#new poets club

[ecrisettaistoi]

Mi-figue, mi saison

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La nature a mis son vieux manteau 70's

en patchwork.

Orange, beige, brun, vert éteint sous chevelure d'étain.

Sourde lourdeur que le soleil en vacance

du pouvoir

ne dissipe plus.

Les feuilles luttent encore mais savent bien

que c'est mort,

que bientôt, la course se terminera

face au sol

froid

Nourrir la terre, destin universel

rengaine en ritournelle

depuis l'avènement

du début

du commencement

de nous.

Vivement le printemps.

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[milkymarble]

went to the loony bin and all i got was this crappy poem

[laazulmuerta]

Eternal Duet

In love’s vast symphony, we find our place,

A duet of hearts, a dance of time and space.

Your touch, a gentle chord that softly sighs,

Plays on the strings of dreams beneath the skies.

In moments sweet, our love’s a tender tune,

A serenade beneath the silver moon.

Your laughter, light as notes in springtime’s song,

Brings harmony where once the night was long.

Yet love can be a melancholic strain,

A minor key, a haunting, sweet refrain.

Your absence, like a cello’s mournful cry,

Fills empty rooms where shadows softly lie.

When distance grows, our song takes darker hues,

A sonnet lost in twilight’s deepening blues.

The pain of longing, like a muted string,

Echoes the sorrow of a heart’s deep sting.

But then, your presence turns the tide of sound,

In symphonies of joy, our souls are bound.

Your kiss, a crescendo in the silent night,

Transforms the dark to melodies of light.

Our love, a blend of dusk and dawn’s embrace,

A rhapsody where light and shadow chase.

In every note, both joy and sorrow lie,

A music of the heart that will not die.

For love is both the ballad and the wail,

A story told in whispers and in gale.

In every heartbeat, every rise and fall,

Our love, a song eternal, echoes all.

[divyawritespoems]

I no longer wish to be your sunlight and a sunflower. As for you, I was mere nobody. Because you didn't see the bright in me and I couldn't see how you neglected me.

For you i was just a glass, mere glass. As for you i only quenched your thirst. And, you didn't see the cool i gave you and i couldn't see how wide i could flow..

So far now since you've used me all, i refuse to add up my bits into your loop holes. Even if the tulips of your heart get dry and you get short of breath.

-Divya

[healingwiththefeelings]

“I hate you”

“You hate who i will never be”

- conversations with a mirror

[darichonne]

insta: @darichonne

[inkedwingss]

Time is a Mirror

As the clock tick-tacks and sand runs through my hands, muscles, veins

That old thirst comes and goes in waves, cascades, what a shame:

A hug without arms, a look without lenses, the whole traffic stopped to see

What life was like when you're not here, when I'm feeding on destilated absence

In the mirror your image, unborn flower of spring, so delicate

So thin, in your time, the fingerprints, and in that last letter, all my sins

Things we wish were unseen, forgiven

Like the day I left behind the most important thing

Time doesn't clock back, but memories and what ifs do clock in

They create roots and later spread like weed

Through the land of your heart, and the land of your misery

What would a poet be, without poetry? What would a writer do without words to eat

What am I without you in this foreign world that sometimes means nothing to me

Shall we still pursue beauty? At what cost! I forgot how to weave stories

Now I just weave feelings and interdimensional sober experiences

I only taste the savoury, never the sweetness

I get drowned in dryness and interrupt life's fertile wetness

The natural design, the intelligent patterns of creation, the mirror or time

So hauntingly unforgiving

[cowardlyriver]

And maybe this too is a part of me. Maybe I cannot reject it all; the fumbling, sloppiness of life in exchange for the steady rhythm of success. All my cracks and fissures given away for an exhaustion free, guilt free existence. Maybe, impossibly, you will forget everything except my words, rushing and tumbling over one another. Maybe to exist by the river is to let oneself be run over by the weight of the water until your roots form. All of this to say, I am embarrassed about the confusion on your face, as I tried to string together a sentence coherent enough to be sensible. I am embarrassed about my inability to exist in all the ways I want to. I am embarrassed about my desire to control all of this even when I know I cannot, I am embarrassed about my fear of failure. How self absorbed of me to think that I would be spared from failure. To think I could live an entire life without failing, who taught me this? This fear of failure as if it is the plague and not the most human thing ever.

I am embarrassed about how much I fumble and drown in the face of my own life and choices. All of this to say; my life is my own and yet somehow my arms ache from the weight of it.

