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Wren 5d
I. Within
progeny of The Stars

cosmic void
regal seething bordellos
of eloping holy light
in its sinewy grasp

darling, we dwell in a
beautiful place
where the paper-thin veneer on
what is, what has been, and what is to be
has cracked and peeled away
divulging the secret cosmos
until matter is no longer matter,
silence, no longer silence

cosmic cold
permanent light
permanent darkness
similarly, simultaneously

out of the ether,
out of the nothingness
compounded within nothingness,
exploded forth energy, time, space

and so was physics,
the story of how our makeshift universe
came to be

II. Coalescent
with physics came energy,
and with energy, entropy—
there was a fundamental need
to form and exist as a whole

from the broiling chaos
coalesced a semblance of order

a thimbleful of electrons and photons
pooling and burbling
abstracted and reified

and so was chemistry,
the story of atoms and
the quantum waltz

III. Altered
ionize the corona
a faint breath of life
found its way

idealize time:
a walk of six billion years
idly made its way into our present

life-forms emerged,
alive as the sprawling acanthus
springing from the grave

furiously clawing at the barren,
fruitless earth
we suckled the heaving ***** of mother nature,
greedily drinking her life-giving milk;
fragments of her being embroidered into cristae
generation after generation

we evolved

and so was biology,
the story of these life-forms
and how they kept

IV. Value & Definition
a thimbleful of love to encourage modesty
since you can't make deals with the universe
accept what you are made of

during your life
the gates of darkness open and lock your soul in order to test you
are you brave enough?
do you dare?

if not, simply lay down your bruised body
kneel on your scraped knees
and pray
you're not inhuman if you have strayed
if your soul has been played by pain

nothing is absolute: not a poem
neither a castle, riches, nor human power
in the smallest of intervals~
we are golden urns pouring out of the sun
momentary shadows
decaying naked as we came, in short-lived grandeur

the perfect constellation of the universe:
deus ex machina et machina ex deus

and so was history,
the ongoing story of us
and our cultures

V. Acknowledge
neither absolute nor relative
it simply is, as is, as has been, as will be
god doesn't need to be proven
just think about the way insects recognize humans

just tell yourself this is just physics
tell yourself that chemistry, biology, history
could even begin to define infinity

suspiria de profundis
iridescent harmony of the spheres
in the quiet black, hear those arias of nirvana
inspired by my former science teacher's numerous lectures on the poetry of our universe. this one's for you, ms. m. simply beautiful. ty for stopping by.

"and in the salt chuckle of rocks
with their sea pools, there was the sound
like a rumor without any echo

of History, really beginning."

-Excerpt from Derek Walcott's "The Sea Is History"

Thank you so much, Mikey, for asking me to do a collaboration with you. It's an honor to have done my first HePo collab with a poet as gifted and eloquent as you. Much love, ~Reignier <3

Apologies, know that this note is awfully long. This is my first post in a while and I just want to say thank you to all of you who've been with me since the beginning. Your love and thanks means so much to me. I found what I've been seeking, and I can honestly tell you that I'm back (if school permits lol). Please put any suggested tags in the comments so I can add them.

Dec 2019 · 258
don’t bother buying roses
Wren Dec 2019
darling, don’t bother buying roses
uprooted, torn from the fertile, nourishing earth
they only wither away, glazed with the mourning dew
another bus-ride write. again, not my best... i’ll prolly post again in a couple of weeks, midterms are coming up. it always made me sad when my dad bought my mom flowers. once, they were alight with life, the truest beauty. now confined to a clear water-filled vase, on display for the world, only to die days later. ty for reading. im going to try and stay away from  angsty love poems for my next couple of poems, maybe something happier ;)

^^quick note: mourning refers to tears and is a play on the word morning~
Sep 2019 · 343
always welcome
Wren Sep 2019
a small
millennium house
much younger than it looks

a worn brick frame
skirted by a quaint, welcoming
red mulch garden

lace and fine gilt bone china
tucked away in
innumerable glass-fronted
cherry cabinets
bathed in the peachy florida light
streaming in through
clustered windows
framed by luscious,
flowing cloth drapery

pears soap,
soft, satin water,
and ceramic figurines
of angels and saints,
hares and doves

biblical verse, hung on the walls
and photos of relatives
i’ve never met

cushy, paisley-patterned sofas,
always something on the stove

flower arrangements on the mantle
aside a baldwin upright

no, this is not home.
but regardless, i know that here,
i will
always be welcome
a quick bus-ride write... not my best but i still think it’s something ;)
Aug 2019 · 106
Wren Aug 2019
hello to my 29 followers...
i wanted to let you know that a couple of my poems will be taken down in the coming days, including dichotomy pt. 1: votive and perhaps the poems in the crossroads series along with gratitude and whatever else i feel needs to be removed.

