What do you do?
|
Posted:May 13, 2021 4:14 pm
Last Updated:May 18, 2021 4:20 pm
8802 Views
|
Trigger warning. Proceed with caution if words can be upsetting for you. Not a happy poem.
|
|
6
Comments
|
|
I write myself
|
Posted:May 8, 2021 7:13 am
Last Updated:May 10, 2021 9:18 pm
7894 Views
|
I write myself written March 29th, 2021
around the cracks in a window through the looking glass reflected in a tarnished mirror sideways and from a distance right onto the page I write myself
in every tree and golden hawk every person seen with my soul every poem read and reflected on I write myself
re-membering the dead and secrets long kept that I now declare out loud I write myself
the lost-forgotten-sleeping the denied-angry-hurt the joyful-sexual-loving I write myself
my present - my world my head - my heart that I hope nobody will understand (or that I want them to understand?) I write myself
a future healthy and whole that I am scared to imagine afraid to hope for or want I write myself
connections to the world physical - spiritual - natural me reaching out to touch you I write myself
My blood - My beating heart - My breath all of my all all that I am - was - might be one day I write myself
I write to make solid all those nebulous things floating around and about and in me I write myself whole.
|
|
2
Comments
|
|
Blaze
|
Posted:May 5, 2021 1:29 pm
Last Updated:May 9, 2021 6:28 pm
7656 Views
|
~Life looks like a white desert, a blaze of today in which nothing distinct can be made out, seen. —Marvin Bell, "1. About the dead man", Gift of Tongues
Blaze written May 2nd, 2021
I long to blaze to be white hot fire burning fiercely without limit or restraint
take as kindling all these collected seconds of tedium the moments of curling into myself in pain the flares of white hot passion the kisses of comfort on the forehead
spark my soul start the fire watch me blaze so bright you have to look away
wait until the coals cool so you can sift through the ashes that were me looking for treasure
I am no longer there. I have moved on and am collecting the kindling for the next glorious blaze.
|
|
5
Comments
|
|
Walls
|
Posted:May 4, 2021 5:13 am
Last Updated:Aug 13, 2021 1:44 pm
7981 Views
|
Walls written November 27th, 2020
I have built walls rigid strong and nearly impermeable forming this fortress around me, nothing gets in or out.
Every sortie against them leaves them a little stronger, and me inside a little more isolated.
Over time I have grown into and through my walls safe from a war that is long over.
|
|
6
Comments
|
|
Brave
|
Posted:Apr 26, 2021 2:11 pm
Last Updated:Apr 27, 2021 5:25 pm
8384 Views
|
Brave written January 20th, 2021
What is it like to see the world through your eyes? to actually live in the world the way you do?
I ask you, green beret and swat, about your experience of fear, and we are so different you don't even understand my question. "It's not brave to jump out of planes if you aren't afraid of it," you say.
(A small voice inside me asks does that make me brave? Because I am afraid all the time, or is it only what you accomplish in spite of being afraid that counts as bravery?)
You face the world head on walk through heaven and hell, air and water part for you and you know that they will.
What is it like to own the world like that, to see the world and not be afraid?
|
|
4
Comments
|
|
Just write
|
Posted:Apr 26, 2021 6:09 am
Last Updated:Apr 30, 2021 6:22 am
8414 Views
|
Just write written April 25th, 2021
The first is relatively easy just get thoughts on the page. I repeat to myself - no past - no future - no pressure - just write.
Coming back can be more challenging to words that flow and stumble down one side and up the other. I reassure myself - it is ok - it will be ok - there is time - just write.
Some poems seem so weighty I don't want to start them or work on them once started. I tell myself that one day will be the right day to work on that poem but for today - just write.
Many days I want to make excuses. I say I just wrote yesterday, or I will write tomorrow, or I will read someone else's poems, but my work is my self and I find my self writing poems, so - just write.
It doesn't have to be right - just write.
|
|
9
Comments
|
|
Pieces
|
Posted:Apr 25, 2021 8:12 am
Last Updated:Apr 26, 2021 6:00 am
8353 Views
|
Pieces written December 5th, 2020
_______
things broken in pieces not finding peace
________
shattered glass shards reflect the sun
________
minnows dart through shallow streams as bright sun pierces
_________
|
|
6
Comments
|
|
One of these
|
Posted:Apr 23, 2021 6:20 am
Last Updated:Apr 26, 2021 6:53 pm
8701 Views
|
One of these written March 7th, 2021
One of these is not like the others.
