Figuratively But Literally

the clock ticks by without a noise.

Yet one day,

in how many years -

in fifteen, eighty, four?

I’ll float through the same old dance,

A faded FOR SALE! sign clings to the front lawn of the house by the claws of a ragged shadow, growing dark and long with age. In the hour before sunset, it extends onto the street beyond, reaching into the town’s view for the briefest moment before it is swallowed up by night.

There are next-door neighbors who pass by it like this, switching to the other side of the street almost unconsciously on their evening strolls and last-minute errands. The shadow encourages their steps to pick up with their heartrates – there is something about the house that deflects gazes and ruminations just as a rainwater puddle shields itself with the gray sky it fell from. Thus, the townsfolk pass by the signage as if its text is not a call to them, but a fixture of the landscape.

In the villain’s monologue

Overthought, overwrought

Crafted in theatric forges

With heavy drops from

Hammers of intention, revolution

But in the end, simply

A means to one.

A safety net woven scarce,

Drawn so thin, the twang

Of frayed edges threatens

A ballad strung out on

Awaited anticipation

And dissident notes

Cascading.

An intermission of thought

From revolutions of deja-vu

And literary exhaustion,

When last year is tomorrow,

But tomorrow is yesterday -

Timelines like stale rivers

Are melted down to the essence

Are the poems that

Stay up all morning

To drip onto the page

And chain down the

Words she cannot escape

Goes to die

There’s rusted ladders that

Fall and fly

To topple luck like

Dominoes, drinking straight from

Gutter smoky skies

There’s no room for fancy

Wishes’ tarnished kisses

Where all my favorite chaos

Goes to die

The Apple of my eye

Is a shameless paradigm

Of disappointing outsides

But no monarch cares for shine,

It’s all just part of

The hive

Where all my favorite chaos

This blog started a little less than a year ago because I had a ton of poetry written down in the notes app in my phone that I’d never planned on sharing. I barely had a decent font choice, much less an aesthetic or a direction. Something you should know about me is I’m a massive fan of planning, but nevertheless I find myself advocating for this. Directionlessness can be a remarkable thing.

The beauty of the internet - and tumblr in particular - is that it’s so easy to share without fear of judgement, something that I think not enough people take full advantage of. Go for it, create things that you connect with, and then smile when people tell you they connect with them too. If you’re not feeling it, don’t try to settle into a groove right off the bat, let yourself explore, and I think you’ll find a style you enjoy that’s natural and authentic to you.

Romeo and Juliet without

The gauze wrapped around

Shards of projected romanticism,

Pasted corners on pages of

Wistful comparison turned

Perception

And faded circumstance.

Oh how lucky it would be

For the closing of the book

To mark dual demise;

But the most tragic tale yet

Is of one heart still

Beating out smudged scratches

Of pens’ strokes

And the second providing

Ringing out cries of

Battle horns and laundry

Lines left to crackle and lash

Out in steady anger.

We are footprints

Scuffed on tall tales and

Digging water from wells for

Underwater locked boxes where

All maps lead to molehills.

But hills lie empty, indented

For can-holders, map-bringers,

As the man hunched on piles

Of tarnished marble and gold