alastur-berit - Hello Poetry

My mind cannot fathom the speed of the beating of a hummingbird’s wing flashing faster than film per frame darting, teleporting through a too-slow world. my heart, maybe, understands the feeling of balancing speed with precision Beating wildly out of sync with my mind. “Stay, stay.” “Go, go.” the sticky temptation of freedom balanced with the necessity of nectar. but what happens if I just let go? Will I crash into the earth, body broken, too sluggish to stagger through the air too bereft for a nest? Or, perhaps dare I dream it, will I find a new garden? Only time, captured 80 beats per second, stuttering through minutes ravaging my nerves, will tell.

0

May 3

May 3, 2026 at 3:06 AM UTC

Hummingbird

My mind cannot fathom the speed of the beating of a hummingbird’s wing flashing faster than film per frame darting, teleporting through a too-slow world. my heart, maybe, understands the feeling of balancing speed with precision Beating wildly out of sync with my mind. “Stay, stay.” “Go, go.” the sticky temptation of freedom balanced with the necessity of nectar. but what happens if I just let go? Will I crash into the earth, body broken, too sluggish to stagger through the air too bereft for a nest? Or, perhaps dare I dream it, will I find a new garden? Only time, captured 80 beats per second, stuttering through minutes ravaging my nerves, will tell.

34

I’ll try Just because you seemed to ask When I mentioned I couldn’t do better You would never actually ask You prefer your wants, secrets. Your passions, mysteries. And I delight in discovering your truths. They seem to ever shift The first words Well They sing in ideals and broker in small moments wrapped up into a giant feeling. I love that poem. And now I have had some time So here it is, try two, just for you: You are the green in the Kansas hills As the sun turns the sky golden as storms linger in the distance seemingly small against the windmills Or maybe the yellow of that Knit hat I made ours inverses of one another Tied up so close together as to always be near. You are the blue of Tampa bay a swirling landscape - universes shifting within your steady eyes like the tides rolling in and out of the bay. You are the magic of brown Rich soil harboring the secret of life The sturdiest part of the tree, - the hardest part of the tree - The brown of the ancientest of people A birthright of beauty, not without cruelty. I find in you the red of blood Essential for the functioning of the body blooming in the deepest shades of crimson any rose could bear A promise of safety The red truck rolling by, on their way to squashing fires, Extinguishing peril and pain. Providing hope in the most terrifying of our nightmares. Honestly I find you everywhere the sound of the paws chasing my feet The crinkle of the floor you knelt for hours on your knees to install. In the feeling of clean sheets and motorcycle rides In funny videos I need to send you so you can maybe laugh, too As the person who needs to look at how cute the cat is every time. As the idea of surprises - a spontaneous outing during a full moon. The center of my plans my gentle cool guy the only one to cool me down without dimming my spark. the one who reads my poetry and brings out the poet No matter the rhyming scheme Or subject matter Still After all this time - eons, eternities of time And for such a short time - we blinked, and it was gone My ride or die My best friend My lover You.

0

Apr 8

Apr 8, 2026 at 12:12 AM UTC

Decade

I’ll try Just because you seemed to ask When I mentioned I couldn’t do better You would never actually ask You prefer your wants, secrets. Your passions, mysteries. And I delight in discovering your truths. They seem to ever shift The first words Well They sing in ideals and broker in small moments wrapped up into a giant feeling. I love that poem. And now I have had some time So here it is, try two, just for you: You are the green in the Kansas hills As the sun turns the sky golden as storms linger in the distance seemingly small against the windmills Or maybe the yellow of that Knit hat I made ours inverses of one another Tied up so close together as to always be near. You are the blue of Tampa bay a swirling landscape - universes shifting within your steady eyes like the tides rolling in and out of the bay. You are the magic of brown Rich soil harboring the secret of life The sturdiest part of the tree, - the hardest part of the tree - The brown of the ancientest of people A birthright of beauty, not without cruelty. I find in you the red of blood Essential for the functioning of the body blooming in the deepest shades of crimson any rose could bear A promise of safety The red truck rolling by, on their way to squashing fires, Extinguishing peril and pain. Providing hope in the most terrifying of our nightmares. Honestly I find you everywhere the sound of the paws chasing my feet The crinkle of the floor you knelt for hours on your knees to install. In the feeling of clean sheets and motorcycle rides In funny videos I need to send you so you can maybe laugh, too As the person who needs to look at how cute the cat is every time. As the idea of surprises - a spontaneous outing during a full moon. The center of my plans my gentle cool guy the only one to cool me down without dimming my spark. the one who reads my poetry and brings out the poet No matter the rhyming scheme Or subject matter Still After all this time - eons, eternities of time And for such a short time - we blinked, and it was gone My ride or die My best friend My lover You.

