#sprouting - Hello Poetry

Just like yesterday, they arise from my branches: lots of dayflowers.

0

Jun 9, 2025

Jun 9, 2025 at 5:09 AM UTC

Zywa

[ Just like yesterday ]

Just like yesterday, they arise from my branches: lots of dayflowers.

3

my work sprouts from the simplest indeterminate sense depicting more than verge death organisms freshly ground expectations are composted alongside considered traditions allowing our vigorous grip of normalcy to disperse changing infancy energy into visceral landscapes of amplified color a falling into rest where we can blossom into our own embodied environments

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Nov 5, 2020

Nov 5, 2020 at 7:30 PM UTC

cypress

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my work sprouts from the simplest indeterminate sense depicting more than verge death organisms freshly ground expectations are composted alongside considered traditions allowing our vigorous grip of normalcy to disperse changing infancy energy into visceral landscapes of amplified color a falling into rest where we can blossom into our own embodied environments

8

A cylclindrical clay cactus Serves a unique purpose- The cactus it contains Sharply ****** at my Fragmented emotions. At this precise moment, In my imaginary time zone, The fine, sharp figures pierce My solemnity, and heighten my Sprouting fear. And so, I extract a finger, and Unite the lonely counterparts, A sharp reminder that that the pain, The loneliness, the frustration Are real. Amelia Blaska

0

Nov 30, 2019

Nov 30, 2019 at 4:42 AM UTC

amelia-blaska

Untitled

A cylclindrical clay cactus Serves a unique purpose- The cactus it contains Sharply ****** at my Fragmented emotions. At this precise moment, In my imaginary time zone, The fine, sharp figures pierce My solemnity, and heighten my Sprouting fear. And so, I extract a finger, and Unite the lonely counterparts, A sharp reminder that that the pain, The loneliness, the frustration Are real. Amelia Blaska

16

Trapped in the corner of my confined room, with wonder fluttering in the pit of my stomach, and an unknown path that is yet to be paved ahead of me. Imprisoned in the resentment of others, that happens to echo in the vacant spaces of words, with little provisions of positivity from others. Grey clouds hover over me, blocking out the sun’s mellow rays, and forbid me from thinking of ever seeing the light. Sharp whispers are heard from the back of my mind, reverberating endlessly as the snarkiest comments are formed, from plump pink lips as all eyes are set on me. “Do you not have any dreams?” they ask in saccharine tones laced with surprise, and I shrug my shoulders; thinking and thinking. Legion amount of strolling is done on the land of the unknown, tethering along the shoreline of the known, to compose an answer for their prying mouths. The mirror that used to stand broadly by the door, has shattered into pieces and shards flood the floor; a perfect representation of my dreams. Mother’s words begin to come to me, like a warm blanket on a cold winter day, “growth begins on the inside.” Like that delicate *** of sunflowers, she’s tended for day and night, they expand not because of negativity. To flourish means to be thrown in despair, and come back out thriving, striving, luxuriant, to surpass the grey clouds for the transcendent sunlight. I take their words, absorb it like it’s nutritious, and release it like oxygen. I’m sprouting dangerously, exceeding the limits and surpassing heights, but who’s to stop the beanstalk, not Jack.

0

Apr 3, 2019

Apr 3, 2019 at 1:14 PM UTC

sincerelylover

Sprouting

Trapped in the corner of my confined room, with wonder fluttering in the pit of my stomach, and an unknown path that is yet to be paved ahead of me. Imprisoned in the resentment of others, that happens to echo in the vacant spaces of words, with little provisions of positivity from others. Grey clouds hover over me, blocking out the sun’s mellow rays, and forbid me from thinking of ever seeing the light. Sharp whispers are heard from the back of my mind, reverberating endlessly as the snarkiest comments are formed, from plump pink lips as all eyes are set on me. “Do you not have any dreams?” they ask in saccharine tones laced with surprise, and I shrug my shoulders; thinking and thinking. Legion amount of strolling is done on the land of the unknown, tethering along the shoreline of the known, to compose an answer for their prying mouths. The mirror that used to stand broadly by the door, has shattered into pieces and shards flood the floor; a perfect representation of my dreams. Mother’s words begin to come to me, like a warm blanket on a cold winter day, “growth begins on the inside.” Like that delicate *** of sunflowers, she’s tended for day and night, they expand not because of negativity. To flourish means to be thrown in despair, and come back out thriving, striving, luxuriant, to surpass the grey clouds for the transcendent sunlight. I take their words, absorb it like it’s nutritious, and release it like oxygen. I’m sprouting dangerously, exceeding the limits and surpassing heights, but who’s to stop the beanstalk, not Jack.

36

The shallow breath of loneliness oppressed the room trapped like pictures hanging on the wall a sullen sideboard carpet sprouting monkey flowers spider webs, bare table legs forgotten moments thoughts unexpressed the wind screaming to be let in.

0

Oct 9, 2014

Oct 9, 2014 at 11:28 PM UTC

kenneth-walter-simpson

Nostalgia

The shallow breath of loneliness oppressed the room trapped like pictures hanging on the wall a sullen sideboard carpet sprouting monkey flowers spider webs, bare table legs forgotten moments thoughts unexpressed the wind screaming to be let in.

9