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Nov 2019 · 140
in memoriam
Ellie Belanger Nov 2019
At the corner, waiting to turn.
His hand in my hand
but I’m still looking for
distracted by the dream fading.
I need to wake up,
I know.
But it feels so nice
when you visit me
sleeping curled tight in my covers,
and have grand and tragic
adventures on my behalf
as we chit-chat in the slumbering dark.
Oh! The tug is tugging
his hand is pulling
it’s time to turn.
I can’t help but to look both ways
for your cool asphalt shadow.
Aug 2019 · 80
Free write #207
Ellie Belanger Aug 2019
What speaks to you?
The tongue varies - but tastes,
Tastes, my dear,
They change slowly.

Is it the touch of warm skin?
The sashay of cascading hair
and the pleasant popping
Of undone buttons?
Mortal desires
Have mortal consequences,
My dear.

Is it assurance in your wealth?
Do you long to never worry
About the poverty that oppresses?
You can have much but never
Have it all,
My dear.

Would that these words
Could speak to you
And cause a shift
Deep within your soul
If such a thing exists,
My dear.

But my tongue is twisted.
So it goes,
My dear.
Aug 2018 · 255
Ellie Belanger Aug 2018
you are like
being a child, waking up
from a dreamless slumber,
suddenly awake
warm beneath the soft comforter
your grandmother sewed for your brother
the one faded almost to threads,
so white and gently patterned in the eight am sun
and fall has come
and the air is clear and dry and cold
but the sunlight is warm
so you cast off the comfort of the comforter
you holler silently down wooden hallways
you scatter loosely down broken gravel pathways
and out into and endless grass
up to the waist, with purple and golden flowers
all covered in wet night dew
and you sing the song of the soul
that is
the chilly tickle of water droplets running down your legs
and the slight scratch of the blades of grass across your ankles
and legs.
The song of morning
and of bright sunlight
and of fresh air and rebirth,
a song of things passing on
and new things beginning to

you are like the small minutes
of infinite and beautiful and
humble freedom
that makes us all human again.
Aug 2018 · 125
Ellie Belanger Aug 2018
This end marks the beginning
Just another page written
Edited into a new story
A continuation
But in a different language
In a place yet unseen
So that all the tears cried
Out of fond farewell
Can be the ink
Of this new chapter
Aug 2018 · 128
Ellie Belanger Aug 2018
I am lonely.

I am lonely.

I am lonely.

But shhhhhh

Don’t tell anyone
Aug 2018 · 130
Calypso #b4
Ellie Belanger Aug 2018
There’s a hole in my heart that’s bigger than Texas
And all the words gushing out remind me of exes
And late nights not sleeping and half-written texts that
I never sent to you.

There’s a sun in the sky that’s hotter than heaven
And the heat index creeps up way past eleven
Humidity high enough to turn fifteen into seven
As the party finally ends.

There’s a worm on the sidewalk that’s been rained out
And I wonder if he knows anything, if he has any doubt
Or if he just slithers and scrunches his way about
Careless of the gravel.
Aug 2018 · 128
Ellie Belanger Aug 2018
they say “you don’t belong to anyone”.
and it’s nice.
It’s a nice thing to say.
even if it’s not true.
I am no body’s property
I am a citizen
A woman
A student
A teacher
A worker
A dreamer
A writer
A singer
A poet

But I belong to
And belong with.

If I did not,
I would be as free
and as lonely
as nothing.

For even the space between electrons
Make the atoms what they are.
Even dust and dirt hurtling through space
will one day collide with another matter.
Even the loneliest whale,
Singing it’s song to itself
belongs to the ocean.

So when the man I love says
“You’re mine”
I think
“That’s fine.”
I don’t mind
Jul 2018 · 165
Ellie Belanger Jul 2018
When my poetry becomes water
You become sand
Ebbing it’s flow
Before allowing it to sink deep inside of you
Slowly rolling you forward and backward with the words
Which will make you smaller with time
Until you, too
Become my poetry
Become my water
Jul 2018 · 264
Nature Of The Universe II
Ellie Belanger Jul 2018
Every age just a page
In a book constantly rewriting itself.
There’s no mystery in this history,
Just matter beating out and in
Out and in out and in
Again again again again
You can say we’re stardust
Yes, we are,
In small quantities hidden deep in our physical, chemical, biological make-up
A construction of borrowed elements,
Remembering all time like elephants,
Suffering changes in their outer shells, to change and to scatter and one day
Become else

