what is this? some poems I like and maybe some inspiration for your writing fuel
write about what this image triggers, or about how your heart is a burning brand new toy, or about the burning brand new toy of your heart
Let’s start this off with a piece that isn’t a poem. Or is it?
A tragedy is a haunted house with the prison-like spatial constraint removed. You are free to move yet not to escape the event. An equivalent definition is that a tragedy is a haunted cosmos, which is another species of house.
A hero dispelling a haunting is the intersection of two tragedies. Most often this isn’t a battle but a hallway between slightly separate rooms.
One reason I love the (Poem-A-Day)[https://poets.org/poem-a-day] series is because the “About This Poem” section can be as rich / interesting as the poem itself. And sometimes more so. saying of il haboul by adelaide crapsey is as interesting to me for its form as its content.
A vapour that
The wind dispels and but
As dust before the wind am I
Tommy Pico is great to read, but even better to listen to. Do both with an excerpt from his book poem Junk.
What can you do with a mythology? Let’s ask ex patria by evie shockley
a person who knows all the answers can only borrow a mythology like i’m king midas or i’m god. a painter can take a mythology and remake it so that it answers a new question
autumn is answering the question about gorgeous rotting. just magenta, green, brown, pink, yellow, red, violet flying off the mythological canvas.
Assessment as poem from poetry trapper keeper
I’m always opening parentheses I forget to close
Never Seldom Sometimes Rarely Often Always
talking about talking about clay
The sun also rises, as they say, but what else does?
will burn out
and then what
like a flag
like the ocean
I have a thing for crow poems.
and why? The crow long gone now, and what marked the line between winter and spring?
A concatenation of enactment
and resemblance of and in
language: a room, silence, sound.
And toy guns masquerade as lethal guns
in a boy’s dreamland where no one dies,
where they simply lie down and play dead,
but they live to play on.
As mysterious as a cat in a box,
a toy gun in a Black boy’s pocket,
the gun neither dead nor alive,
unless offered a chance to empty
his pocket to solve the paradox
of what a day might hold.
Alone it becomes a small tangle,
a witch’s thimble, hard-to-toll bell,
elvish door to a door. Xgl
I’ve Got the Covid Blues by Tony Medina (I recommend listening to it)
Hazmat outfit to read the news
I gots that damn viral blues
Beak-nosed bleary-eyed cloak and swagger
Death, with occasional smiling blues