there are a number of sweet, kindred souls on hp whose writing always amazes, leaving me hungering for more. it's these people that have shown me what it means to be a human being and the virtues of poetic catharsis. how strangers can convey their deepest emotions to other strangers through artful verse. their words inspire. always. i don't have the space or words to sufficiently thank them all, lest i offend anyone dear to me*, but it's these people that inspire me to write.

however, being the stubborn-a-- idealistic pisces i am, i know i can improve. for a period of time, i believed my poetry was actually good (hA nOpe). but after reading the works of some poets on this site, i felt my poetry was absolute s---. i was not writing from the heart. i understand self-deprecation is bad and whatnot but i sincerely know i can do better. i'm taking down all the poems i personally feel are inadequate. they will eventually be 'refurbished' and republished.

for the next month or so, i'm going to try and get back in touch with my artistic self, an artistic renaissance if you will. not just in poetry per se, but the other liberal arts as well, along with extracurriculars and academics. school begins in two weeks and when it does, i want to come back the best version of myself.

thank you for all of your support! reading your comments always makes my day. i'll be back, better than before. again, thank you!

*but here's a short list: Darrell Landstrom, Perry, S Olson, Peter Gareth, Jackson Thomas, Terry D'Arcy Ryan, Crazy Diamond Kristy, Lone Chimney Sweep, Bus Poet Stop, Cat, Cné, Bryan Lunsford, Fawn, and 24 other beautiful creatures. special thanks to Jade Storm.
Aug 2019 · 242
Canmore Verse
Wren Aug 2019
Look down.
There’s a whole world below,
dug out and timber-framed,
mapped and named.
Its tunnels stretch for miles
under the mountain.

Once it shook with blasting,
screech of train, and whistles.
The coal was iridescent blue.
Headlights on a curved track
burst like shooting stars
out of the deep.

That mirror world is dark now.
The men laid down their tools,
and took the mantrip
to the surface, home.
In the quiet,
hear the mountain sigh.
was in canmore, canada for vacation. saw these words engraved into the sidewalk... thought it was really poetic!

/taken from the canmore city website/
Canmore was named in 1884 by Donald A. Smith, an employee of the Canadian Pacific Railway. The name originates from a town on the northwest shores of Scotland named in honor of King Malcolm III of Canmore. The anglicized version of the Gaelic Ceann Mór , Canmore has been variously translated as "big head" or, more likely, "great head" or "chief".

In 1886 Queen Victoria granted a coal mining charter to the town and in 1887 the first mine was opened.

The North West Mounted Police built their first barracks in Canmore in 1890. It was vacated in 1929 and turned into a private residence. Later, in 1989 the barracks was purchased back by the town and restored.

Through the early 20th century many of the coal mines in the Bow Valley began to shut down. The nearby towns of Anthracite, Georgetown and Bankhead closed down and many of the buildings and residents were relocated to Banff and Canmore. In 1965, Canmore was incorporated as a town with 2,000 residents. I
Wren Jul 2019
sweet child of the stars-
never forget these bright lights
and pages of gold

blaze of fireflies-
momentarily trapped in
mason jars; glass-hewn

a saturday evening in july of 1987, pottstown, pennsylvania. the moon peaks over the horizon, craning its neck at the carcasses of lost dreamers littered across the landscape. denim jacket, stone wash; unintentionally half-popped collar. a glass of cinzano bianco in one hand and store-bought iced tea in the other. eight wicker chairs on the deck; chittering and smiling and shuffling and laughing. an evening soirée illuminated solely by stars and citronella candles.  sticky, humid night. grill roars heat as yet another batch of burgers are flipped. step down into the murky dark.

fireworks ignite-
brilliance across nightsky
eyes gaze in wonder

new-age americana at its finest—

we are here and we are now. the product of every moment leading up to now. smoldering remnants of infinite reactions, extraordinary in their own right. what are you cultivating within? what will stay and what will go? what will take hold and manifest? what legacy, what footprint do you dare to leave on the sands of time? in this sublime psalm of life, we can only dream.
never done one of these before! apologies, ik i didn't adhere to form...a creative liberty if you will. ty for stopping by. haibun: haiku poetry and prose.

^don’t ask how i know what cinzano bianco is lol^

part of the last little paragraph thingy was taken from henry wadsworth longfellow’s ‘a psalm of life’.
Wren May 2019
A fading fluorescent
reads 3:21 AM.
Drunken eyes dance,
Phantom feelings flash,
And muddled, drifting dreams
And ringing silence overwhelms all.