67

not to be too dramatic but this toll I pay for my X chromosome is just getting to be too much bloodletting lasting weeks soaking through various wadded up bunches of papers tearing through my cramping abdomen hoping through un-shed tears (and lining) that the worst is past my f-word is common in those over thirty where I solidly sit now it is pressing on my womb requesting even more than I can give iron deficient clotting smells like rotting trudging like a zombie through the day instead of brains I’m just trying to cling on to life. The doctor tells me just hang on the birth control should start working soon in the meantime fake smiles and showing up for events pretending I’m not bleeding enough to fill a blood bank omitting ER visits from the casual “how are you”s tossed my way. hoping hoping hoping maybe the next one will be better. With a ferritin score in the single digits go ahead and take a little more as if being a woman needs to be harder

0

Jan 6

Jan 6, 2026 at 2:05 PM UTC

Blood

not to be too dramatic but this toll I pay for my X chromosome is just getting to be too much bloodletting lasting weeks soaking through various wadded up bunches of papers tearing through my cramping abdomen hoping through un-shed tears (and lining) that the worst is past my f-word is common in those over thirty where I solidly sit now it is pressing on my womb requesting even more than I can give iron deficient clotting smells like rotting trudging like a zombie through the day instead of brains I’m just trying to cling on to life. The doctor tells me just hang on the birth control should start working soon in the meantime fake smiles and showing up for events pretending I’m not bleeding enough to fill a blood bank omitting ER visits from the casual “how are you”s tossed my way. hoping hoping hoping maybe the next one will be better. With a ferritin score in the single digits go ahead and take a little more as if being a woman needs to be harder

45

I’ve never enjoyed feeling cold brittle, crackling, painful my toes perpetually stiff. Sharp inhales that give way to traitorous clouds venting out my heat. He understands, too. Preferring sweltering, and slowly sinking into the warmth of a summer day. My anger burns hot ripping through the air blazing up then burning out as quickly as it started. Yet he recoils pulling into himself - balancing the scales. Beginning with snow drifts, he grows sheets of ice freezing over lakes forming glaciers. Slow to move, to forget, the earth holding the shape of his anger. I’m left shuddering, wondering, if spring will ever come again.

0

Jan 11, 2024

Jan 11, 2024 at 1:29 PM UTC

Ice

I’ve never enjoyed feeling cold brittle, crackling, painful my toes perpetually stiff. Sharp inhales that give way to traitorous clouds venting out my heat. He understands, too. Preferring sweltering, and slowly sinking into the warmth of a summer day. My anger burns hot ripping through the air blazing up then burning out as quickly as it started. Yet he recoils pulling into himself - balancing the scales. Beginning with snow drifts, he grows sheets of ice freezing over lakes forming glaciers. Slow to move, to forget, the earth holding the shape of his anger. I’m left shuddering, wondering, if spring will ever come again.

26

Giggling The smell of baby powder Oranges and hide away Playing pretend with the dog - the most expensive Barbie we owned. sharing clothes sharing parties sharing rooms sharing blood and parents and siblings and friends and smells and memories and Little snores, keeping time through the night A weird little heartbeat letting me know you were always there with me. Fights rising up like Our summer storms Sudden and violent, persistent enough To drench our memories. Scary enough to send you crying Sometimes to mom sometimes just to yourself somehow, as an enemy, you were always there with me. Manhunt in the neighborhood flashlights in the dark playing jungle adrenaline fresh through our blood tagging along like - a little friend a little nuisance a little sister you were always there with me. Fighting my own battles the windshield wipers on my eyelids couldn’t keep up and so I couldn’t always see you were always there with me. then I went away right? and so we split grades, grades, grades, boys for the both of us. the most distant we’d both been Yet something starting there hard enough to see something new growing and all that time you were always there with me Now you have your own baby powder smells and your kids have their own dog to dress up you live just a bit away but somehow the less we share the more we give to one another. well the more I give to you I don’t think you were ever the problem Because You were always there with me and now you give me nephews and a godchild chances to be a hero to be the best (SO WHAT IF I’M THE ONLY?!) aunt. game night memories And one on one time In your life times one hundred chaos in your cookie filled house a place to always stay an ear to always have a harbor from my storms somehow you make all this space for your tag along nuisance of an older sister as the closest kind of friend. Because somehow, luckily enough for me You are always here with me.

