Four poems this week that caught my eye last month and led me to think about the insights into the human condition that some people seem to make effortlessly (like these poets) where the words are often difficult to come up with.
First up, Vikki (@VWC_Writes) talks of deep love. She brings all the senses together beautifully:
The night becomes us,
a hint of jasmine and wild berries
competing with salt winds
evoking our senses to the delicate
seams of moonlight,
our fingers coaxing stories
from each other's souls
as we marvel at the purple skies
pooling behind our silhouettes.
Then @an_angsty_teen tells us that acts and deeds are different in the life of anyone:
sorry isn't always enough
it can be a bottle trying
to hold a waterfall
or a band aid
covering a stab wound
sorry is not a magic word
that suddenly makes
everything you do okay
sorry means you regret
it doesn't mean
the same hand
won't strike again
@alanlovespoetry gives a dark Resume but it is true - life will end, I think he's saying make the most of it, because it won't matter a whit to you when you're dead:
Once I am dead
will it matter
if it was a stabbing or a stroke
does it matter
that only mom saw me graduate
that at 18
I made so many nice people cry
no math in it
it adds up exactly to nothing
not enough even for one good
And finally, back to love and hope, so perfectly crafted by @ZanneQuinn:
Open you mouth, my love
and taste my promises
Use both hands
hold tight to my chances
Open your eyes
and paint my body
Write a little poetry on my pale
Give me hope
If you like these works as much as I do, please give these writers a read, a follow, and your appreciation.
Wherein a certain blogger (me) reprints some samples of authors whose work deserves More. More readers, More accolades, and, I fervently hope, More excellent works from the authors!
First up, perfectly catching at least one goal of an author, is LiDe Castro (@QueenofCastoria):
"Look at the all," he said, staring straight ahead. "Each and every one of them lured me in, and it was all nothing but make-believe. Manipulative bastards!"
His friend looked at the bookshelf, and turned to him, confused, "Who are you talking about?"
A second flash fiction, more sinister showing the darker potential, from Cheyenne Bramwell (@PoemsbyCheyenne):
She kept her desiccated dreams in the box at the foot of her bed. They would make low moans, calling to her from inside. They smelled like paper flowers made of old notebook pages. They reeked of kerosene ready to light.
And then two poems who touch the very center of the heart.
From Shell McClendon (@shellandjeff) - I especially love the last line:
I wrote a poem of you today
pulled it from my soul
about the very last day
when I knew I had to go
I remember recalling that look in your eyes
It broke me and bled my heart dry
I walked away as if on shards of glass
embedded forever in me of our past
From Alan (@alanlovespoetry) The sadness with an edge of hope:
In every instrument
a genius song
in each pen a perfect poem
I stopped trying
to make sense of rivers
though I know they run dry
we no longer build arches
but find new ways to knock down
children & old factories
why I need our
in each, an atom healed.
Me as a critic (be careful! the harshness will be well concealed!)