You see
Matter cannot be created or destroyed
But it can redeployed
In the key of B
In a wave of energy, bright and slow at first
Then fast as a rocket ship
Fast as a wormhole
Fast as light, then faster
Ripping itself apart as it stretches
Telling stories all the while.
Every age
Just a page
In a book the constantly rewrites itself.
Every deja vu
An old you
And a decision to make-
Though you may be the same matter as before and maybe after-
A glimpse into a past past
Can make all the difference in the future future
Of a book
That never ends
And never begins
But simply
Rewrites itself
Again again again again
Nov 2017 · 225
This is a hollow space,
Ellie Belanger Nov 2017
between two things which make sense, in and of themselves.
The hollow space between makes little sense.
That is why it is hollow.
Nov 2017 · 218
Ellie Belanger Nov 2017
Tonight I will do many various things;
I will fold warm laundry
And go eat tacos with a friend of a friend.
I will drink a beer and go drive
my sad and rickety car.
I will scream your name
When I am meant to
Somewhere deep in a song
Because my soul is aching,
Pouring forth always for the hope of love
Like the love I feel for you.

Tonight I will do many various things.
But I will not stop loving you.
Oct 2017 · 386
Ellie Belanger Oct 2017
The lines of distinction wear thin.
Where does the wave of influence stop and I begin
and where does my own wave begin,
what shore does it hit?
"No man is an island"
said Jon Bon Jovi, in a dream
illustrated by Nick Hornby.
I am no island.
I am no man.
Where does the string end and begin?
everything tangled up in fruitless plans
Oct 2017 · 154
Ellie Belanger Oct 2017
my cry for help
Sounds like
muffled sobs
against sweat-stained

it's hard to root out
Against the click and hum
of the dripping mini-fridge
And the bursts of barking laughter
from downstairs.
Oct 2017 · 212
bipartisan poetry
Ellie Belanger Oct 2017
Poetry is
You never read a poem
filled with middleness.
Even a poem about a
ham sandwich
is either passionately for
or against.
Sep 2017 · 164
Ellie Belanger Sep 2017
torture-, my dear,
is what I live inside of

To know
what it is I feel...
and to also know that I
can do nothing
about it,
nothing to stop it,
nothing to burn it out.

It consumes.

"They" say passion consumes
the Soul like flame to a candle's

How many souls do I own?

It has been ages
and ages
that I have loved you,
small aeons that look like
magic fireworks when viewed from
stars bursting or imploding
all manner of greens and reds
blues and yellows-
my God!

I will give you colors.

The waiting is the worst.
Counted time.
Counted exercises and tasks.

It is not a countdown.

"It is not a countdown."

But it is waiting.
Not for him.
For me.

For the things I still need to learn
before him.
For the changes that loom on the horizon.
For the moment
THAT moment
maybe I'll be driving a car,
maybe I'll be lying in my bed, drifting off to sleep,
maybe I'll be mid-sentence in a conversation with a friend,
I don't know.

But I know the moment.
I know how it feels.

It is Archimedes and his fat legs,
overflowing the bathtub,
flooding the bathroom carpets,
I have found it!

I remember my last and only
and the thing that I had found
was my own, stuttering heart,
beating hard and fast
for you.

Torture is knowing
your happiness
is always


Sep 2017 · 154
truth time
Ellie Belanger Sep 2017
It has been
a long time
since I felt
this scared
of everything.
Sep 2017 · 134
Ellie Belanger Sep 2017
When I pull out my phone
and hit the button that
makes it light up,
and I see

that you haven't called,
you haven't texted,
you haven't socialed
my media,

I say the current time
either aloud or in my head
and I continue on with
my stuff.

I never even think about why
I have looked at my phone
and told myself the time

tonight when I read 10:54,
-inner monologue style-
it hit me,
Wall of bricks style.

I just keep waiting for you.
Aug 2017 · 206
Ellie Belanger Aug 2017
When all of this is said and done
I still won't regret all of the time
I spent loving you.
Aug 2017 · 159
the people you meet
Ellie Belanger Aug 2017
Delirious with exhaustion,
both mental and physical,
the young woman dropped herself,
hard and fast, with a mix of
hopelessness and frustration which caught the nursing mother three seats to her left off guard.
The new mom shifted herself so that her back was to the young woman.

The young woman sat motionless for many minutes, staring out at the planes.
I was curious. I was two seats to her right.

I asked,
"Rough flight?" like the dweeb I am.
She turned and looked at me.
Eyes washed red with lack of sleep still burned icy blue as they sized me up.
She smiled almost.
Then she got up and walked away.