0

Dec 29, 2023

Dec 29, 2023 at 3:29 AM UTC

January 13th

Giggling The smell of baby powder Oranges and hide away Playing pretend with the dog - the most expensive Barbie we owned. sharing clothes sharing parties sharing rooms sharing blood and parents and siblings and friends and smells and memories and Little snores, keeping time through the night A weird little heartbeat letting me know you were always there with me. Fights rising up like Our summer storms Sudden and violent, persistent enough To drench our memories. Scary enough to send you crying Sometimes to mom sometimes just to yourself somehow, as an enemy, you were always there with me. Manhunt in the neighborhood flashlights in the dark playing jungle adrenaline fresh through our blood tagging along like - a little friend a little nuisance a little sister you were always there with me. Fighting my own battles the windshield wipers on my eyelids couldn’t keep up and so I couldn’t always see you were always there with me. then I went away right? and so we split grades, grades, grades, boys for the both of us. the most distant we’d both been Yet something starting there hard enough to see something new growing and all that time you were always there with me Now you have your own baby powder smells and your kids have their own dog to dress up you live just a bit away but somehow the less we share the more we give to one another. well the more I give to you I don’t think you were ever the problem Because You were always there with me and now you give me nephews and a godchild chances to be a hero to be the best (SO WHAT IF I’M THE ONLY?!) aunt. game night memories And one on one time In your life times one hundred chaos in your cookie filled house a place to always stay an ear to always have a harbor from my storms somehow you make all this space for your tag along nuisance of an older sister as the closest kind of friend. Because somehow, luckily enough for me You are always here with me.

77

Fabrics Blue and gold, swirling patterns Each piece the beginning of a story Tangled in each other’s words yet each their own book dissected and created into a dissertation. libraries of stitches Theories of color. Time easing along like we’ve been easing these seams. I try to stretch each moment with you savoring your grilled cheese the sun on the window evening out the unfairness of time lining up shapes with the same intentionality of the love you have given us. I need this. Music the humming of the machine unexpected laughter the beauty of a memory born swelling quietly into a symphony making gentle space for the present and one thought pervasive as a heartbeat thudding again and again softly in my chest thank you.

0

Dec 2, 2023

Dec 2, 2023 at 9:12 PM UTC

Sewing with Mom

Fabrics Blue and gold, swirling patterns Each piece the beginning of a story Tangled in each other’s words yet each their own book dissected and created into a dissertation. libraries of stitches Theories of color. Time easing along like we’ve been easing these seams. I try to stretch each moment with you savoring your grilled cheese the sun on the window evening out the unfairness of time lining up shapes with the same intentionality of the love you have given us. I need this. Music the humming of the machine unexpected laughter the beauty of a memory born swelling quietly into a symphony making gentle space for the present and one thought pervasive as a heartbeat thudding again and again softly in my chest thank you.

30

Who poisoned the food? is it coming from me or them? the smell wafts towards me warm and sentimental seemingly a feast but but bringing me back 100 years ago to when the world was a darker place to when i was small and alone even around them A century of growth and still the smallest shift and this mountain threatens to crumble like the crust on this pie like the scenery around us perilous and beautiful twisting contorting the peaks in the distance as inviting as they are cold and brittle. Should I tell them? About this poison. or just let it sink in slowly darkening these memories until they look just like the faded photographs in my mind.

0

Nov 22, 2023

Nov 22, 2023 at 9:48 AM UTC

Thanksgiving

Who poisoned the food? is it coming from me or them? the smell wafts towards me warm and sentimental seemingly a feast but but bringing me back 100 years ago to when the world was a darker place to when i was small and alone even around them A century of growth and still the smallest shift and this mountain threatens to crumble like the crust on this pie like the scenery around us perilous and beautiful twisting contorting the peaks in the distance as inviting as they are cold and brittle. Should I tell them? About this poison. or just let it sink in slowly darkening these memories until they look just like the faded photographs in my mind.

31

You’re sneaking drinks Again. Please don’t keep on With the wine bottles under the sink Bloodier than any imagery In the Shining Flooding through our lives Drowning us in solemnity Tangible and heavy and soggy and moist You said you won’t Here comes my fall Clinging to your lifeboat words Trust A precarious thing Toppling in a rogue wave Washed deep underneath Unfathomable pressure I’m running out of air.

