Grown to embrace gloom—
sending letters to sea;
deceiving such as dark incarnate.
‘Told to implore such thistles,
I found only nettles.’
Once stood Xiphias—
exhuming ghosts of Marinda
'Through not by hollowed sieve,
but by thought of better hue.’
Anonymous said: i have a love for the ocean too, she says. yet i have never seen you out among the vastness of the waves, she says. the ocean has a way of swallowing up everything until nothing is left but the glimmer of the sun of the water in our eyes, she says. sometimes life has a way of being an ocean. that is why it should be called "ocean" and not "earth", she says.
I once sat down with a man
(a man much wiser than I)
who told me how Earth was created.
He was not wrong.
Was he right?
Not in the least bit.
I once sat down with a man
(a man much stronger than I)
who told me how gravity
"is just a chain of events".
He was not wrong.
Was he right?
I did, once, sit with a man
(a man much like myself)
who told me how
to be a better man.
Did he raise me
as his own?
Have I ever met a man
who held the seven seas
in his eyes
wishing to find his way back?
Maybe that man is myself—
staring into a mirror,
cracked and crazed—
waiting for wounds to mend
I once said hello to yellow pines
and to the cedars, do rest.
I fell asleep under an ocean
softly sifting though something
of another breach (or birch).
once scattered like wildfire
what I once held in my hand;
a lost droplet;
a scattered piece of the sky.
If only burning embers had
another way to die
would I find
a second path to infinity.
Hello everyone. I’m back. I’ve missed you all.
I watched the stars tonight;
I saw the sun earlier
but he held his distance;
a celestialite holding
the dust away.
The moon bounces
Satellites are wavering
underneath the eclipse.
If only I could be here to see it —
or a forgotten Pluto.
Anonymous said: A mermaid kisses you good night xo
And I have been put to sleep. <3
Darkness covers my every step
yet every print I leave
stays covered with a memory
of a place I held dear—
a house amongst the trees;
a home I never wished to leave.
The whisk and swish of these
barely born shrubs
stand side-by-side with my
very own conscious stride.
If only I could find
some kind of beat;
some kind of raincoat;
some kind of sentimentally
falling, illuminating night
that could pick me up
and clear my sight.
I could glare into the sun—
that sphere of magnitude
that stands in the sky alone—
I could peer into Jupiter
and watch as the storm
rages into Poe’s forlorn;
I could stare at Saturn—
its rings ever twisting
and pulsating mystery.
But what I really desire is the moon.
O! How it shines!
The light radiates as if it is nursing
something stronger than itself;
It may be just a moon
but the white light it casts
broadcasts the colors
of those living in the black.
There was one day in particular that I saw a face in the waves. No, it wasn’t your face, but it was similar. It was a face with an actual face; a face that showed that waves are more caring than the emotions bottled inside of myself.
Matt tagged me in this and I’m not completely sure what the rules are. Therefore, I’ll answer for myself and tag a couple other people to answer the same. Sounds fun!
I think this year I’ve lost more than I’ve found.
It spun me ‘round and knocked me down and dragged me out.
But no matter how I find myself falling in around
You’ve been my sore eyes and solid ground.
— Make Do And Mend - “St. Anne”
Anonymous said: can you write me a terza rima? I am in need of ideas and you are so good at it. It doesn't have to be too long, just nine lines or more (or less, you'd already be helping a bunch) it's just that you are my favorite poet and i am look up to you for ideas!
I will link you to this post.
Please do not use this work outside of tumblr (i.e. in classes or workshops) without properly giving credit to the original author (a.k.a. me). That is called plagiarism. Not only is it unkind, it is also illegal.
Thanks so much and enjoy!
Each fallen foot leaves a print in the sand
Each fallen grain blankets the once-was hole
Even truest impressions will not stand
But each one enacts an enduring role
The memories held in each, pure and straight
As long as the engraving made in light
For each one that a lone person creates
Holds a uniqueness until out of sight
May all of them wash away, do let slip
The stamp only prevails temporary
Memory is not able to be stripped
But footprints are when the strong wind carries
The mind holds pictures of events so dear
When the matrix blows away, do not fear
I once travelled down a road
filled with skeletons of my past
ripping at the last of their flesh
and placing it into photographs
Along the way I drew a map
of the trees dying underneath snow
and paths I had yet to discover
under blankets of forgotten memories.
I fell into a sweet, somber slumber
with a veil of white covering my eyes—
these ghosts I now pronounce allies.
The lights of nebulas set me straight;
straight on the trail to find my tears.
I’m here— (I’m home now)— But am I?
Unabashed, unbitten, and self-preserved —
A sheep in wolf’s clothing,
gently cradled in the nematocysts
of the heaven’s man o’ war.
Ankles continuing to crack and bend
amongst the stepping stones
leading to the estuary of compelling thought
brought not only the sounds of decay
but also strong feelings of empathy.
For without a path,
what is a journey?
And without a journey,
what is a path?
These creeds that dictate lifestyle
are not chiseled into stone
or knapped into flint,
so why do we bow to them
as if they are law?
Forests call our names
and oceans bear our life’s coat of arms
so, for once, we must see
that encasing ourselves within
the boundaries of a falsely created world
is not just the wrong path
but also the wrong journey.