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hereunoia:

If the boy who draws

let’s you look over his shoulder.

If the poet

smiles

and shows you her words.

If the girl who sings for the shower only,

hums a song

in front of you.


Know that you’re no longer a person

but the air

and dust

that fills their lungs.


When the world perishes,

and all things cease to exist,

you’ll remain inside an ink stain,

a paint brush,

a song.


— Alaska Gold

The Quiet World - Jeffrey McDaniel

In an effort to get people to look
into each other’s eyes more, 
and also to appease the mutes, 
the government has decided
to allot each person exactly one hundred
and sixty-seven words, per day.

When the phone rings, I put it to my ear
without saying hello. In the restaurant
I point at chicken noodle soup.
I am adjusting well to the new way.

Late at night, I call my long distance lover, 
proudly say I only used fifty-nine today.
I saved the rest for you.

When she doesn’t respond, 
I know she’s used up all her words, 
so I slowly whisper I love you
thirty-two and a third times.
After that, we just sit on the line
and listen to each other breathe. 

Introduction to Poetry

I ask them to take a poem

and hold it up to the light
like a color slide

or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,

or walk inside the poem’s room
and feel the walls for a light switch.

I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author’s name on the shore.

But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.

They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.

-Billy Collins

(Source: fuckyeahpoetry)

Early Bird.

So it’s currently 9:19 am. I’ve been up for 2 hours, and only slept for about 7 hours. Ouch. I used to be a morning person, I don’t know what happened!

Whenever I get up early, I always seem to think more clearly, and be a little more creative. So I decided to write a poem. It’s not much, but I like it nonetheless.

Despite it’s air of despair, unhappiness, and general gloom, I’m in a really good mood. I just felt like writing something along this line for a while. 

The long dark hallway stood before her,

An entrance to her own personal Hell.

She sits like a young girl and closes her eyes,

Awaiting the compelling pull of despair.

She waits for her savior, protector.

As the girl calls his name, he appears.

Visible to her, invisible to the world.

She knows she is safe in this moment.

Sitting beside her, breathing evenly.

Her guardian, savior, her protector.

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