anjelica-j-rechsteiner - Hello Poetry

Where are you today? My mind needs to know In what space you're existing Who you may be meeting Are you thinking of her? Time to run through Every single possible Unpleasant scenario It doesn't even matter While you never think of me My mind can't comprehend Regardless of reality Here comes the anger Unnecessary, destructive Solving absolutely nothing And it comes just the same I try to escape in sleep But, wait, here you are And here comes the pain And you smile just the same. I never asked for this I never asked for you to Waltz into my mind and Never ever leave.

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anjelica-j-rechsteiner

Sep 10, 2014

Sep 10, 2014 at 2:18 PM UTC

lauren-rayne

Obsession

Where are you today? My mind needs to know In what space you're existing Who you may be meeting Are you thinking of her? Time to run through Every single possible Unpleasant scenario It doesn't even matter While you never think of me My mind can't comprehend Regardless of reality Here comes the anger Unnecessary, destructive Solving absolutely nothing And it comes just the same I try to escape in sleep But, wait, here you are And here comes the pain And you smile just the same. I never asked for this I never asked for you to Waltz into my mind and Never ever leave.

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by Derek Walcott (1930- ) The time will come when, with elation you will greet yourself arriving at your own door, in your own mirror and each will smile at the other's welcome, and say, sit here. Eat. You will love again the stranger who was your self. Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart to itself, to the stranger who has loved you all your life, whom you ignored for another, who knows you by heart. Take down the love letters from the bookshelf, the photographs, the desperate notes, peel your own image from the mirror. Sit. Feast on your life.

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anjelica-j-rechsteiner

Sep 8, 2014

Sep 8, 2014 at 4:49 PM UTC

nat-lipstadt

Love After Love

by Derek Walcott (1930- ) The time will come when, with elation you will greet yourself arriving at your own door, in your own mirror and each will smile at the other's welcome, and say, sit here. Eat. You will love again the stranger who was your self. Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart to itself, to the stranger who has loved you all your life, whom you ignored for another, who knows you by heart. Take down the love letters from the bookshelf, the photographs, the desperate notes, peel your own image from the mirror. Sit. Feast on your life.

16

The tip of the brush tickles the canvas As it traces the outline of the illustrious Wings. Followed by spindly antennae that almost protrude from the white plane. Bulbous eyes appear, starting with one spherical ommatidia after another. Then, an appendage in the like of a purple passion vine twine stems from the head of the envisioned creature. The brush swooshes in the water preparing for the most important part of the masterpiece. Hues of blue begin to form on a palette, one like the bright morning sky—that will breathe life into the painting— and another—the color of dusk—to add the edge of reality. Geometric shapes take form in the wings for depth and texture, like the odd shapes of rain drops on a window after it rains. And then the final touches, speckles of white on the outer edges of the flying devices, faint yet as noticeable as the petals of a dandelion floating through the air.

0

Sep 8, 2014

Sep 8, 2014 at 4:16 PM UTC

anjelica-j-rechsteiner

The Museum Specimen

The tip of the brush tickles the canvas As it traces the outline of the illustrious Wings. Followed by spindly antennae that almost protrude from the white plane. Bulbous eyes appear, starting with one spherical ommatidia after another. Then, an appendage in the like of a purple passion vine twine stems from the head of the envisioned creature. The brush swooshes in the water preparing for the most important part of the masterpiece. Hues of blue begin to form on a palette, one like the bright morning sky—that will breathe life into the painting— and another—the color of dusk—to add the edge of reality. Geometric shapes take form in the wings for depth and texture, like the odd shapes of rain drops on a window after it rains. And then the final touches, speckles of white on the outer edges of the flying devices, faint yet as noticeable as the petals of a dandelion floating through the air.

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