#poetsandauthors

[mysecretworks01]

from summer 2022

But I’m in pain... as I lay barely awake in bed typing this, I know I have to let it all out before I forget again.

It’s all in my chest, it’s heavy.. the rest of my limbs feel featherweight. I am as stuck to the sheets of my bed as I am to the idea there is no end to me and you. The slightest thought of the final chapter binds me to this spot. And as the weight of this feeling begins to turn me claustrophobic, I have already sunk further into oblivion.

[fruitfulodyssey]

I've abstained from

Sexual encounters

& visuals to acquire

Spiritual Stillness

In my vessel.

Raw emotion, deep yearning

engraved in the fabric of flesh

I don't despise the feeling,

But I've delayed an awakening

Authored for me.

A journey purposed

for clarity Is a need

For the depth of my soul

Desires comprehension

To articulate the intricacies

Of devotion.

.. Why swim ignorant of

The canvas that welcomes

The paint of a lover?

Isn't it foolishness

To give what is sacred

Lacking the intimate

Understanding of its value?

I cannot love beyond

The natural understanding

If the eyes that's meant

To see beyond the

veil of flesh

Fails to see the intimate

Textures intertwined

Behind the layers of skin.

On this journey I remain

To discern potent affections

In alignment with my soul.

- Journey of Discernment 1

[grammymumzy]

​A great writer must wear a great hat, Any amateur poet knows that. If your topper's too slim, Or your boater lacks brim, Or your chapeau is fluffed, Or your bowler’s not buffed,Illustration © Chris Riddell 2016 If your beret has shrunk Or your fez is a flunk, And your pillbox is flat Or your porkpie’s no hat… You really should know, That the words will not flow. One’s hat has to pass, For its style and its class, Or, to put it more simply, If your hat is too …pimply, Too dull, or too ugly, or brown... Then the words will not work And you’ll look like a berk, Unlike me, in my marvelous crown. Poem ©Kathryn Evans 2016

[poetrythreesixfive]

What We Are

The human mind is boundless,

and recall has no end,

as if our once-upon-a-times

cause space and time to bend.

Consider every instant,

or those you can recall,

as circumstance prevents us from

remembering them all.

A well of separate moments

collected into one,

and most go by unmarked until

one day, they’re almost done

So treasure every minute

your memory can find;

I only hope I perish

long before I lose my mind.

                   -GeorgeFilip

[putah-creek]

Mid January three solid weeks of cold rain (Wilton flooded by the Consumnes River) and finally a sunny perfect day crisp and cool with a pale blue sky only a few gentle wisps of a cloud here and there like a mother’s smile three weeks of rain after three years of drought the sun is beautiful but -oh- touch my heart with rain touch my heart with the great gray wetness

james lee jobe

[psylynt-p]

[light me up]

become a fixture,

always of service,

hardly a pleasure past acting

as a little mirror... reflecting

back exactly what they want,

or else...

---

solace in understanding, solace

in seeing the part that doesn't change,

this heart and soul connection taut,

intimate with silence, rest, the short space

between breaths.

-

tired of waiting and tired of distractions,

I'd rather be combustible liquid, ready

to go.

[manilamersedes]

[honeylights]

we all think we might be terrible people. we only admit this before asking someone to love us. it is a kind of undressing.

[arubiefaerie]

[emptiness]

it's days like these that make me wonder if the black hole does not surround me, but is within me. and so i ought to wonder, did i create this black hole? did i not maintain my star, and she turned into a supernova - an incredible feat of beauty, a burst of energy and hope and dazzling spectacle, before fizzing into nothing but darkness? or had my star merely reached its lifetime?

or, we are all made of stardust - iron can only be naturally created from the cores of dying stars. so what am i? am i the sun, warming myself & others in all my glory, with billions of years of existence ahead? or am i already at the end; an exploding supernova that turns into nothing but the vitamin that flows through others' veins?

༊*·˚ ༄ ༊*·˚ ༄ ༊*·˚ ༄ ༊*·˚ ༄ ༊*·˚ ༄ ༊*·˚ ༄ ༊*·˚ ༄ ༊*·˚ ༄ ༊*·˚ ༄ ༊*·˚ ༄

new post! read this out-of-the-world piece here! ;)

you can also find all my works here. more coming soon! remember to follow my twitter as well!

the title of this work is technically NOTHING. like blank. like totally empty. like a void. dare i even say, like a black hole ;)

p.s. notice the two new series that this work kicks off? GET READY BABYYY~

༊*·˚ ༄ ༊*·˚ ༄ ༊*·˚ ༄ ༊*·˚ ༄ ༊*·˚ ༄ ༊*·˚ ༄ ༊*·˚ ༄ ༊*·˚ ༄ ༊*·˚ ༄ ༊*·˚ ༄

[literaturelara]

They won. I survived.

L A R A.

[ahseya-writes]

The intimacy of being understood 🦋🖤

[mysecretworks01]

I loved you before I even knew what love was and after I did, I realized I’d never have a love like this again. You crept your way into all the parts of my heart and even when we walked away, the remnants of you remained.

[fruitfulodyssey]

The soul is only

An everlasting

If stretched in hopeful

Expectations of a journey

Beyond the body of flesh.

Mere mundane desires

arrest inner expressions,

For the action of satisfying

An infinite with finite fruits

Diminish the taste of potency

In the depth of the soul.

Harken onto wisdom,

For she will only heed the call

Of those who beckon on to her.

Cultivate a need intimate

Beyond bone to receive

The nectar from her lips

Endowed in spiritual journey.

[grammymumzy]

Funny Poem ©2018 George Kirk Illustration ©2018 Laurence Anholt

My son’s flowers Are sun flowers He grew them all from seed, Tucked them deep into the earth, Provided all they need. My son’s flowers Are sun flowers They raced towards the sky, Grew out green and leafy hands High fived as he walked by. My son’s flowers Are sun flowers Their petals soon unfurled, Into the shy and youthful dawn Of a bright and hopeful world. My son’s flowers Are sun flowers They stood with pride and grace, Then turned their newly opened blooms To his wide and open face. My son’s flowers Are sun flowers They’ve known him from the start, He fed their roots, he fed their stems And now they feed his heart.

[poetrythreesixfive]

Discernment

The mushrooms are waiting to be born

like subconscious reminders that we all

come from darkness and to darkness we

will all return, spores sitting just below

the surface of the lawn waiting for fall,

for dampness, for the ideal condition to

poke their heads up out of their hidden

awareness, their misbegotten fantasies

of celebrity and virtue and significance

and into the uncomfortable light of day

where little awaits them but an

unforgiving lawnmower

blade to the

head.

                -GeorgeFilip

[therosenbomb]

i love this poem

these words this nam shub this fucking cringe I have written here

The sad fat fiat fuck cunt cuck no coin shill led around by her dick inside us all

He ($he) dances here in atrazine and inflammation sugar and Suge Knight fountains of eternal youth september forever

These suitcases of meaning mirages ( mirrors ) into which we carefully stuff so we can still carry on so we can understand our identiology

Heavy as bricks throw them thru glass houses of AI Blockchain transparency and brick by bit we build the rockets of Babylon

Snatch my purse of debts and regrets grab me by my shibboleths the albatross around my neck an icy hot wallet of guilt an anchor in an open sea an io.u

It only weighs me down I will fly to Mars on hope and hot air

The children of earth will wish on satellites Starlight, Starlink help me not to pol think