Tag: poetry

The Poetry Snapshot: Leave me at the Library

nehaallathur Leave a comment

It terrifies me to think
I can get so close,
finally be in sync,
have a moment of repose…

Only to have you become a stranger again.

Nashville, TN

So please leave me at the library;
an unchecked book.
I can make myself invisible,
until I’m something you overlook.

It’s been ages since I’ve let someone
fully read through my pages.
An author, or perhaps my own adversary,
for assuming I will always be temporary.
I write myself out of existence;
before there is doubt, there is distance.
Until I’ve swam so far out into the sea,
not even the waves can quite reach me.

My spine is sewn by the emotions
that couldn’t be noted.
Each word is an ocean,
but I’ve never floated.
So I drown myself into my own story,
I grasp for air, but now I feel lonely.

Tongue-stained with insecurities,
I have chapters of excuses just to avoid
a potential hurt I’ve always known.
Until one day, I’m on my own.

The Poetry Corner – 2 March 2021

Eli Neumann 1 Comment

My vision for this column is for it to showcase poetry from around the world to let people see the beautiful and important work poets are doing in our time. This means I will mostly show contemporary poetry, but there may also be poems from the past if I find them particularly relevant or beneficial to show at a certain time. Being an arts column in English, all the poems I show will be in English, but some may have been translated from other languages. I will try to show originals alongside the translations if possible. As English speakers I find that we so often forget about or ignore literature in other languages. To counter this, I hope to show that beautiful work is being done in other languages and that by reading that work we can gain deeper insight into our common humanity.

 

For my first post, I want to show you one of my absolute favorite poems from one of my absolute favorite poets, Ocean Vuong. This poem is titled “Seventh Circle of Earth.” Read it below:

Read More

The Poetry Snapshot: Dimly Lit Room

nehaallathur Leave a comment

A night of unsustainable chivalry
and questionable intimacy.
In this dimly lit room,
you feel like a rehearsed symphony.

Your words age like wine
and carry me like champagne—
but I’m nine months sober.
So I put on a smile and try to explain
an elegantly crafted love story.
It’s not a lie, just glorified,
because tonight, perfection is mandatory.

Image by Duane Street

Sixty minutes of seated salience;
I search for your expressions.
Your tiny obsessions.
Your emotional dispossessions.
Then the sound of your racing heart
grazes my skin like cashmere,
suddenly, I want to stay right here.

Oh, what a rare luxury!
I can wear my vulnerability
like pearls around my neck.
I do not have to tip toe,
you should know I’m a wreck.
Finally able to breathe,
in this dimly lit room,
I see you in full bloom.

writing form: duplex

smitty Leave a comment

a “duplex” is a poetic form, created by jericho brown. it’s a poem of couplets (stanzas with only two lines) that grows off of itself, where the first line of each next couplet mirrors the previous line (the last line of the couplet before it) and then the last line of the couplet introduces a new idea or image. the very first and very last lines of the poem mirror each other as well. [i know hat could be confusing to be explained with no context, so check out the link and maybe read my description while going through the poem??]

while poems often involve a journey, my favorite duplexes from jericho display movement , or makes its intention moving closer to somewhere possibly more vulnerable or more honest. this feature of movement is what inspired me to attempt the form. (p.s. i’m not sure if the form has to be indented in this way, i just replicated his structure here to learn the form.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

lightning flashes before my eyes can adjust

i’ve got too much white in my eyes

a static blade gathers iris and tongue

time be going by so fast

minutes turn into echo chambers of gravel and salt so quickly

learn, unlearn, learn — splinter on

petal open to get to the truth

every step i’ve taken has been to find myself

there are so many roads to get to the self

i study my veins in winter trees

the bloodrush means we existed

the heart beats, sends lightning before i can ask why

 

the rose vine – “Mountains”

Ezra Rose (she/ they) Leave a comment

“Mountains”

My feet dangle above the earth

my hair blows in the wind.

I can see for what feels like miles away.

My heart skips a beat as I look below

but I feel safe.

 

His shoulders felt like mountains to climb

and I did. As often as he would allow.

When my short legs got tired on the long walk home.

When I needed a better view of what lied ahead.

Until I got too big and he got too old.

 

Time passes and I help him to bed and get him his lunch

The days I sat on those mountains now long gone.

The days I felt as high as the eagles we sought.

And then he’s gone.

Mountains buried six feet underground.

 

And part of my childhood dies with him.

I am no longer the little girl 

who could forget her troubles on her papa’s shoulders.

I am grown, or so it appears. I stand alone, 

my mile-long view replaced with a blurry haze.

 

Sorrow fills every inch of my feeble body

and I know I would give everything 

to climb those mountains once again,

to just feel safe in the world again,

to get back the peace that died with him.

 

The Poetry Snapshot: Here and Gone like a Breeze

nehaallathur 1 Comment
Sleeping Bear Dunes, Michigan

One single moment,
so sweet as sugar,
only to leave behind a cavity that lasts forever.
How can someone touch you so lightly,
that you question the embrace,
but then find a scar on your body?

Here and gone like the wind,
but softer and silently,
like a breeze.

I feared her free-spirit,
but found asylum in her affection.
She filled me with rage and so much wonder,
but when she was gone, I had this everlasting hunger.

Only three raindrops hit my skin before she got bored.
Wanting more, but locked at her core,
she did not mind leaving; that’s all she was good for.
For summoning up a storm and then ‘running away’.

Never afraid but always awake,
because dreams never lie and they testify
against everything we try to hide.

Green grass in the field mocks my jealously,
but I thought it was love?
I called it affection,
but just wanted attention.

When she first came here,
the field was frozen.
Then it melted tears as she disappeared.
How was she chosen?
Freshly plucked out of the field,
the star Rose in my eye.
But of course I had to say goodbye,
eventually flowers decay.
Perhaps tomorrow the sky won’t be so gray.