0

Nov 11, 2023

Nov 11, 2023 at 8:46 AM UTC

Untitled

You’re sneaking drinks Again. Please don’t keep on With the wine bottles under the sink Bloodier than any imagery In the Shining Flooding through our lives Drowning us in solemnity Tangible and heavy and soggy and moist You said you won’t Here comes my fall Clinging to your lifeboat words Trust A precarious thing Toppling in a rogue wave Washed deep underneath Unfathomable pressure I’m running out of air.

19

The girl next to me Hasn’t made eye contact This whole ride We haven’t exchanged words, So I review my own. Oh the words of a younger me! Scratch a dent in the sand Before the tide comes in Tickling my mind and A little grating But still cute and quaint A heart drawn with a stick Before being washed away Oh the body of an older me! I am too aware of Growing moles And fat A stereotype wrapped in personality cracking as the story of me Slowly sets in Oh the idea of future me! who knows the amount of blank left to fill? I know nothing but that Slowly I am learning To take up space This train keeps stopping And we are granted views of construction trucks Pallets Stone walls And our own thoughts Bodies shrugged over seats like sweaters Boredom leaking out through pores Flooding this compartment As stagnant as a puddle Yet, Being a passenger The view ever shifting scenery somehow stills time for me Making space for sentimentality Contemplating Loving deeply now scraps of fabric Seeming so unimportant on their own But together forming a quilt Who knew? My love language is Sewing Piecing together Quiet moments Cleaning sinks of dishes Scheduling our dreams Making fun of reality Tv Trivia - don’t forget missionary Made less and less of grand adventure And more of our home While these dreams once seemed So small they serve To cover us And keep us warm Through the winter of the world.

0

Oct 23, 2023

Oct 23, 2023 at 4:22 PM UTC

Train Ride

The girl next to me Hasn’t made eye contact This whole ride We haven’t exchanged words, So I review my own. Oh the words of a younger me! Scratch a dent in the sand Before the tide comes in Tickling my mind and A little grating But still cute and quaint A heart drawn with a stick Before being washed away Oh the body of an older me! I am too aware of Growing moles And fat A stereotype wrapped in personality cracking as the story of me Slowly sets in Oh the idea of future me! who knows the amount of blank left to fill? I know nothing but that Slowly I am learning To take up space This train keeps stopping And we are granted views of construction trucks Pallets Stone walls And our own thoughts Bodies shrugged over seats like sweaters Boredom leaking out through pores Flooding this compartment As stagnant as a puddle Yet, Being a passenger The view ever shifting scenery somehow stills time for me Making space for sentimentality Contemplating Loving deeply now scraps of fabric Seeming so unimportant on their own But together forming a quilt Who knew? My love language is Sewing Piecing together Quiet moments Cleaning sinks of dishes Scheduling our dreams Making fun of reality Tv Trivia - don’t forget missionary Made less and less of grand adventure And more of our home While these dreams once seemed So small they serve To cover us And keep us warm Through the winter of the world.

64

I once dreamed That I dreamed enough To give a little tablespoon to someone else. Anyone In that moment of darkness To be a light. A splash of color In an otherwise lovely monotony. I wouldn’t use clever anymore Passionate, wise, unique Or even particularly brave To etch on my legacy Is this the grand canyon Of long shifting waters, carving out Depression after depression? Or, is this wisdom? As I gain wrinkles and layers and lose organs I wonder. How radically misguided can our best intentions can be? Is that perspective? Is it becoming so reserved as to become inanimate? Stuck still like clay and rock and rubble in a pit deep enough to be seen from outside earth’s bubble. But not having the decency to rage like the hurricane on Jupiter, not nearly as remarkable. Keeping a silent tally. 28, 30, 35. Maybe I can weigh my words against action, against feelings, and intention. Maybe I can return to water. Even just a tablespoon.

0

Jul 6, 2022

Jul 6, 2022 at 2:56 AM UTC

Influence

I once dreamed That I dreamed enough To give a little tablespoon to someone else. Anyone In that moment of darkness To be a light. A splash of color In an otherwise lovely monotony. I wouldn’t use clever anymore Passionate, wise, unique Or even particularly brave To etch on my legacy Is this the grand canyon Of long shifting waters, carving out Depression after depression? Or, is this wisdom? As I gain wrinkles and layers and lose organs I wonder. How radically misguided can our best intentions can be? Is that perspective? Is it becoming so reserved as to become inanimate? Stuck still like clay and rock and rubble in a pit deep enough to be seen from outside earth’s bubble. But not having the decency to rage like the hurricane on Jupiter, not nearly as remarkable. Keeping a silent tally. 28, 30, 35. Maybe I can weigh my words against action, against feelings, and intention. Maybe I can return to water. Even just a tablespoon.

22