I will never know her.
Aug 2017 · 148
Ellie Belanger Aug 2017
cinder block museum trapped skirt monlogue, caught underneath layer after layer of sediment and time, beholding nothing else save itself, the abyss, Nanu, free range closer, unargumentative and sweet.
Golden dapple sunlight
red apples scattered like fat rubies
on the front lawn.
Summer dawn sleeping. A campfire waiting to be lit. Sudden fractured lights and cool breezes. Ripples across a pond, as birds rise up and across. Worship. Song. Music to heavens, for the heavens, from the heavens, circlet complete.
Radium halos.
A brown sphere rotating in space. Celestial stairway wooden door.
Aug 2017 · 242
sur dangeroux
Ellie Belanger Aug 2017
Rains falls hard against the sheets of woven tile roofs,
torrenting down off their sides and flooding
the narrows in between the houses.
Two new lovers splash up a good deal
of water,
running gaily into and out of sight,
a shrill shriek of excitement and a deep laugh still echoing against the gray-blue bricks, lit gold-green in places by hanging lamps on wires,
higher up, above the thin, many windowed walls.
White purple flash. Crack of lightning.
Thunder rattles the sobbing windowpane.
A baby upstairs cries out and is soon soothed.
I think only of dinner and of you.
I will eat bulb-onion soup, with freshly picked mint.
And I will consume you,
Aug 2017 · 199
car troubles
Ellie Belanger Aug 2017
Moldy car, moldy car.
I have driven thee so far.
Almost up
to one-fifty thou.
So why should you start flooding now?

Egyptian curses? Fire, flood, and plague?
I saw a locust beetle the other day,
it chased me 'round the front sidewalk
and buzzed against my head.
I screamed and ran away.

But now empty, save for water,
I will smother you in salves
oils and vinegars and soaps and
dry, dry towels.
I will hug you warmly, crisply
scrub you of your mold.

I know you're getting old,
moldy, moldy car.
But I would still like to drive you
far, far,
Aug 2017 · 216
Ellie Belanger Aug 2017
Oh to fill my face with grace
So patiently flowering,
Kindness growing in smiles and
Bright green streaks woven into
The murky coffee brown of my eyes
Like a timelapse of a million moments of wisdom and compassion
Guidance received and given like water rained and evaporated and rained and evaporated etc., etc.,
A cycle of beauty both physical and spiritual
Both reflecting one another
And the golden sunlight of healthiness dripping from my footsteps, lighting solar lawn lamps as I walk past,
Undying neverland my body so small will be,
If being so full of grace, I could achieve.
Aug 2017 · 112
Ellie Belanger Aug 2017
I am not open to new ideas
Though I believed I was
Just means I am gonna have to work harder
Or suffer the truth of death
Which is to be certain of all things
Aug 2017 · 125
Ellie Belanger Aug 2017
If I can't tell
if it's you, or if it's me
could it be
it is we?
The problem isn't yours
or mine
strictly speaking; It is ours.
Maybe you have changed
the way you view yourself
maybe I have changed.
Maybe you have grown
more secretive, more
Maybe I have changed
my mind.
Quite a few times.

I still love you,
though -
ain't that just
the worst?
Jul 2017 · 116
Ellie Belanger Jul 2017
They ran along the side of the eroding asphalt road, gray pebbles digging rolling against the undersides of their feet

Freedom before freedom is remembered and truly needed

Just kids

When they got back to Ryan's house, Oscar said he needed a glass of water. Ryan ran inside to get a glass of water.

Oscar watched some ants eat a beetle by the front door.
Jul 2017 · 168
Bad news
Ellie Belanger Jul 2017
I wake up slowly
like slow-motion, like soft jazz,
like every movie you've ever seen
about tragedy,
where the main character fades in from black
the sound of a cell phone ringing gets louder as the camera focuses
and the person,
let's call it a her, and let's call her Sally
opens her eyes
and it's like a mist or a fog still
for a few seconds
which are their own unique eternity and existence
and then Sally answers the cell phone
says "hello?" in that groggy, confused way people do when they've just woken up
and then the room is quiet
and then Sally's head is full of ringing
and you never know exactly what was said on the line
because of all the ringing
but you know it's bad news
because the next scene
Crying in a bedroom
Blankly staring off into space.

I used to hate those scenes in movies.
I always wondered what was said
over the phone.

But now I understand.
Because bad news hits so hard sometimes
we can't remember the exact words that were said
only the dread.

Only the dread.
Jul 2017 · 298
Ellie Belanger Jul 2017
I love
I am loved
I do not like
I am not liked
I feel
I am full
I cannot feel
I am empty
I am all things ever
Stardust reincarnate
I am insignificant
I am no one

I am a poet
I write
I am illiterate
In many languages

Black or white
All these things still are.
Jul 2017 · 276
rivers and leafstems
Ellie Belanger Jul 2017
If all my loves be rivers,
then the landscape of my soul
is ancient Sumer,
a rich soil of sprawling floodland
which feeds my ambitions and my
most potent desires

If all my loves be rivers,
then You, sir, are the arterial causeway
of the whole spraying spigot.