[wearethepoemspoetry]

When a Man Writes a Poem

After he writes a poem, a man may talk to his dog with a great loneliness as if, just then, he had given away all his worthwhile thoughts. And if he has no dog, he may turn on the radio quietly when he feels so alone to confirm that somebody else knows how to write words made of stone. If he has no radio, he may sit on the porch at midnight, breeze in his face, the smells of summer, a glass of whiskey. If there is no whiskey, then beer. He may suck the bottle clean with his thirst. Later, lying awake, he may hear locusts chirping, crying out to find their mates. If there are no locusts, then the blue noise of June that tells him life is bigger than any word he writes. He knows his sadness will only get worse, according to some law.

So he writes another poem, and repeats the cycle all over again.

[bishopknight0517]

A dark and cold night with no empathy in sight

Even if you plead on your knees

You will bleed because I’m a fucking fiend

I fly high as a kite, coke keeping my grip on the knife tight

Entering through the doors of my next Target

Looking through the digestive department

A shiver runs down my spine

Hiding your liver and running out the store to save time

So the next time we meet

Imagining the meat between my teeth

Just know that the brat’s worth double

Love to burst that not so humble bubble

Burying their body with a shovel

But carrying their head around like I just recovered a fumble

A clown with his head in the cloud

A frown as I continue to smoke on the loud

Popping balloons at a child’s birthday party

Leaving my signature with my razor edged Sharpie

Even when I leave my business card, you better not call me

Because I make house calls

Tall, for a doctor that brings doom

A thunderstorm starts to loom

Summoning my demons as I play surgeon

Have all of your arteries squirtin’

A beautiful and bloody water fountain

Your screams adding the music

Music Fountain of Wynn, and then

Twisting your nipples like a stereo knob as I continue to lose it

Head banging until your skull is nothing but dust

Blood makes sure this machine never rusts

Using it as lube as I crank on my tool

A term in a paper that explains the stone cold killer

That believes every human deserves to be thrown in a wood chipper

Mankind is a disease that plagues the Earth

Put up a Skynet so the cancer dies in the dirt

You’d probably call me artificial

When I don’t even fizzle

While I’m opening up your head with a chisel

My focus is that of a missile

Or the round out of a pistol

My anger an explosion propelling me forward

Your bones losing their coherence

Making you drop to your knees with a mere glance

More dangerous than the killers at Fort Worth

A being that’s omnipotent

That refuses to be benevolent

Concealing shit better than limo window tint

My mind in another goddamn realm

Cerberus leading my chariot back to Hell

[love-once-was]

Settle me into lavender ripples

Allow me a chance to change my ways

I’ve stayed here for days and days

Tinkering with the time and

Realizing that it might be too much to challenge

Always remembering that

It’s my moment to shine if I want it but

Waking up is a little off from the morning before

A nickel, a dime, I can’t seem to pick

Which coin will be the best to scratch these lottery tickets

We let the people put their perception into places we barely know

Showing us a road but not showing us all the ways we could go

Pick a path and hope it sticks

If it doesn’t, to hell with it

I loved it once and I’ll love it again

The mystery outlining the sequence in these circumstances

Take from me the doubt that draws out the worst

The ways we rehearse the thirst and how to quench it

Honesty is the best policy

But I’ll never police you on that

Spin a web weak enough to go on but

Strong enough to feel it

I’ve missed a lot but there’s a lot still to see

If we stop dwelling on the reasons to be still

Instead of the hope that keeps legs running

Blood pumping and

The future stunning

[ecrisettaistoi]

Travail, Famille, Parti.

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On ne peut pas laisser notre

pays aux Nazis

aux petits pieds.

Si la vitrine a changé,

le fond de commerce reste le même :

c'est toujours l'autre le problème.

L'autre qui a lutté sous les drapeaux,

l'autre qui a construit nos immeubles,

l'autre qui balaye devant nos portes.

On ne peut pas laisser

la liberté, l'égalité et fouler au pied

la fraternité

qui nous a construit

depuis qu'on a coupé

la tête d'un roi

pour ça.

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[milkymarble]

collection

[whateverwhimsy]

Roaring 20s

We cut out our throats, silencing perfect dreams for delirious truths. Nothing's ever new under the sun. Pick your poisons and steady your heartbeats, peace isn't free it's only fleeting - Foraging, we fight for unclaimed ground as all we know how to do now is selfishly take. Was there ever a time when the world could wait?

[divyawritespoems]

You are the pearl that blossoms into flowers, that bathes the air with its warming scent. That sparkles with grace and boasts its magnificence in the heart of the beholder. No less than a treasure beyond this universe, wait till she shows you off to all the looters.

-Divya

[darichonne]

insta: @darichonne