#losangelespoem

[samantharosejohnson]

🍊 hey hey babes—i have long awaited the moment to share this poem with you. it’s called “the rage, the loving, the fucking, the desire” — it’s an apocalyptic mini love story inspired by the terrain of #losangeles and the impermanence of it all. i think i wrote this at the end of summer 2019. i know it’s cold now but if you wanna feel some heat, please head to the link in my bio to read! i posted the images but it’s pretty hard to read. i will also share some excerpts soon on here. lemme know what you think. 😘🧡 🎨 by @katieobrienpoet who is also the creator and EIC of blood orange. thank you for giving my poem a gorgeous home and for being such a great editor! read the poem here: http://bloodorange.krobrien.com/broadsides/lovers.pdf #soulbits #poetry #witcheswhowrite #womenwriters #womenpoets #poem #losangelespoem #thelovers #theloverstarot #tarot #tarotpoetry #lovepoetry #apocalypticpoetry #eroticpoetry #srj #samantharosejohnson (at The Valley) https://www.instagram.com/p/CJXNLdYltHH/?igshid=1h7n1z4ykldmz

[thewriterider]

In the shade of a palm tree

Contemplating it all

 Do you ever take a moment and tune into your heart beat?

 Well this was one of those for me

leaned against that tree

Feeling lost and found

Light and heavy

Stuck on the beat as it pumped, thumped steady

Realizing luck is a facade,

we were chosen

Me, I, this being

The beauty of creations playing out like a dream

 Gazing past drooping leaves to L.A.'s sky

 All this time craving answers and meaning and truth

Searching, digging for faith and proof

 Coming back to that moment,

me in the shade of a tree,

starting up at our sky,

knowing that

 ...knowing this is enough we may set ourselves free

[throughscreendoors]

essential plane (10.25.19, edit 10.31.19, edit 1.1.20)

I’m writing from heaven’s waiting room with all the other animals      watching squirrels gallop over telephone wire     as eggshell planes slide slowly lateral above like      they aim to land in the palm      trees or my hands

what’s a plane to a passenger?     is hallway to the future or flying carpet tube with chairs the essential experience?

LA traffic made me Machiavellian      past the bored rows and shiny faces behind wheels     a woman frowns, her hijab draped like a wilted pink petal     past bus benches like discarded airplane parts     I flew like a flying thing, cried like a crier     now there can be no more comparisons

I think: if I don’t fall into the end of something right now I’ll be insignificant

living in LA means don’t fear the apocalypse because it’s already here     you  can smell the fire in the city when it’s not on fire    no do’s or don’t’s and all things open like books      the moon peers through the night smog like an eye in a bruised socket and     we all lose our salt in the shine, dying realistically

I remember say anything and count the seconds to make the seatbelt sign turn off and as he tears from the ground inside our hallway a toddler shouts SAILBOAT, THERE’S A SAILBOAT       like we forgot it, pointing down     

the blue water peels more and more away and everyone ignores him     all my dreams are on the other side of sensations but how I feel bears only on frivolities    

thanks to the toddler the sailboat is essential to the plane        he screams all takeoff and I smile, washed of resentment      surrounded by sky