You will never be alone with a poet in your pocket

This is a place for me to share my poetry anonymously and to post things that I'm interested in.


Ask me anything  
Reblogged from millienguyen-deactivated2013112

10:42.

mqnla:

If I ever come home
and find a note that reads,
“drop everything,
and run away with me.” 

   
I’d follow you.

(via millienguyen-deactivated2013112)

Reblogged from boxwineconnoisseur-deactivated2

boxwineconnoisseur:

sugar plum fairies tonight
are basic hotel rooms
smoking allowed

and out of tune guitars
singing through the words
the wrong ones 

but i forget
what wrong means
remind me in the morning

(via boxwineconnoisseur-deactivated2)

Reblogged from untitledphases-deactivated20130

lessons-in-morbidity:

The essence of Venus
caught in dreams
of onyx, sanguine lace,
obsidian leather moons pace
the spines of heavy breath
as her shadow undulates
between pursed fingertips,
spinal cords entwined
and the whites of eyes
coalesced in compressed
symphonic movement
shatter the silence
of comets descending.

(via untitledphases-deactivated20130)


The Blessed Kiss, Florence Harrison

The Blessed Kiss, Florence Harrison

J.

If death stole me away today
I could


never push the mess of your hair out of your face to
reveal your thoughts of me
written across your clouded blue eyes 


never wander with you to all of the places we want to
within silent night-time cities, peopleless, where we are pioneers
through forests filled with wolves and ghosts and trees that
grasp at each others’ branches to protect us from the skies
along empty November beaches, with waves that
whisper to us their sonnets

never puzzle over every piece of the jigsaw that is you, and
discover new parts every day

never buy a house with you and
build a home

never watch the swell of my belly as our child
grows within it

never know that you
love me

But I could endure a millennium
And this would happen, never

Because I will not
cannot
change.

Somnath Mukherjee

Somnath Mukherjee

Prayer

In this quiet,
this noiselessness,
this silence
for something above,
for one second,
in life

In a small room,
air-conditioned,
with broken plastic chairs

Before the carved altar
of a cathedral, saturated with
grandeur and ghosts

Beneath daunting crevices
of rolling, rugged mountains
that dwarf the sun

Our collective breath
is taken in,
Pushed out.

Somewhere, not here,
nations away,
someone else does the same.

All say some thought
in different ways.

These words reach up
to someone who feels far away.

For you, it’s a request;
him: a confession.

Me? A lament.

Salome, Lovis Corinth

Salome, Lovis Corinth

Twister

I have one foot in the grave
(the left to be exact).
My right hand
on one of Dover’s white cliffs.
My left hand
reaches towards a darkening cloud.
My right foot
is stamping mud into a country lane.

As the needle spins,
revealing my next move.
Left foot out of the grave
and into the whirl
of a Cornish wave.