#Alt Lit

[env0writes]

i. How could I brazenly claim The stars When even rainfall Like rivers Flows not to nor from me But through These feelings too Shall pass Like starlight turned to day

ii. These feelings are not mine to feel Not mine to hurt nor heal Yet like the rain that fell into my cup, my well Pass through me As the river does To sea So eyesight on starlight That I’ve no right To claim Who could be so brazen What claim could be made I hold no title nor no deed No flower, save a reed To whistle my whittled tune Chipped down and down, what loon-acy You see This emotion that doth stir The rivers, ponds, and birds No birds or bees No stories

NaNoWriMo Vol. 4, 11.22.24 “Can't Help Feeling"

@env0writes C.Buck   Ko-Fi & Venmo: @Zenv0 Support Your Local Artists!

[matthew-pasquarello]

a draft in the upstairs hallway while in the office i'm creating myths like pots and pans swallowing sauce but the aroma is much denser and the fragmented slurs could stop the armies right there in their boots. let's stop for a breather let's give up completely let's catch snowflakes of acidic radiation on our tastebuds let's scream till the joy is blatant. plunge so deeply into the pleasantries never soon forgotten like a trip down memory lane dog-eared and uncertain and spreading its leaky formula across the formica terrain till treading is necessary and that plunge was for the best.

[meanwhilepoetry]

I'm just trying to become someone who the child inside me will not hate. I'm trying to be everything she needed and did not receive. She is so lonely still. It's not fair that she is so lonely still.

Nikita Gill

[vomitingwords]

and then I learned

how to cry

without tears

falling from my eyes

behind clouds // ma.c.a

[longreads]

In this new Longreads essay, Megan Marz asks: why does the literary world still hold online writing at arm’s length? 

While it’s become banal to observe that online life is fully enmeshed with the rest of the world, an imaginary curtain separates online writing from the rest of U.S. literature. It’s time to take that curtain down.

People like to say the internet speeds reading up, but a personal blog, read in real time, can slow a story’s pace down to the timescale of life; the thickest book in existence can be read in less calendar time. Not even the author knew when a blog would end, which is what made it feel so alive.

Read Megan Marz’s “Poets in the Machine” on Longreads.

[tellherium]

It was Never about You //

3 of 3: Poems From the First Evening I've Spent Alone in Over a Month

[fantodsdhrit]

fell asleep your cigarette insomnia charred pillows stannic room flames

to rākshasas shiva granted then deprived

your psychedelic hatred for everything vivid woke up and met itself

an official visualizer song natraja dashboard 

i realised i needed you more than hungry ghost realm

i needed you more than needs' need

the third eye was treacherously unappetizing don't stare at cement dust

they voyage on positive cruelty vibes

you said whatever was to come would now be i waited for you to lie still

so i could be intimately hallway alone

my head as antithesis of shiva's matted hair

my head without strength you assay

if you refuse to perish as a human become a rākshasa

there's a futility to life that only life assumes

like gulmohars spewing leaves icterine

or a kite carrying away furryball squirrel

after that silver fire your room spoke to you but you were half in wyoming

[lipikkawrites]

-@lipikkawrites

[remnant-thoughts]

Maybe, time does not heal all wounds. I have been stuck in this cycle too long. Hoping that the years might change  the memory of what reality remains. Acceptance comes in waves, and I have always been short of the shoreline.

“S.O.S” remnant-thoughts

[definegodliness]

Blindfold

"I lust you", I don't say the words, but suddenly I find it incredibly boring How I crave The heat of her mouth, And the softness of her skin; Her taste, And to feel her nipples stiffen By my kiss. I am bored, By how I long To make her all Shudder under my tongue, Just for fun; I get my kicks When she cums. Don't get me wrong, It isn't dull, or disappointing When she has Her way, nor in every way She grants me Physical ecstasy, But sometimes when she gawks With her mouth full, And her head Empty, Something in her gaze changes

And I realize I haven't felt love in ages.