The only thing more quantitative than the twinkling stars,
Is this everlasting night sky above our heads,
This velvet black backdrop in which they are embedded.

And do the stars not shine all the brighter in it?
Your light was a seed, my darkness the fertile soil,
Our bond, an embrace of unknown and careless proportions.
But will happen when our makeshift universe grows dim?

A muted cuckoo clock sings 4:00 AM
When shadows can cast without a light.
It didn’t stop what came before,
And no number of sheep can stop what’s now.
written by my friend, Alison. reminded me of Bee's poem (link below):
May 2019 · 236
The One
Wren May 2019
The Greek philosopher Plato once said that in the beginning, all humans had four arms, four legs, and a single head, on which two faces were interwoven. We were whole, we were empowered, gifted the ability to ask the Gods for the answers to the true questions, those questions that transcended human thought. We flourished, nurtured by the incubator of bliss: a happiness incomparable to anything in existence today. We did not coexist as two separate beings, rather living as The One.

But as humans, we also had this primeval desire, this primeval hunger to achieve and attain. So we flaunted our gifts. Our indomitability soon seized us and we, in our blatant arrogance, defiled the divinity of the celestial beings. The Gods, offended, separated The One, forming two distinctly different beings.

We wept, overcome by our woes, not knowing how to console ourselves. Without our other half, life was not only saddening, but also pointless. Days and days went by, with not so much as even a hint of happiness. Then began a spark in every being. We yearned for our other half, so for our other half, we searched. The reformation of The One became imperative, lest all of the human race live purposelessly for the rest of our days. And so as we searched, from the fading twilight to the dark crevices of our very own natures, we found.

This search is known as love, and it is the closest thing to The One we may experience in this lifetime. It gives each of our lives meaning, each of our lives purpose. This is the story of how a boy and a girl sought and found one another.
an introduction to a story i'm writing lol
Wren May 2019
show me
with trembling fingers
a shallow breath
what it means
to close a book

take the barren thread
raise me up
adjusting buckling knees

show me
how much you hate me
beyond what words
could say
this one really caught me off guard. thanks to you, Lana, for this masterpiece. about suicide...
Wren May 2019
i dreamt a little dream of you.
it was somewhere cold and
looking outside through the windows,
it was evident it had been snowing for awhile.

a fading fluorescent read 7:00 pm.
it was dark outside.
we were both inside a dim bathroom.
an ornate claw-foot tub stood in the center,
filled to the brim with water.
a steady layer of steam cascaded off the surface, dissipating into the surrounding air.
you held my hand and guided me to the tub.
we stripped, a small pile of clothing forming to the side.
the water was hot and inviting.

i hugged you and you hugged me.
you ran your finger through my hair and told me everything would be alright.
i shivered from the aching cold that enveloped us.
you simply hugged me even tighter.
‘promise me, this is forever.’
you just smiled.

the most painful part,
was waking up in a pool of tears,
realizing it never happened.

