#poemception

[priceprime]

Who allowed this?

What god gave me you?

You cannot give

someone like me

Something like this.

I will choke

like a starving man on food.

It must have been you

Who asked me, pre mortally

To find you here.

Had anyone else asked

I would have said

"It will hurt too badly

To hold so much love

In a human body."

But I am so glad

That I would do anything

You ask of me.

Because I got to meet you

As if we were strangers

I got to fall in love again.

I got to spend

an extra lifetime

With you.

[pololonergan-blog]

he digs fingers into his rib cage pries open bares soul uncomfortable, cold in the spring rain but beautiful too. a private thing on show because the words nestled too deep. long dark fingers pluck them out of his chest one by one but a few slither deep. the poem dissolves becomes part of him. what else can he do but quietly seal shut his ribs sew his skin to shape and keep living, different?

[fataldrum]

for the writer asks, august, saturday, and minutes please!

august: are any of your fics associated with certain genres/artists/songs/etc? 

Yes! My Villaneve ficlet deep inside me is a shallow grave is named after Ashley Monroe’s haunting I Buried Your Love Alive, which is a pretty fitting song for that pairing. My Hannigram fic Well Upon Our Way is named for a lyric from Tool’s Stinkfist, with the added bonus that every time I get a comment or kudos, I get to hear that song in my head. If you haven’t heard the song, it’s surprisingly romantic, though I chose not to use the title for obvious reasons. XD Also they’re both about fisting, so I couldn’t miss that opportunity. 

My Petermartin series sympathy for the devil is named for the Rolling Stones song of the same name. 

I also get a lot of inspiration from poetry. Several of my Hannibal fics are named after/inspired by poems. Example: Variations on a Theme (heavy Prufrock inspiration), All Our Treasures Together (featuring Neruda). 

My Jonmartin ficlet the universe into a ball is titled after a t.s. eliot reference (which is itself a reference to another poem, it’s poemception).  

And my Lonely Eyes arranged marriage fic each hour more deeply is named after a sonnet by Edna St. Vincent Millay, which Peter quotes to Elias like the useless gay that he is.

saturday: what gets you excited whilst writing?

The most exciting part for me is hitting the part that encapsulates what the story is about. When the story starts to really match the idea I had in my head, or maybe it’s outgrown that idea and I realize I have something better. It’s a good feeling. 

minutes: how long does it normally take you to complete a fic?

Usually a few days to a week. Then I tend to sit on it for a couple days, making edits, filling in anything that feels sparse. If I have a beta, I’ll send it to them then, and sometimes take a day after to follow their advice. 

Every once in a while, I get stuck on something and have to come back to it weeks or months later, and then it suddenly clicks and it all comes out at once. 

[mcroce]

Reading a poem on the subway about reading a poem on the subway #poemception

[oysiserut]

That first message, that flirtatious approach           You caught my eye Those late night talks, those long phone calls           And you consumed my time These love-filled papers, these lovely wilted flowers           Then you captured my heart This last letter, this farewell and goodbye           But in the end you crushed it (Hahaha a poem within a poem. Poem-ception.)

[connecthestars]

A Poem About Writing a Poem

“It is time to write,” she says I open a new Word Document. A blank sheet. My mind does not want to write an essay. I write in verse and chopped lines not straight paragraphs that drone on and on about William Faulkner and his acceptance speech. My mind, it drifts off and thinks in flowery words, much too flowery for an essay. My fingers start typing and words appear on the screen. Enter. Type, type, type. Enter. Type, type, type. Enter. My thoughts appear in verse and William Faulkner goes unnoticed. How many times have I written about the whirlwind of a storm inside my mind instead of whether or not cohabitation is a good thing or speeches about equal access and the themes in Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird? How many times have I given into my urge to write and relieve my brain of the pressure that gets built up instead of writing things that will earn me a grade? The answer is often.

The grade, Just a number The conceptions? Just words What I write in procrastination? Everything that bleeds from my heart. The low grade I received on my speech because I couldn’t be bothered to write about horrid subjects when my soul yearned for something greater? Worth it. 

                             -z.z

[levi-in-wonderland]

(ﾉﾟοﾟ)ﾉ

kyozumii

you message to me

for a poem

so here goes one

that is about

giving you a poem

send me a (ﾉﾟοﾟ)ﾉ for a poem

[chocolatecoveredgarlic]

Nothing Scares me More

Is there anything more frightening Than seeing yourself fall?  That fear you feel  When your foot slips on a stair Or a bike pedal?

Yes

Seeing yourself fall For someone else's smile And an internal switch goes from "Wow, this kid is a sweetheart," to "Ass over teakettle for

This boy"

It's in the little things Sharing a pot of tea Watching old movies Hanging on to every hug and smile Each one

Makes me happy

Nothing scares me more

[arthumorandlol-blog]

The Blessing of Zues: A Poem-Ception

I was going home last July, and I felt inspired

The rain was falling, fast and hard

And I couldn't but help myself to a poem

And it goes like this.

Driven by Charon more than half the way, I have found

Myself in the twilight of reality and dream.

The Styx was smooth and empty, bathing

In the lights of the dusty, moist tress around it.

My feet inside my boots are soaked from

The blessing of Zeus,

I checked my satchel where my fortune kept

If I still have a dime to bless Charon.

I hardly found a dime, only

Enough for my half way trip,

There was but one golden bar that

Perhaps could pay eighty more trip.

But I thought I could not have spent my last

Fortune that I would never dare to touch.

But when Charon asked for more,

I was glad there was still a dime hidden beside my fortune kept.

Alas I found my at my home's warmth

Thinking none but of Zues' gifts.

[ellebeephotography-blog]

Sandpaper Monsters

This is a piece from my current project, Poemception. There are poems within poems; some are on purpose and the rest is yours for the dreaming.

You have a beautiful living room and beautiful pillows and beautiful faces are symmetrical. But did I ever cry out for symmetry? Jagged edges have kept me awake.

I'm shouting every thing we should not say.

The contents of the vacuum are sprinkled on the floor. A bit of ash and deliberately un-papered sand. And our house is well kept in chaos, with a welcome mat deceiving the door.

People have been coming at me with sandpaper. They're all trying to sell me sandpaper. And it's been showing up in my dreams.

Sandpaper mustaches and mason jars. Sandpaper buildings with sandpaper people all attempting to (smooth.rough.edges) 

tell me why in none of my dreams are you made of sandpaper. And I was worried what that meant.

And the emory boards all have PhDs. A monster's hand turns the knob of my closet and his nails are nicely manicured.