mq - Hello Poetry

In January there is a glow so gold that the bleak post-summer sky turns white The Sun squints through stretches of clouds that hang over the Indian oceans The Atlantic seas where the carp shiver and the trout bloat like flattened pufferfish They sit between the edges of costal towns, like a hanging curtain pinned down by old wooden sea ports Splintered and bruised by the ocean’s fierce love By the fisherman’s tools By the many boats of history, present and future By the weary ropes that curl, like snakes, into spirals on the deck. In January there is a glow so familiar and unchanging, like Water finding the foot of the sandbank Over and over and over.

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Oct 15, 2020

Oct 15, 2020 at 12:17 AM UTC

In January

In January there is a glow so gold that the bleak post-summer sky turns white The Sun squints through stretches of clouds that hang over the Indian oceans The Atlantic seas where the carp shiver and the trout bloat like flattened pufferfish They sit between the edges of costal towns, like a hanging curtain pinned down by old wooden sea ports Splintered and bruised by the ocean’s fierce love By the fisherman’s tools By the many boats of history, present and future By the weary ropes that curl, like snakes, into spirals on the deck. In January there is a glow so familiar and unchanging, like Water finding the foot of the sandbank Over and over and over.

11

In the night the Ocean gyres around me and lifts my heart, wet, full and swollen to the street lights, oiled, slick and bright, burning to touch. But fearing against the cold wind like a stick of butter to the hard refrigerator like a warm hand to a colder pair -- the blue gyres and swarms and spins me to nausea, to dread.

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Oct 15, 2020

Oct 15, 2020 at 12:02 AM UTC

ocean

In the night the Ocean gyres around me and lifts my heart, wet, full and swollen to the street lights, oiled, slick and bright, burning to touch. But fearing against the cold wind like a stick of butter to the hard refrigerator like a warm hand to a colder pair -- the blue gyres and swarms and spins me to nausea, to dread.

16

seven minutes before I am pushed to words when the rain falls at my feet and the grey in the sky parts and the trees send wet leaves to touch my face waiting two dreams away sitting in the half-way entrance where we've said we'd meet can you imagine a blue sun? the world washed in, pale the turquoise light swims in through your window which you've left ajar to see the open sky seven minutes before I open my eyes again before I pinch myself before I berate myself for poisoning myself with wishful thinking when i've said i'd give it up again for being the loser and you, the winner time and time again

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Jun 8, 2020

Jun 8, 2020 at 12:55 AM UTC

seven

seven minutes before I am pushed to words when the rain falls at my feet and the grey in the sky parts and the trees send wet leaves to touch my face waiting two dreams away sitting in the half-way entrance where we've said we'd meet can you imagine a blue sun? the world washed in, pale the turquoise light swims in through your window which you've left ajar to see the open sky seven minutes before I open my eyes again before I pinch myself before I berate myself for poisoning myself with wishful thinking when i've said i'd give it up again for being the loser and you, the winner time and time again

24

when i realise you won't write back I'll stop sending my letters to you. when I realise you are stuck behind a sheet of glass in a frame eyes half open, half closed trapped in a smile a seat a time and you don't know what will happen next, I'll stuff my fingers into your box take my unwanted mail and leave

0

Jun 8, 2020

Jun 8, 2020 at 12:50 AM UTC

when

when i realise you won't write back I'll stop sending my letters to you. when I realise you are stuck behind a sheet of glass in a frame eyes half open, half closed trapped in a smile a seat a time and you don't know what will happen next, I'll stuff my fingers into your box take my unwanted mail and leave

14

the time turns to one o'clock on my bed shoulders hunched forward dull eyes forward fixed onto a screen scrolling down. the time turns to one fifty the skin underneath my eyes heavy but slick weathered browned dark like bruises on my face the time turns to two o'clock the door left ajar blue light filter permeates darkness the optometrist is closed on Tuesdays the time turns to two forty bad back smelly mouth oily skin the screen stays on i don't sleep

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Apr 16, 2020

Apr 16, 2020 at 8:58 PM UTC

sleep

the time turns to one o'clock on my bed shoulders hunched forward dull eyes forward fixed onto a screen scrolling down. the time turns to one fifty the skin underneath my eyes heavy but slick weathered browned dark like bruises on my face the time turns to two o'clock the door left ajar blue light filter permeates darkness the optometrist is closed on Tuesdays the time turns to two forty bad back smelly mouth oily skin the screen stays on i don't sleep

29

i want my friends back i don't want their messages, or calls or to see their screen-names i want my friends in solid human form so i can put my arms around their shoulders feel their bones and hold them to me

0

Apr 9, 2020

Apr 9, 2020 at 12:15 AM UTC

my friends

i want my friends back i don't want their messages, or calls or to see their screen-names i want my friends in solid human form so i can put my arms around their shoulders feel their bones and hold them to me

8

I wonder how long it will take for me to destroy myself. I wonder how much longer I have before I self-destruct There's a bomb lodged in the middle of the bony hug of my ribcage instead of a soft, gooey, beating heart Counting down the seconds

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Jun 2, 2019

Jun 2, 2019 at 4:52 AM UTC

I Wonder

I wonder how long it will take for me to destroy myself. I wonder how much longer I have before I self-destruct There's a bomb lodged in the middle of the bony hug of my ribcage instead of a soft, gooey, beating heart Counting down the seconds

7

12 is not a number but a whole lifetime away

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Mar 17, 2019

Mar 17, 2019 at 2:16 AM UTC

"12?"

12 is not a number but a whole lifetime away

2

why is my heart so heavy and sad it's dragging down my breaths why is my heart so aching and swirling swirling pits of guilt why am i so heavy

0

Mar 16, 2019

Mar 16, 2019 at 5:43 AM UTC

why

why is my heart so heavy and sad it's dragging down my breaths why is my heart so aching and swirling swirling pits of guilt why am i so heavy

5

I am haggard and empty -- unfinished and a half-effort an unsatisfying result that makes your heart drop to your knees a vocation that is unsolid buried by talk of money, money, money. banks are more than fulfillment. my lungs are on fire What is the price of my mental health?

0

Mar 6, 2019

Mar 6, 2019 at 2:58 AM UTC

semi-circle

I am haggard and empty -- unfinished and a half-effort an unsatisfying result that makes your heart drop to your knees a vocation that is unsolid buried by talk of money, money, money. banks are more than fulfillment. my lungs are on fire What is the price of my mental health?

16