#mossy poetry

[adventuresofalgy]

The next day brought a considerable improvement in the weather, which was just as well, as any further deterioration would have been most unpleasant. And as the morning wore on, the rain which had persisted for twenty four hours or more decided to stop, the sky turned from grey to pasty white with a sprinkling of the palest washed-out ultramarine, and at times the sun managed to peek through the clouds. It was still windy, but then it usually was in the wild west Highlands of Scotland, and perhaps that was a good thing, for without the wind the clouds would never blow away…

When it looked as though the sun might shine for more than just a few seconds, Algy set out to explore an area of the garden which he had not visited recently, and was thrilled to find a rich covering of soft moss on some stones which in the past had been bare. Seating himself comfortably on his wee green dais, he wondered what it would be like to spend one's life entirely in a moist, shady corner of the world…

How must it be to be moss, that slipcover of rocks?— imagine, greening in the dark, longing for north, the silence of birds gone south. How does moss do it, all day in a dank place and never a cough?— a wet dust where light fails, where the chisel cut the name.

[Algy is thinking of the poem Moss by the contemporary American poet Bruce Guernsey.]

[magpie-the-goblin-girl]

my nayme is gob

and wen i'm sad

running water

is best be had

i run to woods

comfort i seeke

and wit my toes

i splash the creeke

🌲🌲🌲

[cassiopoet]

Moonlit Dream Keeper

“On silent hooves

he steps

night watcher

dream keeper

oh great stag

may the moon shine

ever bright

may you cradle it

in your antlers grand.”

A/N: watched Bambi the other day and it always made me sad as a kid when Bambi grew up bc i liked his spots but i also liked his antlers. you’ll never believe how excited I got when i found out Fallow deer existed

also @cozybirch @cupids-fiction made some more food for you hope you like <333

credit: poem and art done by me (@cassiopoet)

[macheinroyale]

Mossy Beds

📸: me

[g4rdens0fb4bylon]

the only important question you should ask yourself every morning is whether it's a "take me to the lakes" or "take me to church" kinda day and plan it based on the answer

[eastsidelovers]

brought the chair in.

sat it down, maybe a little further in than i was welcome to. he awkwardly moved a gift bag on a table, probably saw the confused look on my face. moved the bag again, saw a gun underneath. whatever. who doesn’t have one.

earlier in the day he mentioned his boyfriend liked ducks. that they have duck trinkets all over the house. i saw one, laughed and said i loved it.

“do you want me to show you around?”

“sure,”

so he takes me to his living room. its rural trans masc bliss. fishing prints. duck decoys. theres a christmas tree up. he excuses the mess, him and his boyfriend are getting the decorations up.

he doesn’t say much about his boyfriend. he brings him up occasionally, but not a lot. only found out his name today.

i notice a sculpture for a class we took together further back in the house. i point it out. i’ve accidentally invited myself further in. i know he has to leave soon.

“this is my ‘studio’ i guess,”

“you play guitar?”

i see a fender in the corner

he does. i just sold my bass, but i bought a new casio today. i wonder if i’ll ever pick music back up.

“my room is in the basement, i’d show it to you but its a mess right now,”

i wasn’t even thinking about that because i know that if i did i’d--

“i know you have to go soon, so i can start heading out.”

i’m known for overstaying my welcome.

i turn around and walk towards the door quickly. i’m starting to put on my shoes and he stares at me. quick jokes and half half subtle half flirting about how i feel very watched, how he’s waiting for me to fall so he can save me, right?

i stand back up.

he looks at me like he doesn’t want me to leave. its in his eyes. i have to look away, because i almost habitually reach in to hug him. kiss him? and i go blind momentarily. i realize i am at the back of my head. i say goodbye. walk out.

i don’t know. i think i’m fucked.

[cripplecreature]

A timelessness, ruminating under mossy blankets; Emboldened by youths fraudulent invincibility

[donkeykongpoetry]

sorry for all the accidental reblogs here!

[sweet-faerie-mossbell]

ffs just hand me over to regret tonight I guess

[madameximon]

"Solar Return for Tatiana - 2024"

[adventuresofalgy]

Much to Algy's surprise, the next day brought a considerable change in the weather, although the weather birds assured him that this was only temporary, and that the dry, bright, frosty conditions would return, at least for a few days.