you’d never know,
but i dreamt a little dream of you.
love me. please. it couldn’t have been fake...
Wren Apr 2019
I need a moment of ignorance.
But the price is one I can't pay.
I need a moment of clarity.
But, it isn't for sale.
I'd like to discard my cards.
But we get what we get, take what is given,
Live on both sides of the spectrum.
So play to the best of your abilities.
One opponent is already down.
wish i wrote this lol. one of my close friends created this from a plethora of old ela warmups. i thought she deserved some recognition because honestly, this poem is art. title is capped on this one because she’d probably beat me up if it weren’t **** -_-.
Wren Apr 2019
Dear Tayden,
         It’s been so difficult to internalize the emotions I feel when I’m around you. Looking at you for even a fleeting moment, I am unable to speak any longer. For me to write this, was in a sense, therapeutic. Never in my life have I been able to communicate something so powerfully abstract and implicit with such thought and definition. Please take only what you need from this.
         Just being in your presence for the last three years has been a blessing in itself. Since I first met you, you have treated me with respect, dignity, and kindness: something that not many people have had the decency to do. I feel most gratified to God that I had the chance to meet you. You truly have given my life meaning.
         You walk in at 8:55, every weekday, a smile on your face. Even if it’s hell outside the classroom, you maintain that smile. Regardless of how late you stayed up working or how sick you are of the day-to-day stress, you still come to school looking perfect.
          I think you’re brilliant. Truly. You emanate this light that everyone just wants to be around. Everyone who talks to you leaves happy, and in a sense, satiated. I anticipate just being next to you because you’re one of the few people that are just as beautiful on the inside as they are on the outside.
          My life was this everlasting, directionless abyss. I kept flailing and flailing until at one point, I considered letting go. It would have been so simple to fall into the velvet black. I felt that even if I were gone, not many would pay care.
                                           But then I met you.
          You, knowingly or unknowingly grasped my hand and pulled me out of this vicious cycle. For the first time in a long time, I felt- embraced. My words and actions are entirely pointless without you. You're why I wake up in the morning. I know that you’re special. Now it’s just a matter of getting you to recognize it.
                                                             ­                       Warmest regards,
                                                        ­                                            Reignier
a couple of my poems have stemmed from this letter. sorry it's a bit lengthy... ijust needed to get this out there. formatting might've ******* up a little bit too, sorry about that. i wrote this out in longhand in spencerian cursive and tucked it and my poem dichotomy in an envelope wrapped in ribbon with flowers fastened around it. i may be a hopeless romantic, but i still am a romantic lol.
Apr 2019 · 408
trust, in its purest sense
Wren Apr 2019
trust, in its purest sense,
is giving someone the ability to shatter you,
but maintaining the faith that they won’t.
Apr 2019 · 281
the light
Wren Apr 2019
let’s stop propagating the darkness,
and preach the light.
inspired by Petal’s ‘What the F***?’
i’ve wrote so much angst i think i’ve been desensitized by it lol. ty Petal for showing me that poetry is more than a domain for the depressed and hurting.
Apr 2019 · 220
grace and mercy
Wren Apr 2019
grace is getting more than you deserve,
whereas mercy is not getting what you deserve.
god grants us both.
as said by our youth pastor
Apr 2019 · 286
rifts and ultimatums
Wren Apr 2019
she lays on one side,
and he lays on the other.
she is a beautiful flower against the brutalist landscape,
he, thistle and thorn on a path rightfully left untrodden.
she is an ornate nib against the parchment, gliding with grace,
he, a metal implement against the wood, etching with fire.               
she is my first musing in the early morning,
he, my final contemplation at night.
she is the uplifting ionian in a chord progression,
he, the dark, dissonant sharp iv of the fanciful lydian.
she smiles,
he frowns.
i  know i can't keep fetishizing the idea of compromise.
s o  g e t  o u t  o f  m y  h e a d,
and croon the dirge with me.
no more rifts or ultimatums, please.
i can't be alone any longer.
don't make me choose right now.
no. NO.
just hold me tight,
and tell me things will get better.
in my nightstand, there lies a bottle of pills
(some old opioids, i think)                                            
and a paring knife.
you both are the reason i don't pick up either.
both of you are my lifeline...
no more rifts or ultimatums, please.
just both of you, and me.
can you love two people at once?
i thought i was better. i thought i was healed. but like a vice that you never truly escape, my past has come back to haunt me. it's alright though. i see a light at the end of the tunnel and writing this helped me get a little closer to it. i just need to wait out the night.

inspired by Scott's "Small Rituals":
Apr 2019 · 270
Wren Apr 2019
such a haunting expression,
on such a beautiful creature.
Apr 2019 · 779
Wren Apr 2019
when we're locked together
in one another's warm embrace,
all my fears,
all my inhibitions,
they all melt away.
Apr 2019 · 855
what cross do you bear?
Wren Apr 2019
what cross do you bear?
whisper to me the pains you've repressed,
the regrets that consume you,
divulge to me your darkest sins,
and lend utterance to your woes.

how do you build the ark,
that exists in your mind?
rocking in the arms,
of the slow, swinging seas,
whilst quixotic dreamers,
dance across the sky,
lost in the clouds.

solace in tears,
premonitions in fears,
let me cradle your soul,
and mend,
piece by piece,
plastered poultices,
and golden lacquer scars,
sealing all that ran deep.
let me shoulder your burdens,
so that one day, you may learn
and live alongside them.

so long as molten rock,
anoints our heads,
and flickering flame,
sears our feet,
we shall traverse
the crucible that is life.

each bearing a cross,
and a crown of thorns,
we are beautifully broken,
the faceted protagonists
of faded film noir.

we will prevail.
“No pain, no palm; no thorns, no throne; no gall, no glory; no cross, no crown.” -William Penn

angst, ik lol, but i just wanted all of you to know that i'm here for all of you. not sure how much i can do for you but i'll certainly try! thank you for stopping by.
Mar 2019 · 150
Wren Mar 2019
just a lovesick boy
who's sick of love
unrequited love hurtsssss djsksksksk

inspired by Conan Gray's original song, "Lovesick Boys" - - light but bittersweet

i wouldn't blame them though: i wouldn't want to fall in love with me either
Mar 2019 · 765
Wren Mar 2019
you’re not here today...
suddenly, the world seems dimmer
cliché, ik, but nevertheless true

— The End —