#poems Tumblr posts

While I’m trying hard, put all of my heart

I wish you were here to see me fly

I tried my best not to make you cry

False Dusk of Spring

Waiting through the bitter chill brought on by Winters frozen touch. 

Once it arrives we savor the birth of new life. 

The sun shine is still sought out but no longer for hopes of warmth for chilled fingers and toes. 

The dats brighter and freedom to move come around again. 

Still a lingering chill gives way to days of that just right feeling. 

In transition all is waking up while still in a state of just a little longer please Mother Nature. 

The days soon grow even longer yet warmer and all knows what’s next to come. 

So be still turning the time of Spring. 

Enjoy the moment while it lasts. 

The sun will begin to tease of a time beyond only the waking of new life, you will be given a glimpse of the muggy existence just over the horizon.

image: Forest stock pics, Royalty Free fantasy forest pictures |

Let me know what you think my friends and pass the thought along 🍃☀🔥.

I felt a vivacity
I hadn’t felt in a long time,
as if my soul was returning
to my body,
flooding my fingers and toes
with life again.

- G.L. Angelone

[excerpt from my poem, Every Page Since]

schuyler peck / instagram: hiitssky / facebook

you judge me as if

i am not already

silently judging myself

— the damage is already done

I wonder

If you'de be

Proud of me

Of the person

I’ve grown up to be

The little girl

Who used to

Hold your hand

And laugh out loud

Each time you

Tickled her

I wonder if

You look at me

From up there

And think

She’s grown up

Like I wanted her to

But I guess

I’ll never really know

This heartbreak

Is recomforting

In its own ways

-papi

Talk not of love, it gives me pain,
For love has been my foe;
He bound me in an iron chain,
And plung’d me deep in woe.

But friendship’s pure and lasting joys,
My heart was form’d to prove;
There, welcome win and wear the prize,
But never talk of love.

Your friendship much can make me blest,
O why that bliss destroy?
Why urge the only, one request
You know I will deny?

Your thought, if Love must harbour there,
Conceal it in that thought;
Nor cause me from my bosom tear
The very friend I sought.

- Robert Burns -

you used to look at me,

and i used to know,

without a doubt,

that you adored me,

just as much as i adored you.

now,

when you look at me,

i cant tell a damn thing,

and it hurts more

than being able to see you don’t love me.

when you doubt your strength, remember that no one else is holding the weight on your shoulders other than you.

-ahlwords

I want the world to glimmer again.

put a little filter over my blackout poetry,
hopefully I made it easier on the eyes a lil

granted

They heard the whisper

There was an answer

But not quite sure

If it was from heaven or hell

It doesn’t matter how you- just a soft blow of wind was made to into a storm,

They will just look at the thousand fragile roofs your fierce winds broke.

Sarah Bhatnagar

Bed Bug

i want to sink into my mattress

and rest in its stomach

let me stay there

dont make me get up

these legs carry me through the day

unconscious

i answer questions:

when is it due

where is your work

why is it late

what do you need

what do you want

“to feel awake when my eyes are open”

to trade my dark circles for sweet dreams

to not have the world wring me dry

and hang me outside to bleach in the sun

i drag myself through everyday

and lose myself every night

longing for peace

seeking the day when i can finally

sleep

————————————————‐–

Prompt from Weekly Poetry Challenge: write a poem with a quote in it

credits for line 13 go to Maggie Stievater

Poetober Day 21: Sleep

Having a poetic mind is a beautiful but insanely idiotic thing and nothing has ever proved me otherwise.

Happy birthday to Samuel Taylor Coleridge!

I know how the brain operates. 
I know that impressionable moments cannot be erased. 
I know that it’s ok to think of moments from the past, 
Especially if they are happy moments. 
I want you to remember happy moments
Because happiness breeds more happiness. 

Don’t be mad because I can’t trust what you say
Simply because you deny those memories, to me. 

Seriously. 

Who doesn’t think about good times? 
No one cares if there was an ex love involved, in that moment. 
I get it, 
But we all do it. 
We all recall great moments from our past that do involved lost loves; 
The loves that didn’t have anymore quarters to survive in our video games. 

So don’t pretend that you don’t think of old loves too 
And then get mad at me because I write about it or because I do it. 

It’s just how the brain works; 
How it’s wired to work. 

I find people deny these thoughts when we know that these thoughts are impossible to deny to their/our own brains, in the first place. 

The brain isn’t wired to forget.
Our minds make forgetting impressionable moments — impossible. 

Now do you understand why I’ll never believe anything that comes out of most people’s mouths? Because if they can lie about the most mundane and undeniable things based and backed by science. They can lie about everything. There’s no limit to their bullshit. Ever.

“Echoes of Nothing”
by:
C Y R U S
P A V E L

I thought these stormy days

might drown me,

that the winds might

rip my roots from sustaining soils,

but then you shined,

showed me the light,

& I stretched,

eager to reach you

- like a sunflower, searching -

.

📷 April Henry Photography

.

💜 follow @mywordsarewings for more

.

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High Noon at Los Alamos
by Eleanor Wilner

To turn a stone
with its white squirming
underneath, to pry the disc
from the sun’s eclipse—white heat
coiling in the blinded eye: to these malign
necessities we come
from the dim time of dinosaurs
who crawled like breathing lava
from the earth’s cracked crust, and swung
their tiny heads above the lumbering tons
of flesh, brains no bigger than a fist
clenched to resist the white flash
in the sky the day the sun-flares
pared them down to relics for museums,
turned glaciers back, seared Sinai’s
meadows black—the ferns withered, the swamps
were melted down to molten mud, the cells
uncoupled, recombined, and madly
multiplied, huge trees toppled to the ground,
the slow life there abandoned hope,
a caterpillar stiffened in the grass.
Two apes, caught in the act of coupling,
made a mutant child
who woke to sunlight wondering, his mother
torn by the huge new head
that forced the narrow birth canal.

As if compelled to repetition
and to unearth again
white fire at the heart of matter—fire
we sought and fire we spoke,
our thoughts, however elegant, were fire
from first to last—like sentries set to watch
at Argos for the signal fire
passed peak to peak from Troy
to Nagasaki, triumphant echo of the burning
city walls and prologue to the murders
yet to come—we scan the sky
for that bright flash,
our eyes stared white from watching
for the signal fire that ends
the epic—a cursed line
with its caesura, a pause
to signal peace, or a rehearsal
for the silence.

Vincent van Gogh 1890 Noon, rest from work, oil on canvas, Musee d'Orsay