Algy had noticed clouds beginning to mass in the sky on the previous afternoon, and by the following morning he found that the world had turned grey again, with a very soft, light drizzle pitter-pattering gently all around, for there was not a single breath of wind.

Although it was still only a few degrees above freezing, it did not feel particularly cold to a fluffy bird who was well supplied with a thick coat of feathers, for in the wild west Highlands of Scotland it was generally the wind which created chilling conditions, and for the moment the wind was strangely absent.

As he hopped around his assistants' garden, Algy noticed that much of it was showing signs of the winter's ravages, for leaves and twigs and all kinds of grasses and dry stems had been tumbled and strewn all over the place by the repeated battering of the frequent storms. But the mosses, which grew readily in this persistently damp climate, showed little sign of damage, although they looked a wee bit yellowish, and as Algy reclined for a while on the soft bed they provided, he thought how nice it would be to build a whole wee house – of fluffy bird size, of course – out of moss or moss-covered stones, in which he could shelter and rest or read when the weather was bad:

Here, free from riot's hated noise, Be mine, ye calmer, purer joys, A book or friend bestows; Far from the storms that shake the great, Contentment's gale shall fan my seat, And sweeten my repose.

[Algy is thinking of the poem Inscription For A Moss-House In The Shrubbery At Weston by the 18th century English poet William Cowper.]

[multi-fandom-imagine]

“Where He Holds You Closest” || Polites ||

There were places Polites loved to kiss you. To touch you. To worship you like the goddess you were to him. But there were only a few sacred places where he took you — where the world fell away and it was just the two of you, skin to skin, breath to breath, soul to soul.

These were his favorite places. Not just to make love, but to feel you. To need you.

1. The Deck of the Ship — Under the Stars

It started there, one night when the sea was calm and the sky was endless.

He’d been standing at the edge of the deck, eyes to the horizon, shoulders tight from war and storms and too many nights spent half-asleep with one hand on his blade.

You came up behind him — barefoot, quiet, soft — and when your arms wrapped around his waist, he melted into your touch like it was the only real thing in the world.

“I hate this place,” he murmured. “But you… you make it bearable.”

That night, he took you to the farthest corner of the deck, where the lantern light didn’t reach. The stars were your witnesses. The sea, your symphony.

He kissed you with the desperation of a man afraid it would be the last time. His hands were rough, calloused, trembling. But his mouth? It was reverent. Like you were holy.

Every time after that, when he couldn’t sleep, when the weight of his past clung to his shoulders, he’d find you. Pull you into him. And remind himself he was still alive — because you loved him.

2. A Hidden Grove on a Quiet Island

One island, unnamed and untouched, had a grove tucked behind a wall of wildflowers. Trees twisted into an arch, vines kissed with dew, and petals scattered like confetti on the mossy floor.

Polites found it while scouting, and he kept it secret — until he brought you there.

He’d set it up with care: a blanket stolen from the ship, fruit from nearby trees, a necklace of woven vines he made with his own hands. You laughed when he crowned you with it. He swore you’d never looked more divine.

He worshipped you there, slow and unhurried. Let his hands trail over your skin like poetry. Whispered every thought he’d ever had about how you made him feel — brave, safe, seen.

You were the only softness in his world of blood and steel. And in that grove, with the filtered light kissing your skin, he let himself fall. Completely. Deeply. Over and over.

3. His Tent — After Battle

He was different then.

When blood still stained his forearms, and the cries of the dying echoed in his ears, Polites would come to you raw, broken, and wordless.

You didn’t flinch. You never had. You welcomed him — into your arms, into your body, into the only peace he knew.

His tent became sanctuary. There, he didn’t have to be the tactician. Or the soldier. Or the brother trying to hold it all together. With you, he could break.

You’d lie beneath him, your hands in his hair, your mouth at his ear, grounding him with every kiss, every sigh, every whispered “I’m here.”

He needed you like breath. Like blood. Like forgiveness.

And when he finally unraveled in your arms, he’d murmur, “Thank you,” again and again, lips brushing your collarbone like a prayer.

