#100
#100
It was a wondrous day with splendid company.
Old friends but fresh rushes of feelings, turns of conversation,
And the laughter?
Hers.
Rich, bubbling, pure.
Like mustard meadowlarks singing for mountains streams.
His.
Grounded, unexpected, revitalizing.
The rough stream of sounds a lake makes under the watch of a persistent moon.
And of course, mine.
Not much of note, but if I were to speculate,
A little kitten leaping up the scales of an out of tune piano.
we had harmonized together.
Every hour was full of sweet humor and compassions.
When I had slipped into something less than,
His hand was at my slumped shoulder, thin fingers spinning shapes into my sleeve.
When it happened again and I felt at a loss,
She hurried beside me to help roll up my sleeves.
I'd like to believe I had been there for them in the smallest of ways.
There was surprise hugs from behind and comments of sentiment,
Shared sandwiches and the sweetest of silences.
A trio like us made me think of
Mundane mornings, nights out and exploring, of-
I pulled away.
It's a wondrous friendship we shared.
In a way, their company was wondrous and fearful tucked in a bundle.
I had hoped to keep relishing in their laughter for a long time.
I’ve had other wonderful days,
And yet
More Posts from Bustlingblankverse and Others
If you follow Selmers to the poetry society meeting in Night In The Woods, this is her poem. I loved it and the themes of the game, and wanted to use it as practice to see if i can control the way readers ‘hear’ the words through images.
Anyway here’s a poem I wrote about my cat
After “Do not stand at my grave and weep”, author disputed:
Do not stand at your bowl and meow. I gave you food. It’s in there now. I feed you at the dawning light, I feed you at the fall of night. I feed you kibbles mixed with meat And wet food for a special treat. I feed you even though you scoff At all the food within your trough. I feed you and still yet you yell Like as a beast from deepest hell. Do not stand at your bowl and cry. I gave you food. You will not die.
cry for the world / go on living this will end / it must be a fire / have hope
“Keep fighting.
“I know you’re bruised and battered and bloody. I know you’ve been fighting for too long. I know you’re hopeless and broken and so, so tired. But you have to keep fighting. If you don’t, there’s nobody left. All this, everything you were fighting for in the first place, it’s all gone. You’re the only one left, and I’m sorry that you have to do this. I know how much you want to just surrender to that awful, bone-deep exhaustion that’s making it hard to even breathe, let alone move. But if you don’t keep fighting, you’ll die, and everyone else will die with you.
“Get up. You can’t surrender. You can’t yield.
“Get up. You can’t lose hope. Remember their faces, the ones that you’re fighting for. Remember the things you’re protecting. Remember everything you have to loose.
“Get up. Grab your weapon. You’re not dying like this.
“If we go down, we go down swinging, remember? That’s what you always said. You have to stay determined. You were always so stubborn, so where’s all that stubbornness now? Find it. You have to find it.
“If you have to die, you’re dying on your feet. You’re taking them all down with you.
“If you’re going to hell, then you’re going to fight it every step of the way. Yell and struggle and make it as hard for them as possible. Kill the goddamn devil if you have to.
“Get up. You’re not done here.
“Get up.
“…
“…Please.
“Please, get up.
“I’m begging you. Get up. Keep fighting. Please.
“You can’t die like this.”
me. me when a poem says something ive felt before
From amelia nason's chapbook, poems i shouldn't have written, available from Bottlecap Press!
you think you are something less real than you are by Wendy Xu
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