#blackbirdpoetess

[getcareless]

Third Coffee

Third coffee, years later;

you never left me,

I still love you.

I’ve been writing about stars

and how you don’t get to come back.

You live in me.

The tree will swallow us both.

We’ll become nothing and everything

all at once.

I believe we’ll be together forever.

JP

[peonywatts]

i’m so incredibly touch starved

that the slightest brush of your hand against mine would dizzy my head more than any alcohol ever could

i simply don’t know what would happen if you kissed me

i figure i might just collapse

or burst into flames

every nerve ablaze with desire

so maybe it’s best

for now

if we didn’t kiss

but i think i can handle the dizziness

[stephanator02]

The Dawn's Dilemma

Where did inspiration go?

It's the dawn's dilemma,

the loss of all the plans from the night before.

3am hangs on strong

it's just the final push before it's gone.

1 last surge, 1 last let go.

Maybe the sight of the sunrise just might

loosen the words to flow

but I soon find my eyes closed.

The thing about opportunity is if you blink it's gone.

Now the day is on,

it's a race I run.

How much can I get done

before the day breaks

and the sunset takes

the rest if the motivation I've lived on.

The cycle has begun

and new plans are made for upcoming suns

with good intentions to have fun

but every morning I miss the dawn

and it's the biggest dilemma of all.

[synonymousme]

Have you ever looked at your shirt and wondered where the bullet holes were? Where did the blood and mud vanish to? Where are your broken bones, your scorched skin, your missing limbs?

I have, my darling. I have reminded myself a thousand times those holes never existed. I never wore blood or mud like that dress I had on last night. My cast never interfered with prom… my blistered skin never made me question a photograph, and no, those aren’t ghost pains. My darling... Those of us who fight these battles… our scars are not seen by the world.

Our scars are not seen by us, either.

What a blessing. What a curse.

Sometimes I wonder if they are really there… I wonder if they are there, and I wonder if I am real. Or if it is all as unreal as the gunshot I felt last night.

[femmmedarling]

Tell me the formula that lives in the lilt

of your voice. Show me the base and metals,

I want to hear them clink

on the sides of glass bottles surely lining

your shelves. Did you translate this from Malay

or perhaps it’s a secret you packed whilst

leaving India, did you study craft at the foot of

an ancient teacher or were you born to

transform the ordinary into divine?

I’ve tried to crack the code but I’m afraid

all I know is the sound of your voice can

conjure, that your breath can spin elements

from nothingness, that within your sigh i take

shape. Speak in symbols and emblems,

whisper stories of Sol and Luna into my ear, lift

my chin to meet your gaze and call upon the

catalyst

How jealous Flamel would be if he saw the ease with which you turn me into gold

-Alchemist // a.k.g. // 7.20.19

[thedreadgorgon]

"Adam -

Try the Apples,

Love Eve."

I savor the taste of you

the same way I delight in the flavors

of strange fruits and foreign candies

dripping with juice and sugar

discomforting and arousing.

Under your hand

I am peeled

left shaken to the core.

- K.U.

[anewkissx]

A series of extra long stories, quick rants, hour events, a simple poem - birthed me.

Although I always find need to make home in each character that managed to pull me - by playing footsy with me underneath our work desks, whispering telepathic stories from their book of life, before they ran off to an end

just when I was having fun.

Each one birthing something new in me,

the want of an ever after.

I grow to love people far too often and the seeds they plant in my head for their story to come at la pause,

leaving me to figure out the rest on my own until volume three,

when their presence once felt so real, dedicated to only me.

awinterkissx | end rant.

[rightnowwritehere]

trigger warning

Yes, I am triggered, but I am no longer a gun. No, I will not shoot. And no, you have not won.

[poetselixir]

Poet’s Elixir Prompts (06.11 to 10.11)

Thank you so much for participating in last week’s prompts! This week we’ve got two others:

1. Scratches on the walls

2. How to survive storms

Tag your original work with #poetselixirprompt for us to rel=blog them. 