4. The Cliffs of Ithaca — When He Finally Comes Home

It was a place he dreamed of when the world was fire and fury.

A high cliff overlooking the sea, where the wind tangled in your hair and the sun painted your skin gold. You’d wait there for him, he was sure of it.

And when he finally returned — scarred, changed, older in the eyes — you were there, just as he dreamed.

He took you with reverence. Slow. Deep. Intimate. His hands learned you all over again, and his mouth traced every freckle, every scar, every heartbeat under your skin.

It wasn’t about hunger. It wasn’t about release.

It was about home.

Polites had never believed in gods, not really. But as you moved beneath him, around him, with him — he decided if they did exist, they had created you as proof they hadn’t forgotten him entirely.

And every time he made love to you, no matter where…

He always said the same thing, in a voice full of awe and quiet desperation.

“You’re my reason.”

[persephoneaangel444]

*⁠ﾉ♫ Pisces Ascendant as a form of literature (poetry/quotes) *⁠ﾉ♫

~~~ "she wears a crown of flowers, she speaks the language of the trees, her feet pad barefoot unafraid through mossy paths of the Wildwoods. The brave Little Queen of March."

~~~ "the dream of my life is to lie down by a slow river and stare at the light and trees, to learn something by being nothing "

~~~ "you make me sick with desire, with a desire to possess you, to have you around me."

~~~ "she is a beauty. A marble nymph, angelic eyes, unearthly lips.

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

green!reader

❤︎❤︎❤︎

Without further ado: Sage

The quiet breath before a deer steps into a sunbeam.

The way sunlight ripples across still water. The smell of old pages and the warmth of sun through stained glass. She lives in soft greens and honey smoke, wrapped in mossy cardigans and secondhand jeans that always have rolling papers in the pocket.

She met Butcher in a cloud of weed and sarcasm — called him a “coloniser in Carhartt” before lighting up in his face. He liked her immediately. She didn’t flinch when he barked, didn’t care when he threatened. Just exhaled a plume of smoke, flicked ash into a chipped mug, and told him to piss off unless he "was here to talk trees or treason." He stayed.

She’s the unofficial herbalist of the crew, both literally and metaphysically. She rolls joints like spells and makes salves out of whatever’s growing by the fence. Her high is quiet, observant, reverent. She’ll get stoned and read conspiracy threads out loud, barefoot on the roof, hoodie sleeves dangling past her fingers. She sees the world in layers and laughter.

Butcher calls her “Swamp Thing.” She calls him “Daddy Issues Deluxe.” They argue constantly — her soft and stoned and sharp in the same breath, him loud and lethal and always two seconds from murder — but there’s a strange kind of trust between them. He knows she’s got eyes like a sniper, memory like a map. And she knows he’d never let anyone else touch her. Not really.

She journals in green ink. Presses flowers between her poetry and star charts. Knows how to field-dress a wound and smells like pot and earth. Her laugh sounds like windchimes in stormlight. Her playlists are always low, lo-fi, laced with lyrics that feel like home and haunt at the same time.

She is the breath between chaos. The pause. The reason you look up when the light hits the trees just right.

❤︎ first meeting ❤︎

To be continued...

a/n: let me know what y'all think, please!!! <3

[javierduffy]

“uh … it’s a bit girly … no?” javier examines himself in the reflection of his knife’s blade, looking this-a way and that, the dark blue of a large silken bow now peeking sheepishly around his neck as it sits gently in his hair. next to him, kieran clams up a smidge, hands still held close to his chest nearby his completed ribbon project on javier’s head. he finds it in himself to wring his hands a time or two rather than immediately undo his work as javier seems to continue to formulate his final opinion. “you … think so? look at me?” kieran asks, politely as a mouse. javier easily complies, turns at his hips and looks behind, up at kieran where he sits on the stump above him.

kieran, as he peers over, can’t help the meadow of flush that blooms over his neck, then his ears, then his nose and his cheeks. he can tell javier is deep in thought by the look on his face, mouth twisted just a might sideways, cocking his mustache awry, and the deep wrinkle sat between his brows. the ribbon he used matches javier’s vest perfectly, and the shine of the silk warms bright in the sun, just like every piece of jewelry and metal javier has adorned himself with. with this ribbon, javier’s hair sits lower on his head, ponytail draped down his nape and more hair framing his face in his bangs. kieran resists an urge to tuck one side back behind his ear.

kieran thinks that he looks like a painting, a muse, a love letter so heartbreakingly full of adoration that the only language it could be written in is bright swipes of pigment on a canvas. as he makes eye contact with the silk squinting around the red of a necktie, he thinks that javier may be right, if ‘girly’ could sum up ’poetry written in effeminate reverence’.

kieran always did think women made better art, wrote better books- found a better way to love. softer. warmer. prettier. like javier.

the world sounds like it’s underwater.

