Hi! Here are some micropoems that have been posted on my Instagram.
I have two pieces of fun news today!
First: I recently made a poetry Instagram for this blog. You can follow me @dream.bigger.poetry! I’d like to get to know and follow more poets on there, so if you have an Instagram, let me know! It will feature shorter pieces (micropoetry), so I think most of what will be on there will be different from what this blog normally features.
Second: I recently got published in Issue #6 of MICRO//MACRO! The theme is SPACE, and I really enjoyed writing for this. I have five (!) pieces in there and am honored to have them featured beside works from amazing and talented writers. You check out my poems here and previous issues of the zine on Issuu. Finally, I’d like to thank the editor of the zine and founder of Nu Lit House (Tumblr, Twitter), Maynard McKinnon, for the opportunity. This was my first time submitting to a zine and they were so supportive of this newbie writer, who was uncertain of whether her work would be worthy of publication. I am very grateful.
And that’s all the news for now. As always, thank you for reading my poetry. Your support means the world to me!
the moon falls apart in pieces,
a cracked egg,
spilling yellow, wispy clouds,
among a sprinkling of stars.
this great immensity
(silent, unknowable, pagan)
threatens to swallow me whole
and spit me out.
dark and light:
the moonbeams run pale
along the crevices and cracks,
ravenous for space.
i am famine.
I’m learning to love myself,
I’m learning to be myself,
with all of my heart,
with all of my mind.
I’m tired of swallowing my words and
how they threaten to climb up my throat and
the way my shouts transform into murmurs.
I’m tired of folding into myself,
being soft and fragile like tissue paper,
letting others leave creases and regrets.
I’m tired of fearing what others think of me,
wishing that I would be palatable and
the one who appeals to all.
Let go of this burden,
this weight from wanting,
let it all go.
Let go, let go, let go.
Hi all! I’m currently learning about Romanticism in my English class and love the writing styles of the various poets we are studying. So far, we have read a few pieces from William Blake and William Wordsworth, including one of my all-time favorite poems, “A Poison Tree.” I wanted to write some poetry featuring some of the same themes covered in poems from this movement, and here is the result.
Imagine wildflowers, their scattered blooms
As far as our eyes can see.
Imagine the glow of stars and moon,
A place where we can truly be.
We could commune with sparrows,
And frolic among the grasses at play.
Yet everyday here our minds grow narrow,
And inside we are decaying away.
Capture this moment, this feeling now before they flee,
With the advent of Corruption,
For we sell out to the call of greed,
And we guarantee our own Destruction.
I now choose to break free of this false show,
I shall return to nature, defeat my strife.
But there is still something I need to know:
Within me, is there Still Life?
hymns for the dying
i. there is nothing romantic, nothing beautiful in this. it approaches too soon, too suddenly. like flowers wilting, we cling to the inevitable descent that awaits us: we try to deny the future. we think we are as impervious as marble, but we know in the back of our minds that even greece and rome fell once upon a time. eons ago, mortals could become anything but, yet today, our feet sink in the mire, and our bodies return to baser means.
ii. hello, autumn. i miss you so much. i watched you fade from me in that place of no return. you became sorrow personified, a stick figure of skin and bone and sickness. what is life without you? far less.
iii. the sun sets. the moon rises.
(there is no end so simple. in your mind, the ones you knew live on; they never left and are stuck in an endless memory loop, an endless memory loop, an endless memory loop. the ones you knew remind you they exist/existed. people come back as ghosts, and they haunt you. maybe they never moved on… or maybe you never did.)
This is a Poem in which
my Mouth is a
My Voice does not Flow–
There is a Lack of
Eloquence, that Gentleness.
My Voice is /Cr/acke/d./
My Thoughts and Feelings and Words for You are but Dust, slipping Away.
What is there to Say?
What is there to Write?
These Emotions do not Fit these Strokes.
I won’t reuse the same overused Metaphors and Similes
of Stars and Sea
to Describe You.
The World is not Enough–
Trying to Fit the Big Bang in an Eggshell.
You Know how I feel.
All I Implore of You:
Let it Not be Unspoken.