding, characterisation, plot, etc so you just kinda feel. :(

- not having the commitment for full length stories so instead you just write some nice Vibes that look a lot more like poetry than anything (you can’t escape!!)

- “wow it’s really late and i should be sleeping.” *starts letting thoughts wander* “oh hey! poem idea! need to write it down!” *starts writing* “hm this is going well! :)” *a few hours pass* “oh no”

- hearing/reading someone else’s poem and feeling kinda inadequate :( even though you know shouldn’t do that :( it just. kinda happens :(

- someone telling you you’re so good at poetry and you doubtfully glance at your tons of bad poetry like “you sure??”

- “okay! poetry time! time to write a poem! time to do it. yep! time to,,, write… a poem. now,,, time for poem. time for….. time for. poem. yep. uh huh. uh huh. hhhh” *can do anything but*

- “okay! time for a task that is pertinent! time for that task! it is due soon! time for it! time to do. the task. time for the task. time for…. yep. mhmm. task time.” *starts writing poetry instead*

- but even with all that still having a great time bc you really like doing it and it’s fun to feel ~fancy~ bc you write ~poetry~

- :) anyways yeah haha might do a part 2 of poetry positives if this one gets a good reaction or if I get bored so stay tuned lmao

[mutteringmarigolds]

A bitter rose with precious petals

Hangs low and sickly on the fence

Vines and stems weave through the border

And yet the flower faces west.

It has turned its gaze from the rising sun

To watch instead its evening death.

The leaves tremble and the thorns prick

As it curses the horizon with every breath.

But can one really blame the delicate thing

For being so indignant and spiteful?

All that it knows is the darkness that grows

On the line between daylight and nightfall.

[mutteringmarigolds]

Gemini 

Mama always told me 

Not to trust the moon

For she is changeable 

Moods ebbing and flowing 

Winking in and out of existence.

That's why when I tell you

That I see the night in your eyes

There's a spark of fear in mine

[mutteringmarigolds]

I am a gnarled oak

With skin like bark and arms like boughs 

A wind whispers through my branches

"Come home," it begs me

But what is home to a tree?

What is a bed to a tower?

I Iike to feel the rain on my leaves

The suffering reminds me that I'm alive

Pain is honest, in its own little way

Sometimes I even miss it

"Carve into me," I plead

"I want to feel something,"

My leaves shudder with the shame

And yet still the desire remains

Silver hot and steely soft 

There is no reply

We both know the answer anyway;

I'm already home and I've already been carved

[mutteringmarigolds]

All I Heard that Day was the Cicadas

a city made of paper

dissolves under a sky of fire

ghosts begin pouring into the river

melted arms outstretched 

as though pleading for the mercy of god

but there is no god here

there is only poison

and the memory of the agony burned into the walls

[mutteringmarigolds]

The Evergreen that Lost its Leaves

A flock of birds

A swarm of bees,

A silent stand of ancient trees,

A single light,

In darkest night,

Floats on the ocean breeze.

Is that the moon above the bay?

The sound of wind and sea?

Or is it the sound of something far darker

Much crueler, much nastier, unclean?

There are monsters in the forest.

There are ghosts down in the deep.

And though there are plenty of fairies in here,

It is still not a safe place to sleep.

[mutteringmarigolds]

Inscrutable Object

This place

At once a graveyard and a birthing suite

Breathes again

As it gasps for air 

The phase of the moon changes 

The shape is new and dark

A future unnamed in the infinite space

The wail of the infant and the gasp of the dying

Ring together in the gap

Phasing in and out

Until one is indistinguishable from the other

[mutteringmarigolds]

Barren

I would not tell you that I was sad 

So that that tears you shed 

Would remain your own.

But really it's a trap, my little flower.

I am a barren field and a starving calf

In the guise of a verdant garden.

I tried to cultivate a bed for you,

A safe place to bury your roots.

But the soil was bad I suppose.

No matter how I watered,

No matter what fertilizer I bought,

Each seed planted became a rusty nail

Sitting uselessly in the earth.

You should really find a better garden.

There is nothing for you here in mine.