Blogs about: Poetry

What is poetry? We all agree that haikus are a form of poetry, but what about the 12,110 lines that comprise The Odyssey? Pop ballad Don’t Stop Believin’?  What about spoken word, like Dis Poem? And what about tweets? Okay, maybe that’s pushing it. After all, Quentin Tarantino once said, “You can’t write poetry on a computer.” (We beg to differ.)

The Latest Posts in Poetry
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At Last, Returning
Boston Poetry Magazine

In somersaults I passed through a field of evergreens. I saw with sunken eyes the light of all who were worthy to praise, and in turn, be a part of a living relationship. I counted my cats and blocked myself from every shadow. Days were beautiful. Even poverty seemed like a mission to accept and uphold. The evergreens dried yellow and insects burrowed into their bark. Then the light burned and faded to cold. A long, tortuous shedding of falsities and natural dreams. It is good to be naked, to be finally at ease with the way I always have been – reincarnated into the old.

Ter Centum /Quadraginta Quatuor

If I were mortal, I know not What I would do. Perhaps I’d try to find undying; Acceptance seems Too awful an answer. — Teacher, way-guide, thought-path-maker, Giver, thinker, idea-breaker– — None at all, none like you, None so kind, None so ready to defend, None so easy with their hugs. — Really tired, so just random poem-shots.

Ambien
No Stone Unturned

sleep doesn’t come easyfor day dreamerslike us; my hands wareaway at the knucklesfromdaysspent too longin the sun. the bed begins to toss and turn beneath me, a sea of the softest Of sheets. the doctor gives me pebbles; potions; living things to swallow, it is just one, but many. my brain is many starfish stretchingtheir arms it seems, for ages;my pillow is it’s soft sandy bed. Sleep is a hook, wrapped in the strongest of bait, that pierces through their many arms and out the top. it drags me up through consciousness to drown above the surface in a dream.  

My Haiku (1)
Zooey's Blog of the Arts
Single threads of light
deadpoetdormis2
Kensho
Gerry Musing
Changes. ..
asmythoughtschange
The Irony of the Definition
Robyn Graham Photography
When dawn comes down
colours and words waltz
I sing
Boston Poetry Magazine

I sing                    like a daffodil to the spring sun like the cat to the fluttering shadow                  to find sleep, to find the opening out, the long tunnel in, and all the ways around                  to cut the diamond, to cut the oversized mirror and friendships away that never really were                  for the overdraft and for the drain inside my mind                  to learn how to better love and lessen the dread to call the angels to my side and help myself shed             

Invited and Unwelcome
SensicalRavings

There’s a place I go to in my dreams A dark and empty home, Carved out of an old building With many other souls. I must open every closet door And peer inside what’s dark And when I wake I find myself Searching the emptiness inside my heart. You are so far away from me. But further still I find, Myself from reality, Hoping to stay blind. Negligence and bliss Kiss with the softest lips Upon the softest parts of me Until they are calloused. I cannot start my own heartbeat If it’s still and has no blood. It will not beat for you nor me Until once hydrated. I’ll leave this place With shame and faith In knowing what I’ve done. I’ll be aware To take more care And protect the good and fun.

Military Girlfriend
I Should Have Said No

The nights are long without you in my bed. I often think to myself  “can I make it through the week, can we make it through the week?” But each question of self-doubt is replaced by joy as I jump off the train and into your arms. You hug away the confusion and escort me to your car. I am in love. But this kind of love is a catch 22. Such deep torment comes from the love of a sailor. I want to love you, I want to hold you in my arms every night, but you belong to the navy, and I live 100 miles away. Such sick twisted faith has allowed our paths to cross, only to watch me count the hours in the week till I feel your skin again. I can’t do this. I am not strong enough. You remind me of your deployment. 9 months at sea, 9 months of emails, and if I’m lucky, a phone call once a month. I wish I could stop worrying about myself, because you will be the one doing the devils bidding for 9 months, I’ll just be a residual side effect. But I can’t stop reminding

The pictures inside my locket weep
aayoung

the first hard lesson life had to teach me was death the way failure looked in a bronze casket somewhere around sophomore year my naivete decided the opposite of dying was the crescendo of falling in love and i’ve been doing it regularly ever since but no matter how many elevators i ride up to rose petal scattered penthouse suites my father is still dead and i will always have a reason to leave a place to be early in the morning until my grave decides it is tired of waiting the pictures inside my locket weep

Fairy Tales
Sp3ranz3

Fairy Tales bruised and broken spirit bent you hold your breath in dark lament born of pink and lace and bliss your wand of magic gone amiss undo the day and lets go back another time before the black in grass all green you sit and play your wings will let you fly one day the birds above they sing and play while down below you smile and pray thank god for this the smell and sight the green and blue and sun so bright this heaven place is joy and bliss and butterflies you live for this you roll and laugh in grass and dirt in pure delight you talk and flirt daisy, clover, evergreen and cotton wood a wondrous scene the locust song and dragon flies your wings will take you to the skies pure innocence eyes open wide this little girl all joy inside and pause and silent growing tall what happens next her graceless fall fuck this noise and talk of joy your heaven slaughtered by a boy your cloak of lace your dreams of flying stripped from your back and now of dying innocence gone your wand a dag

I want to drown into myself
Thoughts of a creative mind

I want to drown into myself I want to drown and I want my bones to wash up to sea I want someone to collect me and cremate me I want my ashes to be stomped on the floor and smudged and blown away I want my clothes to be torn and cut Never to be given away I want no part of me to be on this planet anymore I want to be dead.

Multitude
Aubrey's Arch

        Energy is the language of the Spirit The realest of real the knowing we can feel The shapeshifting quality of breath Is connected to the magnetic pull we erect When being a vital field of source A flow of earth a current of substantial worth The feeling we emote becomes a conscious reality of one The air we breathe the sower of the seed Even if you do not see it is a matter of awakening The senses to their highest potential The energetic field of unlimited dimensions

Uzr aane men b hai aur bulate b nahi by daag dehlvi
Raheemsagar's Best Poetry Blog

uzr aane mein bhi hai aur bulate bhi nahi bais-e-tark-e-mulaqat batate bhi nahi khub parda hai ke chilaman se lage baithe hain saf chupate bhi nahi samane aate bhi nahi ho chuka qata ta’lluq to jafayen kyon hon jinako matalab nahi rehta wo satate bhi nahi zist se tang ho ae daag to jite kyon ho jan pyari bhi nahi jan se jate bhi nahi

At this moment…
Happy Monkey Land and Other Musings on Life

At this moment, thirteen years ago My life was about to change forever. At this moment, thirteen years ago I was (not so) patiently awaiting your arrival into this world. At this moment, thirteen years ago I was both excited and terrified. At this moment, thirteen years ago I thought I knew what it meant to love another person. But, At this moment, thirteen years ago I  did not know that I was terribly wrong. Because, At this moment, thirteen years ago I had not yet held you in my arms. And, once I did I would see That there is no love Like the love Of a mother for her child.