You are the Nile, which overflows and destroys as much as it carries and creates. You are the Yhangtze. You are the Mississippi.
In the middle of your route, you become the dead sea. I feel myself floating against you.

You are all rivers.
But you are not the ONLY river.

And that is why I wonder
about possible paths that might yet
connect me back to you.

Even if you
are not
the river I choose
to paddle.

I feel like you are the leafstem
which grows tiny veins
pushing outward on the leaf.
Every line goes back to you.

That's true.

River or leaf
love or not
my canoe comes back
to the love I've sought.

Your love.
You're love.
Jul 2017 · 160
Ellie Belanger Jul 2017
Today I realized that
is a combination
of two
very bad
Jul 2017 · 147
Ellie Belanger Jul 2017
So many beautiful moments to enjoy
To fill you up and allow you to feel
Would it be wrong to try
And find meaning in them?
Jul 2017 · 170
Ellie Belanger Jul 2017
Instant relief in a world of instant everything
It seemed impossible but now seems obvious,
As everything does in hindsight.
Of course, of course,
I must retain my walls,
Boundaries high and low, far reaching
As Hadrian's conquest,
Probably an echo in my blood,
Brought down through generations,
Only to be changed now
In a world too full of information,
Scattered like bags of ashes across the face of global communications and user friendly internet.

Ancestry battles now
Mutation maybe
And the cry goes out,
To remedy instant electronic relief.
And not have frescos devoted to iPads
When our civilization becomes dust.
Jul 2017 · 314
long calendar
Ellie Belanger Jul 2017
long calendar.
not very many
The blank ones
are like gasps
deeply held

You are busy this year,
I think,
my hands lifting
page after page.
I am
peeking into
with every

It is a mess.
Planned to the day.
A buzzing swallows
all of the sound around me.
Gooseflesh arms.
Expectation battles with
doubt in the roiling furnace
of my guts.
Too much, too much.

I hear pages lightly
the wall.
Goodbye long calendar.

I am off to fill the spaces
in my days
the old-fashioned way.
Jul 2017 · 158
Snow in summer
Ellie Belanger Jul 2017
We pray for snow in summer
For the pleasure of cool water on our skin
For the pleasure of being heard by the gods
We pray.
Ellie Belanger Jul 2017
It had been getting late.
Now it was late.
He said, "Don't go. You can do with three hours instead of eight."
I rolled my eyes. "My demeanor would not be great.
And besides," I said. "It's a ten hour tomorrow."
He shrugged with annoyance,
no chance at sorrow.

No hug, and no kiss to bid me goodbye.
But part of me was glad of this,
for, I mean, why?
Why would I get a hug or a kiss
when I am not someone (to him)
who should be sorely missed?

I have never left.
I will never depart.
I live forever there,
with him, in his heart.
Jun 2017 · 1.2k
Ellie Belanger Jun 2017
"You have heart, girlie," said the lady.
I smiled but I thought,
"Ma'am, my heart is lazy."
I can't make it love
Anymore than I can make it beat,
But I can make it hurt and crack,
Like records on repeat.
Jun 2017 · 194
Ellie Belanger Jun 2017
I am scared that you have pushed me away;
Deep within yourself, scorned me.
I feel it in the empty space between us,
A hovering buzzing loneliness that grows larger and louder as it feasts on the decay of electric signals we once sent,
I am
Becoming trapped in the vacuum of silence which has followed
Letting the words I think you feel leave me hollowed
And it would be better if I just said,
I don't care,
But it wouldn't be the truth

So there,

So there.
Jun 2017 · 247
Ellie Belanger Jun 2017
When pushed, I will pull you with me
In whatever direction that might be
If you choose to ignore me,
I will shudder like porous rock in the flow of sudden desert floods.
I will change.
I cannot grow just up.
I must grow out.
May 2017 · 135
Ellie Belanger May 2017
Every yea for the nay
Keeps everything in balance

I spend my big wishes on everlasting abundance
But keep my earnest ones saved for love
Not romantic but sturdy as houses
May 2017 · 917
Ellie Belanger May 2017
His is all loving and then all denying
Just a child in his long beard, crying
I move to hold him in my arms
And find that he has gone.