“i think … it’s very pretty. it suits you real well.”

earnest to a fault, the look in kieran’s eye dances gingerly with javier’s internal voice. it dips and sways him, and javier, despite his instinct, finds himself charmed by its rhythm.

“-b-but! i could take it out! if you don’t-“ javier looks down at himself in his knife again, the sunlight filtered through the leaves glinting a yellow green around his dark features, and kieran hands him patience on a silver platter. a rich blue makes friends with bright green quite easy, javier thinks. this is how he must look through kieran’s mossy lens.

“pretty … yes. you know, i think you may be right. i’ll keep it. gracias.”

[mossy-petrichor]

Mossy Petrichor's healthy coping 101

Do you always dissociate from distressing situations, repress strong emotions or deal with stress by self harming? Do you have 0 idea what it means when people talk about "coping"? This post is for you!

I usually see this happen a lot in people who were emotionally neglected (like yours truly), which is unfortunately really common, but no less traumatizing

Psa: all of this is based off my own experience, as someone who also had no idea how to cope and learned it by themselves. This isn't medical advice!

So, what does coping mean?

When you go through a stressful situation, you can feel your emotions at a 10/10. To cope is to bring this down so you don't lose your mind. This can apply to anger, sadness, hopelessness, fear

I like to separate coping into two ways:

Expressing the emotions in a healthy way

Calming yourself and bringing the emotions down (when you can't express them, or when those emotions do more harm than good)

I usually go by 1, but 2 can be used for when, for example, feeling angry at someone who can't change. So you keep feeling this anger that you can't do anything about, and it'll just make you feel worse to keep feeling it whenever you look at this person

Here's some things to make sure to do if you're feeling shitty:

Drink water

Eat a meal

Shower/bathe

Take a nap

Move your body (go outside if you can)

Socialize, talk to friends

(think of yourself as an animal in the zoo. If you noticed them feeling bad, what would you do to make them feel better?)

Here's some examples of how to express emotions healthily:

Singing loudly, screaming, humming, stimming verbally, talking to yourself out loud about what made you feel bad

Acting, drawing, painting (it doesn't have to be perfect! Just express whatever those emotions feel like, in whichever way feels right)

Writing poetry, visual poetry, making playlists, writing (like projecting into a character, make them do the things you wish you could do to cope)

Writing about how you feel, crying, venting (can be counterproductive, so if you feel like venting is just making things worse, try something else!)

Dancing, jumping, running/walking, exercising, cleaning, stimming physically

Ripping paper, chewing on something

Baking or cooking, going outside, playing with animals, gardening, taking pictures

Here's some examples of how to calm your emotions when you can't express them:

Watch something that makes you laugh

Consume comfort media (make a list! Videos, series, movies, books, songs)

Play a chill game

Make a list of things that make you happy and read it

Listening to music

Taking deep breaths, tensing and relaxing your muscles

Engage with things that make you happy (a hobby, art, an interest)

Meditation, sitting and thinking about your emotions

This isn't an extensive list! Coping is a very personal thing, and all of these are suggestions if you don't know where to start! In the beginning, it can (and will) feel like it doesn't do anything, because you're used to immediate solutions to make you stop feeling unpleasant emotions, and healthy coping mechanisms don't work immediately - it's a long term thing

Some of these can make you feel worse, in which case you should just try something else. As I said, they won't immediately make you feel better until you're more used to coping healthily

Eventually, you'll reach a point where it feels more intuitive and less forceful and uncomfortable, but you have to get past this first phase! It's like building a muscle, and it takes work. With practice, you'll figure out what works best for you and what doesn't

I promise it gets easier :•)