That one flower off to the right in the field of flowers. Do you see her aglow with a quiet intensity among all the others?
Always different-alone-apart holding so many secrets. What can she say? What should she not say? Can she really say anything at all?
So she holds inside all the things that burn in the sunlight and the starlight, buried so deep in her soul even she doesn't know some of them.
One of these is not like the others.
|
|
7
Comments
|
|
Jane Kenyon
|
Posted:Apr 22, 2021 1:11 pm
Last Updated:Apr 22, 2021 7:39 pm
9031 Views
|
Jane Kenyon lived and wrote poems from 1947 to 1995.
Jane Kenyon written April 17th, 2021
I want to ask her so many questions, like why she chose to put that one word alone on that line.
But she has gone where I can not ask so I will have to find my answers in the spaces between her words in the pauses at the ends of lines and in the silences between her stanzas.
|
|
4
Comments
|
|
With wings made strong
|
Posted:Apr 19, 2021 5:08 am
Last Updated:Apr 21, 2021 7:55 am
9018 Views
|
With wings made strong written April th, 2021
I sit in the back while you sit in the front the favored seat next to your father
you so icy and cold he could have reached out and touched your body but not your soul
which was flying out over the fields we drove by desperately straining to get as far away as possible with wings made strong
before having to return to this body of yours to walk down halls filled with students and teachers who did not see
you or the others with wings made strong.
Today do you still fly out over the fields wondering if you will ever take residence in this body of yours.
|
|
4
Comments
|
|
How to build a fire
|
Posted:Apr 13, 2021 7:57 am
Last Updated:Oct 29, 2021 12:39 pm
9005 Views
|
voluptuous words hang volcanically —Jane Miller, "Oh Pioneers", Gift of Tongues
How to build a fire written March th, 2021
The weight of her breasts fill my hands the heat we both crave hangs volcanically in the air our bodies come together then part keeping the simmering air between her skin and mine
the near - the far - the almost yearning for all at once my wet tongue starts little fires moving from breast to belly to thigh always returning to her voluptuous breasts
my hand between her legs her leg between mine we kindle the flames with the friction of our bodies until orgasms erupt in the now tropical air
the flames we so diligently nurtured with skin and tongue and touch are now quenched as our bodies meld together all distance-space-separation gone laughter fills the air as the sweat evaporates off our spent bodies.
|
|
6
Comments
|
|
Depression sales into bay
|
Posted:Apr 10, 2021 8:56 am
Last Updated:Apr 12, 2021 9:21 am
9265 Views
|
Depression sales into bay written April 5th, 2021
Depression sales into the bay our little town is built on it is a frequent but unwelcome visitor ominous, malevolent and stifling
Often it arrives in the night creeping in on panther's toe pads its sails blocking out the sun
Plants and people sit in suspended animation trying to carry on
Some boldly give depression the finger as they walk by
While others withdraw to the sanitarium dishes are left undone and run wild in the streets
Scientists are researching a vaccine the librarian searches in books soldiers plan attacks (which fail) the priest prays and does exorcisms the green witch burns toy ships in effigy all hoping to find the answer
Until that day we fight we submit we carry on waiting for depression to sale out of our petty little bay.
|
|
3
Comments
|
|
Not a haiku
|
Posted:Apr 8, 2021 7:18 am
Last Updated:Apr 9, 2021 4:08 pm
8298 Views
|
Not a haiku written October 18th, 2020
crisp fall leaves crunch under foot moss roses furl open ___ Crisp fall leaves crunch under my feet giving their final sacrifice
while moss roses tightly clenched wait for the sun to unfurl their beauty for the day
|
|
4
Comments
|
|
To link to this blog (senfully) use [blog senfully] in your messages.
|
|
Sun |
Mon |
Tue |
Wed |
Thu |
Fri |
Sat |
|
|
|
|
|
|
1
|
2
|
3
|
4
|
5
|
6
|
7
|
8
|
9
|
10
|
11
|
12
|
13
|
14
|
15
|
16
|
17
|
18
|
19
|
20
|
21
|
22
|
23
|
24
|
25
|
26
|
27
|
28
|
29
|
301
|
31
|
|
|
|
|
|
|