#poetryinmotion

[elysianwing]

Prometheus

If I could just reach my worn and shaky hands back through time, and tear open my chest to steal back the fire of my heart, like Prometheus; to give myself the gift of hot-blooded gusto and set the world ablaze with nothing more than my passions, piss, and vinegar. I could conquer the world today, if I only had a sliver of the stamina I had yesterday. Maybe tomorrow then. I could douse myself in gasoline and ignite once more to shine as a bright beacon of hope, that any one of us on any day, can be beautiful and brilliant... mighty and magnificent... careening through our concrete fates, like a mad car crashing through the guard rails, driving hot and hard and fast, for as far and as long as the fuel will take us. Except...who can afford the gas these days? Maybe tomorrow...never comes, what then? Then tonight I must remind the stars that we streaked and stormed among them long ago, like cracks of lightning chasing after comets while God was crafting all of creation. We were the fucking light meant to cut the dark in half and blind the envious eyes of angels and eternity. We still are... I just forget how to do it from time to time.

written 9/14/2024@1:55am by Alexander Learmont https://www.patreon.com/Elysianwing

[ginadope]

worlds behind us

Together we shall unearth The (almost) otherworldly treasure Translated poorly Lost even for poetry Are you surprised? I am trying to reach, through fire and shivers For love itself

Its core nourished With beauty forbidden Your eyes truly alive, more Than my thousand jewels Your hands, how greatly they build How fragile their warmth

[epanasta]

“What happens when people open their hearts? They get better.”

― Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood

[readersmagnet]

"Poetry In Motion" invites readers to reflect on the beauty of life through the power of expression. This book presents the landscape of life by Raymond Quattlebaum as a journey of self-awareness and divine presence, offering a deeper understanding of our roles in life's grand design. Experience the profound miracle of who we are and connect with God's purpose for us.

Get involved in the grand journey and embrace the miracle of who we are. Visit https://www.raymondqbooks.com/ and get your copy today!

[senlair]

Whispers of Red and Blue.

Early morning, the cool breeze revives the soul, making me forget all the suffering my skin endured from the heat of the flames that lasted for days and weeks.

Did the heat begin after you left? Or had it always been there, unnoticed?

The gradients of blue in the sky, from the highest heights to where it kisses the earth a red ray emerges.

The red appears out of nowhere, stealing the spotlight.

Does the blue envy it?

Even though blue commands the vastness of the sky and is a masterpiece with its shades and brilliance, red overwhelms and shines...

The blue resembles all our memories together, and the red is how it all ended.

Red is my betrayal and my pain.

Red is the color of my words when I applauded someone.

Red is the color of my heart as I speak to you despite all the blue.

Red is a final attempt, unnoticed by its creator that it was the last. Red was a white lie, or perhaps something I wanted to give to you. Are you the blue, and I the red? Or were you the red all along?

You push my love away, reject it, yet it remains a part of you, with all its shades, clinging to you, making you unique.

Was the sky beautiful with its turquoise-red hue? Or was it terrifying like raging flames?

Don’t ask me if I want to be blue or red, because I don’t want to be a glowing sky.

I want to be the cool breeze that revives the soul, but not his soul.

I want God to make me like the breeze that destroyed every denier when Moses grieved.

But I want to be cool and peaceful, like the wind that saves the believers in the hereafter.

Can Moses' sorrow be compared to mine? Or his love to my love?

Moses wandered in a limitless desert, and I wandered in a love that does not exist.

I’m tired of the 'what ifs,' but what if we united and became a shade of purple, seen only at the end of the day ?

Visible not to the farmer, nor the laborer, but to a lover and a poet, worn out by words, staying awake through the nights, and a lover exhausted by the 'what ifs.'

I will not forgive you if you were whoever you were, even if it was what it was, whether in the early morning or at the end of the day.

