 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 at 53 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 no alphabet not enough even for one good poem. 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 opportunity Write a little poetry on my pale skin Give me hope If you like these works as much as I do, please give these writers a read, a follow, and your appreciation.
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 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?" "Writers." 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 Cutting-edge emotions embedded forever in me of our past From Alan (@alanlovespoetry) The sadness with an edge of hope: Hymn 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 I notice we no longer build arches but find new ways to knock down children & old factories why I need our embrace- in each, an atom healed. |
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