Then, I don't care How good my body feels When my heart isn't in it; When I want it to be real And can't even get myself to change That one word of the three:

"I lust you."

It is then, suddenly, Profound truths wash over me, And it all seems so incredibly boring To be only this flesh That is So weak, When I used to be a god Shaping golden suns Past the last expansion of space, Chasing the constellations in forever-eyes Wherein resided love's timeless sanctuary; Suddenly, 'want' seems so pale In comparison to 'Need'. I look in her eyes; I look at her eyes; I close my eyes, and just Release.

--- 21-11-2023, M.A. Tempels ©

[the-sum-of-many-poets]

don’t scare the fishies

baby seal camouflage likes to smoke

hammers a rod into the ground

excalibur if you’re worthy

for the rod is regal

when it bends to the aquamarine

baby seal black sits on his own

a tribe of two

in silent ritual

where all actions have a purpose

the erasure of all woes

I want to ask them if it works

at this point

just the name of a stranger could

but I lean on the word

no

too much

the cars are perched snout first to the water

sea birds for hood ornaments

the bullets of their eyes

aim through the windscreens at the drivers

eating hot chips

seasoned by the sea

& I am a new dog

watching the horizon like a front door

separation anxious

under the lamppost

superfluous in the daylight

the curve of its neck a question mark

a shit stained perch

waiting for the nocturnal romance of night

I watch

with the feathered vagrants

whose need for names are irrelevant

none of us even close to an answer

the question expands

a helium balloon at the circus

we’re not here for the fish

black swans launch from the basalt

a chevron letter on a white sky

the wind seems too light for such large creatures to fly

& the day is large

with no prospect of flight

I am interrupted

two gulls fucking like glasgow industry

in the parking lot next to me

©️david sichler

[matthew-pasquarello]

careful. the breadcrumb path is no longer behind us and the crows are snickering up there in the black tar of tree branches. check their watches. they are fools not in sync but now we are lost and the hems of our gowns are dirty with fable dust from tall tales teaching lessons irrelevant to the civilization beyond these rock walls and antique birdbaths and sweater-weather and bus tokens caught in a butterfly net. but faith is funny and it's slow oozing like molasses down a cobblestone street sucking in all the scenery and the street preachers, too. sweet aroma, though, enough to relinquish all skepticism pertaining to electric fences, also out there in civilization.

[meanwhilepoetry]

Sometimes I think about how beautiful it is that humans sing despite it all. That through suffering, we still sing. How even on the worst of days in the world, there were still people singing. The way a mother sings a lullaby to her crying baby to soothe her. Or the way sailors sang sea shanties out even on choppy oceans to build a sense of familiarity and camaraderie as they worked. Or how even in the depths of the earth, coal miners sing. Isn’t that the most beautiful thing about the human spirit? That we found a way to reach each other in the darkness. To let each other know through song, that do not worry, I am here. Let us sing together and ease each others fears.

- Nikita Gill

[itsmegallene]

“I think love is when I put myself to bed even when I'm tired, and I carry myself up the stairs even though my knees ache;

I think love is when I buy coffee when I'm broke, and I know that I'll get myself back later;

I think love is letting myself love someone, even though I am so scared.

Love is a heavy thing that carries you as much as you carry it.”

Source: Anonymous from a Tumblr screenshot

[lebuc]

revolutions

* bones in my back have felt rain approaching, registered a baby's cry;

move me away, slowly from angry bears wanting my picnic lunch;

repentance looks red from my vantage someone's got to pay for their misdeeds;

the pattering rain provides a fine backdrop for disguising tears like the Temptations wished;

in my soul's disquiet, nonetheless - forward is the future never a rear-view, however ambered.

all to say: when the autocrats

never stepping foot in troughs where real ones tread, deciding who lives or dies or eats

aren't checked,

revolutions will not be televised or publicized; heaven knows. * 9/23 - 11/24 (reblog) - lebuc - revolutions

[tellherium]

my angel numbers have moved from 111 to 222 and I am doing my best to think more than ever