-S.D

[poetrysconduit]

At the end of every summer when fall comes, you see the leaves fall and pity my tree. All through winter you doubt what’ll become of me, yet come spring, your eyes gleam green with envy at the harvest summer brings

[wordsofbz]

I feel homesick for the person I can depend on, the one who will be my emotional support, my rock, my safe haven. I long for someone who will make me feel protected, someone I can run to on bad days, someone who will be my warmth and comfort. I yearn for someone who will love me unconditionally, despite knowing my flaws, someone I can cry to without fear of judgment. I crave someone who will be my light in the darkness, someone who will help me conquer my inner demons, someone who will give me the courage to face the world. I seek someone who will accept my dark side, even when I struggle to accept it myself, someone who won't make false promises. I dream of someone who will stand up for me, someone who will help me believe in love and fairytales again, someone who will help me heal my trust issues. I'm searching for someone I can call home.

@wordsofbz

[thatpoetrybloke]

Summer breeze

I’m sitting on the balcony

It’s early evening

A Thursday that could be a Friday

I’m trying a new chilled Rosé

An incense stick burning

In the perfect breeze

My Italian playlist softly playing in the background

Potentially entertaining my neighbours no doubt

And right here right now I’m good

Life simple pleasures that mother universe has bestowed on us all tonight

Take a beat Daniel, breathe softly like the breeze that caresses your skin

@thatpoetrybloke

27.6.24

[haikugem]

Quiet Longing

From a distance, I saw a child playing In the dust of times.

ishtarrina | Sahil | ibne_ali Made on Haikugem

[elysianwing]

Rough Draft

I know this place. I know it well… It is where…when left alone, my ideas go to die. Their haggard bodies litter the ground here conceived while showering, or doing busy-work… or just before I fall asleep only to dissipate like most all dreams do. It’s only been a few days since I last wrote something new, but already I can feel the words trying to slip away from me falling between my weary fingers like grains of sand sliding through an hourglass. Taunting me as the seconds grow, one by one until they morph all at once into an endless silence, enveloping the space around me and stealing away all but the sounds of my breath as it echoes softly. Audible, yet still saying nothing like this damnable blinking cursor on my word-pad. Were it only so easy, as making this cursor move. I could let myself fall asleep and lie my head down on my keyboard spilling my dreams onto the page as the weight of my skull is cradled by the soft pillows of depressed keys. Tearing the white away one drooling, snoring, tossing and turning letter at a time. Written 9/8/2024 @ 10:12pm by Alexander Learmont https://www.patreon.com/Elysianwing

[ginadope]

Same feet, same road Yet at the end used to wait A different world Seeking own sanity in others That's the disease Maybe if we never sold off simplicity Dethroned ourselves But that is the cursed 'then' I can't even outrun the day

[epanasta]

"I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am."

― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

[readersmagnet]

Poetry In Motion by Raymond Quattlebaum is a book that explores the concept of life in motion, focusing on the importance of expressing oneself through life. The book aims to provide a mental visualization of one's role in the great scheme of life, highlighting the miracle of who we are and the presence of God.

Immerse yourself in "Poetry In Motion," a collection that celebrates the essence of life and the divine. This book emphasizes the importance of self-expression through poetry and the role of spirituality. Grab your copy today at https://www.raymondqbooks.com/.

[moongirlmusingss]

gods and mothers and daughters

my mother’s divinity stains my fingers, my mouth all bloodened by her devouring faith.

she tells me if i fast if i keep my soul pure, god will forgive me for sinning/loving a woman/not wanting to marry a man of my faith. she tells me another priest in the village saw god and i bite my mouth so i won’t bite god in the wrist, i keep my mouth closed so god doesn’t get to leave the rotting stench of my rage, i kill myself so i don’t bring his wrath upon my devout mom.

when you ask me if believe in a god, i will lie between my teeth (as my grandmother through hers when she told my mother god will be good if you pray and god will punish if you don’t) and say “no” but we both know i can’t blame a god i don’t believe in, i can’t pray for his forgiveness if i don’t wish to forgive him.