If they are not reblogged within 32 hours, please send us an ask with a link to your writing.

For writings not related to the prompts, please use the tag #poetselixir only.

Looking forward to reading your work! Happy writing!

[imperialhaiku]

i knew a boy who / could see through walls, and with this, / he came to know pain

haiku 320/365

[imperiallefty]

we were so close to love.

6 words from the mouth of man.

[getcareless]

Picking Out The Roses

Picking out the roses among the thorns Means I am not opposed to trading words. Well then suppose I grab life by the horns And do a rodeo around the herds.

I want to tell you that what's mine is yours As I still go on learning all the chords. Love is not something to compare to chores Unless you like to deal with sharpened swords.

I can see when roses won't open doors All they want is to grow inside a shell - Staring from a window, starting wars, Sifting through the images of a hell.

Would you believe if I said my mind's sore, I'm just surviving - to and from the core.

JP

[peonywatts]

how do i tell you,

after all these years,

that i still think of you often?

how do i tell you,

after all this time,

that i miss you?

i don’t know who you are now.

i knew you in college,

when we were younger

and i was careless.

i knew you at a time in my life

that was easy.

maybe my life was easy because you were in it.

i don’t know what you’re like now:

i don’t know if you still listen to the same music.

i don’t know if you’re still as goofy, or if you’ve become jaded like me.

i don’t know what you do for work, or what you do for joy.

what i do know is that no matter how much time has gone by,

i still think about you,

and i still write about you.

i’m glad you were in my life.

i wish things were different, and that you were still in my life, and maybe that will happen down the road.

but if it ends up that our paths only crossed once,

if our stories were only entangled for a moment, i will be okay.

because i lived so much in the time i knew you.

i was so happy.

i hope you’re well.

i wish you nothing but joy and happiness.

[stephanator02]

Don't Stop Now

Am I still writing?

I hate that sound.

Of course I am

why do you doubt?

Even when I dont

write it all down

my thoughts are so loud

Watch as I drown

I cant seem to turn them off

I'm damned and hellbound

revolving verbs and compounds

devouring all letters

and sweet tender vowels

howling at the moon

the new town whorehound

my destiny found

in delicious pronouns

the muse burns through me

and I cannot stop now.

[synonymousme]

I stared into a rippling pool and saw the ocean's waves. I heard a whisper in the wood and imagined it the fey. A fire burns and crackles bright and in the flames, I see a golden girl of heat and light… a girl I wish to be. I met a cat’s judgmental eyes and wondered if it knew that without the mercy of a God ‘nine lives’ is just for show. I crossed a door lined thick with salt and laughed with lips pressed tight; what do these kindly people know of what stalks them in the night? I watch the girl of fire dancing and think calmly of that pond, of the door shaded by salt, and the whispers in the pines. I flick my fingers gently and the vision disappears, leaving some smoke and ashes, and memories now unclear. But one day, I promise calmly, with my eyes lit by hot coals, one day the fire won’t go out. I’ll help it spread and grow. -M.F.

[femmmedarling]

I wish I could write about you

that I could press your laugh between pages of poetry and hold your smile in a single line. I wish I could tell you the keys heard me when I told them the way your breath sounds when I kiss the inside of your thigh and how your moans taste of honey

What if I could carry our sticky fingers, fresh from eating mangos in a leather journal and suck on each memory in a subway car? Tell me, my love, is there a way to pack a bay full of stars into a duffel and still hear the rain light the sea?

Why do pumpkin patches need essays and why is a late night stroll in autumn past shops with bathtubs in the windows worthy of a novel? Tell me how to write you. Have you always been the rays of light beneath a waves surface? I want to know how you hold fire in your skin and the earth in your eyes. I want to know how you melt ice with the pitch of your voice. I want to understand how you sing lullabies with the tips of your fingers. Show me what it is to write you and I’ll still have you when you’re gone.

-Honey in My Pockets // a.k.g. // 10.14.18