Sharing beautiful poetry

Found on the Drabble and wanted to share this gorgeous piece.

By Siobhan Atkins Who knows the weight of a collapsing star I only know it has crushed me After holding that space alone for so long My arms have given way and folded Concertina-like Against this brittle cold Where even the promise of supernova is extinguished

via Atomic Weight of Stars —

From Burning House Press

2 most excellent poems from Burning House Press that I highly recommend everyone read!

Shadow I’m an optimist with a shadow who pops in now and then Just to let me know he’s still around. He lies dormant like a bindweed vein in winter, Waiting, Watching for that glimmer of light Always looming, Anticipating his chance to make an entrance

via 2 Poems by Fay Deller — BURNING HOUSE PRESS

For the Floo Girls

The following poem was originally featured at my other writing blog here. My friends and I did a poetry writing challenge in which we wrote pieces inspired by music from Florence and the Machine, and created Floetry. This piece has a particular structure on the page that I cannot replicate through WordPress because HTML is hard, so instead, I give you a photo.

Aside from taking inspiration from the song “Spectrum” and making a poem for the girls we met at the concert we’d attended that May, I’d also written it not long after the events of what happened at Pulse nightclub in Orlando. The poem turned out to be kind of a tribute to that as well, so I thought I’d share it with all of you.

Weft & Weave

The following is a poem I wrote for Rattle’s Ekphrastic Challenge back in February. Here’s a link to the original page and image that inspired this work:

This is just a single piece. A fragment of imagination as a childish
version remembers it. Patchwork puzzle piece across America where all
highways and blue skies with clouds look suspiciously the same.

Put it together with its brothers and sisters in a grid system of soft
cotton squares, up and down, side to side, neverending lines flowing
into each other can’t tell where one piece starts and the other part ends.

Brown and tan strips of land that is your land. Black asphalt roads from
tattered flaps of fabric mimicking broken infrastructure whose rough edges
can be seen as far as the eye can see but whose dangerous potholes hide in its
inky nature.Yellow threads pushed to the side just barely register as vague
fields of corn and wheat we hardly notice under our feet.

America the beautiful, so wide and spanning the color spectrum
but we only see a piece.

No, Thank You. Not Today, Sir

I went to a poetry workshop a couple of months ago for cabaret poetry. It was a new and fun experience. Here’s the work that resulted from that workshop with pictures of me reading.

You saw me sitting from across the bar through the smoky curtain of your Cuban cigar.
“Mami, pero you’re too pretty to be alone,” you slur. To which I smile and respond, “No, thank you, not today sir.”
Glass slams on the table. “Pero, mami, you haven’t even heard me out.”
Your sweaty brow furrows and lips start to pout.
I lean away for safety, just to be sure. Again, “No, thank you. Not today, sir.”
Your hand comes down on my shoulder that’s bare. “C’mon, mami. Why don’t you play fair?”
I push your hand off, muscles tensed, lips pursed. Through gritted teeth say, “No, thank you. Not today, sir.”

I get up walk past clinking glasses and you grab my wrist. I force you off
with an unexpected twist. Slack-jawed and dumb, you begin to sputter.
I hold myself tall and shout, “No, thank you. Not today, sir!”