How to imagine a poem--
when you speak those lines
do not say that you are dying or inlove,
but describe the way it's happening.
Death/Sad.
There's a noose around my neck
the rough fibers are digging in
reminding me of my fathers hands--
when I was eight years old
as he strangled me to sleep.
My helium light in the corner
begins to flicker as it always does
when there's a thunderstorm,
even as my world fades
I know it's sunny skies today.
Love.
There's a difference between smiling
and the way your lips slant upwards.
They remind me of my favorite nuts;
cashews are the happiest of all of them
the only ones able to make a smile
that puts all others to shame.
Nature/Happy.
As hydrogen and oxygen combine
making my sweet abode the ocean--
I sift saltwater side to side in my mouth
as I attempt to draw the air into my lungs.
Fish were born to exist here
where I am lucky to float in their home today.
End.
Poems are the hidden lizard in your back yard
that always seems to be there watching you--
or the pesky neighbor cat which hangs on the fence
riskily tightrope walking to sneak upon it's prey.
...The meaning is always there, but sometimes it's difficult to see...
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 4:34 AM UTC
How to imagine a poem--
when you speak those lines
do not say that you are dying or inlove,
but describe the way it's happening.
Death/Sad.
There's a noose around my neck
the rough fibers are digging in
reminding me of my fathers hands--
when I was eight years old
as he strangled me to sleep.
My helium light in the corner
begins to flicker as it always does
when there's a thunderstorm,
even as my world fades
I know it's sunny skies today.
Love.
There's a difference between smiling
and the way your lips slant upwards.
They remind me of my favorite nuts;
cashews are the happiest of all of them
the only ones able to make a smile
that puts all others to shame.
Nature/Happy.
As hydrogen and oxygen combine
making my sweet abode the ocean--
I sift saltwater side to side in my mouth
as I attempt to draw the air into my lungs.
Fish were born to exist here
where I am lucky to float in their home today.
End.
Poems are the hidden lizard in your back yard
that always seems to be there watching you--
or the pesky neighbor cat which hangs on the fence
riskily tightrope walking to sneak upon it's prey.
...The meaning is always there, but sometimes it's difficult to see...
I don't know why I wrote this, I was just reading people's poems and that's the thing people do the most when they write instead of describing they are always telling. Show me your feelings, I promise you it's safe to do so. (there are many things that could be fixed to make a more pleasant poem, but as usual I am too hhmm fickle to do so, hah.)
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