apple bite tartness
the give and take of the flesh
forbidden release
Thanks @FrostPoem for the prompt - crunch.
apple bite tartness
the give and take of the flesh
forbidden release
Thanks @FrostPoem for the prompt - crunch.
fusillade of rain
and muddy underfoot
sky like a bad cross-fade
between poorly lit scenes
cold enough to shiver when still
humid enough to sweat in motion
and yet
as we stumble
bundled beneath rumbling
cloud banks
hands weeping, slippy
from too-long holding
muscles howling
from distance
here we are
sufficient
Thanks @FrostPoem for the prompt - delight.
there are nails
hammered through the bat
i wave while arguing
that if one person
is denied their right
to be a person
then none of us
get to be people
the nails look rusty
it could be blood
this is a metaphor
i have lost faith in
the way i lose faith
sometimes
that i am a person
and so
sometimes
add the thin burn
of hypocrisy
to the brown-tar
porridge
of depression
which offers
variety
if nothing else
Thanks @FrostPoem for the prompt - person.
sometimes i need to use
the tools i have to hand
instead of pretending
i'm looking for the perfect
fancy hammer
there are times it has to be
the right tool for the right job
but often any old rock
will do just well enough
Thanks @FrostPoem for the prompt - vocabulary.
something about pratfalls
awkward movements
enthrall me how spiders
made massive do
i want to look away
such sadness
i'm afraid the clown
would scatter like ash
burned from inside out
if i did
i saw one
excellent comedy, arch silliness
realised they could do
every act well
chose not to be the racehorse
but rather, nightly, melted down for glue
to hold together
the sacrifice
that allowed catharsis
and as i laughed, i wept
Thanks @FrostPoem - wacky.
a language possessed
of hundreds of synonyms
for the act leading
to pregnancy shouldn't be
using the same word
for the arrival of a
parcel as of a person
Thanks @FrostPoem for the prompt - delivery.
little foot squeak
is it me
or them
how to offset steps
to tell
without seeming odd
i hope it's not me
squeaking
stopping, of course
is out of the question
in case they think
i'm weird/creepy/threatening
i can't break
my sync with them
they stop
to cross the road
i walk on
the squeak gone
i let go of a breath
i hadn't realised
i was holding
and hope the
owner of the squeaky
shoe doesn't feel
this anxious about it
Thanks @FrostPoem - shoes.
when i was
twelve or thirteen
books were
confiscated
from me
because they featured
swearwords
and consensual sex
between adults
daily, though
a popular
newsprint
hate-crime omnibus
dropped through
the door
like legitimate mail
and i read it
front page
to back
every
single
day
and marinading
an impressionable mind
in racism
misogyny
homophobia
and hundreds
of other toxins
was fine
somehow
Thanks @FrostPoem for the prompt - wholesome.
many voices as one
this vaulted hall flooded
closed-eyed listening
allows space to be read
to be swum in
centuries of song
buried in stone
hacked from the bones
of earth to be worked
by hands, minds
some knew
they'd not finish it
as all peopled places
there's been evil here
good, a whole slew
of mediocrity
listen, voices, blurred
by reflections and standing waves,
meaning, intention, cleansed
to leave only beauty
Thanks @FrostPoem chorus.
afterwards we watched the rain
run the glass streaky
sodden light and splats drumming
and our gasping slowed
faded beneath our hearing
leaving touch - your arm
across my chest, your chin pressed
into my neck, hard
and your breath ghosting my beard
the window above
rippled, lightning smeared sometimes
i counted one, two
three, then rumble, while you slept
and i quelled panic
certain i'd never feel such
uncomplicated
wellbeing again
Ta @FrostPoem - skylight.
#MicroPrompt #Poetry #Writing
woven from light
fringed with dancing flames
translucent edged, sunbeam dimmed
how you dance
those breezes barely felt
learned to insinuate
through the hidebound world
from your dance
water through fingers
and how mist pickpockets
the sleeping world's light
echo your dance
and when, two handed
you stab me in the back
avalanches, volcanoes, tsunami
note your dance
Thanks @FrostPoem for the prompt - diaphanous.
i don't mean it as an insult or a compliment
but today you have been shelter
for my complex ecosystem
which i fear
would otherwise have perished
you have done this with as much awareness
as a mountain has of a small mossy nook
within which live multitudes
but you have done it nonetheless
and, my love, once again i owe you my self
my thanks, and, perhaps, my tomorrows
Thanks @FrostPoem for the prompt - crevice.
i sat at that table again
today
silver gaffer tape
still fixes five stacked pennies
to the short leg
did you ever get it clean
i know it was your favourite
both were - spilled wine
and stained shirt
i fumbled through my bag
that day
mannish? boyish?
fixed the spill's cause
but didn't know how to help
it was only today, remembering your tears
i realised somewhere
i've learned one difference
between reason and excuse
Thanks @FrostPoem - penny.
echoes of when the rain fell
dripping from tips of leaves
memories of water skydiving
from low clouds, applauded low and long
by that uncoiling rumble
i tasted your mouth
against mine, memory of shape
lip, tongue, our cold wet cheeks
now, storm passed, humidity rising
a moment of your body close
an ache, a need, pressed against my own
the way that air, that scent, evokes you
summons you whole from memories i forgot
Thanks @FrostPoem - elicit.
it hits like my heart
is a water balloon
someone suddenly filled
only i didn't know until now
that it could get so heavy
so fast under such pressure
that my insides are crushed
and i am terrified it may rupture
drowning me from inside out
although it would be worth it
for just one more of your smiles
Thanks @FrostPoem for the prompt - signal.
stretch
fingertips
see it fall
spun out
time slows
mind quickens
but laggard
flesh fails
and now
instead
of baking
sweeping
sugared
shattered
glass
weeping
for something
somewhere
with someone
thinking
at least
it wasn't
the milk
Thanks @FrostPoem for the prompt - tiptoe.
Person of disinterest. Here to imbibe new things and, hopefully, learn some stuff along the way.He/him.Profile pic is a balding white man with a beard and glasses. You know the type.I work for a large and largely uninteresting organisation. No, not that one. Not that one either. You're probably wasting your time trying to guess.Opinions are my own, obviously. Unless I've been possessed, in which case they're those of whichever deity is test-driving my brain.
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