My girlhood was defined by being an image of a goddess, they told all little girls “tum devi ka roop ho” (you are a face of the goddess) and all newly married women “laxmi ji ghar aayi hain” (goddess of wealth and prosperity has entered our house) but no one saw me that way, no one sees us that way. They call us a goddess and tell us to marry into households where an ordinary man would beat up his “goddess” wife. They call us a goddess and expect us to sit cross legged on the bed and tell our surviving daughters that god will be good if you pray and god will punish if you don’t and no one questions god for punishing the murdered girl fetuses for not praying when they weren’t even given a chance to learn to.

and yet i believe in all the inauspicious tales, i am afraid my mother’s prayers will stop protecting me any second, i am afraid the god will punish me for loving, i am afraid the god will ask for my kindness and i will hand him my life instead. 

it becomes a cycle, mom. you will disappoint me like a god and i’ll claw at your approval like your devout, you will love me as a daughter and i will fear you as my god, you will continue chanting as i bleed (you have no choice, you can’t stop in between can you) and i will forgive you like a dog.

[senlair]

Heart shaped concrete

If words had power, buildings that never fall would have been built...

My words and thoughts have left no impact at all, but they have deeply wounded me.

If love had an impact, everything I never desired would have disappeared.

If I flew away today and traveled to all corners of the world,would any wind blow to remind the earth that I once stood on it?Do I own it?

Would the movement of the clouds toward your window, blocking your view, affect how your day goes?

All the buildings in my country are old and worn out; I've lived in them for twenty-two years.

Yet every word I spoke held a lofty meaning.

A weak earthquake can kill me and bring down the building.

What your love did to me is sinful and unjust.

I cannot hate you, love you, or forget you.

I don't know why I loved you.

I don't know why my winds blew in your direction.

You are an old, worn-out building, not even from my city,but you brightened my eyes that were not yet withered, though they are now.

I love the smell of jasmine in the early morning.

I love the smell of coffee and wet earth; I love every beautiful scent,but I hate the beautiful smells that remind me of you.

I hate your scent a lot, your scent is like the stench of the sea,like the smell of freshly baked bread,and the scent of reckless teenagers, as if you were all of this...When I first fell for you,Are you today a man I can rely on?Are you the same person I loved ?I don't really know because it's been six months since I last spoke to you...

I know you change a lot as the weather around you changes.

You heat up with the heat and cool down with the cold,but sometimes you are all the seasons at once...Your scent is the scent of my old perfume, and your looks are filled with disappointment.

I miss you most of the time,miss the you who made an effort to speak my language...

Then everything ended.

Now I only hear your loud voice as i write on my wet papers...and I get chills every time, feel discomfort,then feel love a few seconds later...

What did I do to love someone so far from me, yet so close to my heart like the soul and heartbeat...

Even when I stand before you and feel your anxiety,you are always above me and always avoid me.

You make me feel terrible for loving you,and also pour your anger on me for loving me...As if I'm the only one to blame that this happened

.But the truth is, no one is to blame; if you want to blame someone,blame the hearts.Or blame the Lord of hearts.

I left your matter to the Lord of your heart...If the Lord of hearts wants me to love you, I accept that; hate yourself for it or love it.

I love myself, whether I love you or not.

This is my fate in life,my soul has been roasted as it loves you,and I think I'm just a toy to you.

I want to see you all the time in front of me, I feel a strange euphoria when you are around me.

I love to see you do what you do even when I'm far from you and not involved in it.

My illness might be completely healed by your calmness.

I love to see you write,I love to see you speak or talk passionately...

If your worn-out building fell and the stench of the sea disappeared,if the teenagers ate all the freshly baked bread,I think I wouldn't stop loving seeing you around me.

I remember when you told me your life is empty without me; my life isn't mine without you.

My share of peace in this life is you...Your smile is my sunshine on a Friday morning.

The sparkle in your eyes is the anxiety that has become my only proof of existence.

The shine of your hair is my loud laughter, and your arrogant personality are the pillars of the buildings I built.

[biographiness]

On April 23, from quills to pixels, history unfolds: Shakespeare’s birth, Roosevelt’s stirring speech, and YouTube’s humble beginnings. Celebrating creativity, courage, and digital revolutions!🎭✍️��💡

Follow👉 @biographiness