L. V., I Found This Poem When The Moon Was Just The Moon

L. V., i found this poem when the moon was just the moon

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3 years ago

L. V., i found this poem drowning in the egg mixture

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literaryvein

3 years ago

L. V., i found this poem where the ocean ends

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literaryvein

9 months ago

September was a sparrow, but only in her poems.

- L. V.

Hibiscus and Sparrow (Detail)
by: Katsushika Hokusai, 1830

She stands on the edge of a many-story building and

- L. V.

takes a dive; eyes closed. When she opens them, she’s flying.

- L. V.

I guess it’s like trying to kill yourself by holding your breath—you just can’t.

- L. V.

September forgave herself, but only in her poems.

- L. V.

L. V., i found this poem in a pile of dead, golden leaves

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literaryvein

6 months ago

Details of "Portrait of Edna Barger of Connecticut" by Jules Joseph Lefebvre (French, 1836–1911)

A Sonnet for You

If I could, I would compose sonnets for you.

You told me you love poetry, now I’m a poet.
I’ll write you a world of odes and ballads;
I’ll leave a bouquet of haiku on your doorstep.

If I could, I would compose sonnets for you.

Tell me all your fears. I want to know about
everything that’s ever caused you pain. I want
to write them all down on a piece of paper.

Then I’ll fold it once, twice, thrice until it can
no longer be folded. I want to make your fears
small enough that I can hold them in my hand.

I’ll take them far away from you, so that you
won’t ever have to be afraid anymore. I swear
nothing will hurt you again—myself included.

If I could, I would compose sonnets for you.

- L. V.

L. V., i found this poem on the wall when the paint started to peel off

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literaryvein

10 months ago

an open letter to the poet who left a bouquet of sonnets at my door
dear poet,
who is the "you" in your poems?
when did you meet?
where did you meet?
how did you meet?
& why does the "you" in your poems
hold so much light that i see you drowning in it

- L. V.

by Henri Fantin-Latour (French, 1836-1904)

& why does the "you" in your poems
punch black holes into your heart and in your lungs
that i see you are struggling to breathe
& oh wow there's so much blood
in your lungs
that i see you are coughing up
sunsets into your elbow

- L. V.

& i see you try to wipe it away
with your hands
but all you're doing is smearing
everything in red
& how does the "you" in your poems
hold so much light that you turn into a moth
& you are chasing the fire
& you know this won't end well
but you are chasing the sun
you keep chasing the end, dear poet

- L. V.

L. V., writing in the dark (pt. 6: because i don't know what to do with all this light)

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literaryvein

11 months ago

what do you know about love

Why does this feel like an attack-

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literaryvein

10 months ago

L. V., He’s Not The Right Person If You Have To Lie To Him Like This, Your Friends Tell You. But I'm

L. V., He’s not the right person if you have to lie to him like this, your friends tell you. But I'm not lying. But he's not the right person. But I want him to be the right person. He has to be the right person. I’m going to make him the right person. I’m tired. He’s not the right person. But why does he smile like that.

[i found this poem in my drafts, where it should have remained (pt. 5)]

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literaryvein

11 months ago

hi, how are you? :)

i just finished reading your writing project. part 1 and 2 are beautifully written. i loved the poem you wrote me. it was perfect! these were my favorites: hibiscus, chai, rooibos, hyacinth, and alyssum.

thank you for sharing your writings, and i hope to read more of your work!

My heart feels lighter. Thank you <3

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literaryvein

10 months ago

How do you overcome the terror of your art being known?

Knowing that I am unknown.

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literaryvein

11 months ago

If only Van Gogh was alive today
you said

- L. V.

Van Gogh 1886 Self-Portrait with Dark Felt Hat

and that was all it took
for me to believe in reincarnation.

- L. V.

Van Gogh 1887 Self Portrait with Felt Hat

I like to think that Van Gogh
is walking in sunflower fields
right now
thousands of miles away
from where we sit here with our cups of coffee.

- L. V.

He is walking
with paint-stained fingertips
and a different face
and a different voice
and a different name

- L. V.

but the sun is shining
on his favourite felt hat
and the birds are singing for him
as the pipe between his lips
paints the morning breeze.

- L. V.

Van Gogh 1889 Self-portrait with a Bandaged Ear and Pipe

L. V., translating conversations with you into poetry

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