I weep not for him yet
But for the extra empty place I
Have now created in my heart.
May 2017 · 211
Ellie Belanger May 2017
What happens when my path divides
From yours?
I've made promises before, before.
And it's no secret, it's just ancient lore,
The stories of the heart I wore before.

So if my train stop arrives early yet
Please don't ever dare forget.
I love you.
Apr 2017 · 225
Ellie Belanger Apr 2017
Her body is a patient maze of understanding
Devine calypso music inside broken hip bones which chatter as ice in warm glasses of tropical **** do
It is useless to call out her name
Someone once told me
If evening comes tomorrow then this day is over yesterday
Never knew anything I couldn't read first
Someone said
You got to let her go
And we all laughed because the rooms are empty and the streets are flooded and no one comes down
This way anymore
Because of the way the moon howls at every thing crossing north and screams red at the south things
And the stars all rush to meet us
Apr 2017 · 178
Lessons in flight
Ellie Belanger Apr 2017
It is not difficult to know how to fly,
I think,
our very atoms have flown aeons to reach and reassemble themselves here,
in this way.

Every mammal knows how to fly.
Some bacteria remember how too,
but they are a wily bunch and untrustworthy as sailors on a mid morning slop across an unwritten and unpronounceable port.

The trouble isn't KNOWING.
The trouble is GROWING.

Can't grow wings or thin, light, air-filled bones.
Can't drift upwards on the airstreams.
But you can grow upwards,
and you can fly.

The secret lies in knowing all your own reasons as to why
you want to fly.
Apr 2017 · 139
Not yet
Ellie Belanger Apr 2017
A million tasks stacked in lined paper
A holy trinity marks the margins
Mother wants to know where I am at
I say
Not yet please
Not yet
Apr 2017 · 164
Ellie Belanger Apr 2017
If every body rolls down the hill
And never seeks to climb again
These body becomes part of the ground
And lessens the hill on one side.

Essentially, if everyone fails to get back up
There is no hill to roll down anymore.
Mar 2017 · 306
Age of Fordham #1
Ellie Belanger Mar 2017
Seven serpents all in their own wicker baskets
Slithering, sleeping, curling and seeking
And a withered old man with skin
Red with ochre and brown with sun
Sits cross-legged on the dark earth floor of his hut
And waits.

Each serpent has a name, from left to right they are
Andromeda, Cyrus, Diochenes, Libratti, Nigellus, Fordham and Justus.
Whichever found their way out first would be able to tell the old man something
About the world waiting ahead.

As the late afternoon sun baked the sparse shrubbery around his canvas tent,
Dyed orange and yellow and red by the clay and dirt and wind and rain and sun,
He waited and watched the seven wicker baskets.
Some shook occasionally, others stayed still the entire duration of the waiting.

But just as the bottom of the sun hit the edge of the horizon,
Fordham slipped his sleek, scaled face from the basket, flicked his tongue twice, and sailed smoothly between the two errant ***** of tent which held the entrance taut.

The old man released the souls of the other six from the bodies of the snakes
And gathered his travelling things;
A hat, a walking stick, and an old tanned sheep's bladder filled with spring water.
The hat spread out wide over his head,
And pooled in a large circular shadow far from his feet.
The sun was nearly set.
He began a thick, slow burning fire, and took his trail to the beach,
Thinking that it might be his last
Time ever seeing the ocean,
Listening to it speak.
Mar 2017 · 198
Who am I now?
Ellie Belanger Mar 2017
I am
25 years old
Looking into the eyes of a man
Who might already know me better
Than anyone I know.
And my heart knows the way
But my mind is clouded with questions
And as he kisses me
I wonder
Who I am now.
Who I am now.
Feb 2017 · 267
Ellie Belanger Feb 2017
The woods were all shafts
of late afternoon light,
slipshodding through canopies and across singing marshes
of toads and crickets,
dripping as warm honey drips,
Collecting in angular golden pools,
Much like how delicate gold chains might fold over and into themselves in order to
We reflected that the day was nearly done,
And we held hands as we walked back home,
And you told me things that made my heart expand,
And now you are gone
And it rests
With an ache that is wholly
I'm just a pile of thin chain, made brass by neglect.
I haven't stopped thinking about you
Feb 2017 · 234
Strange Heart
Ellie Belanger Feb 2017
I think I have a strange heart,
One that warbles in my chest,
Like a fat red cardinal trembling
As it decides to turn back around
On a thin twig of a tree branch,
Whose leaves jitter and shake in time
With long red feathers on wings.

I think my heart is strange,
But it seems to know you very well.
What will come of this, you think?
Only time can tell.
Feb 2017 · 568
I prefer not to
Ellie Belanger Feb 2017
I am the Bartleby
Of ***.
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