I Love Your Work, Fellow Poet!

i love your work, fellow poet!

i do ask,

where do you draw your inspiration from the most?

Thank you! These days, it's mostly random everyday moments. Like when I was about to cross the road, a man looked at me from the other side and he had His eyes, so I turned around and took the long route to where I was going.

I'll be going through your poetry once I get some free time :)

But also, where do you get yours?

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More Posts from Literaryvein and Others

literaryvein

1 year ago

Detail of "Woman Reading (The Artist's Wife)"
Aaron Shikler, 1962

after you, even poetry couldn’t heal me

- L. V.

L. V., i found this poem when a stranger on the bus sat next to me

13: "...Eight years later, I still dream about him." "...stare at his pictures on my phone everyday...scared to forget the color of his eyes, his smile and his laugh lines..." "...I don’t really look at his pictures anymore but it’s because I don’t need to anymore. I only have to close my eyes and I can see his face clearly in my mind..." "...always used to laugh a lot until our sides hurt alot..." "...still remember all the stories...about his childhood."

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literaryvein

2 months ago

my writing;
Of Monsters and Men - Sinking Man
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-6II3p7fxo8

L. V., skipping to the epilogue

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literaryvein

10 months ago

Detail of "Jeune homme à la fenêtre" ("Man at the Window")
Gustave Caillebotte, 1875

I was watching a film the other day. The boy confessed: I can’t stand the silence—I need to speak to you.

- L. V.

And it reminded me of the first time I fell in love. It wasn’t with a boy. It was with silence.

- L. V.

In a dream, the world shut its mouth forever and the backyard flowers began to bloom in colours we have yet to name.

- L. V.

We learned to make music another way—first with hands and feet. Later, with the way we breathe.

- L. V.

Isn’t it strange how even love could backfire? Because here I am years later and I couldn’t care less for silence anymore. I can’t stand it—speak to me.

- L. V.

L. V., i found this poem rereading a book you gave me years ago

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literaryvein

11 months ago

Love's Shadow (Detail)
by: Frederick Sandys, 1867

L. V., i found this poem whilst staring at your favourite painting for too long that the lines started to blur and the colours looked like mud

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literaryvein

3 years ago

L. V., I Found This Poem Flickering Off, On, Off, On

L. V., i found this poem flickering off, on, off, on

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literaryvein

5 months ago

Young woman lying in a grass (Detail)
Paul Gauguin, 1884

L. V., I Found This Poem On A Quiet Sunday Afternoon

Woman in the Park (Detail)
Ion Theodorescu-Sion, 1919

L. V., i found this poem on a quiet sunday afternoon

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literaryvein

9 months ago

Detail of "Evening Landscape with Rising Moon" by Vincent van Gogh (Dutch, 1853-1890)

Strawberry Moon

On TV, a boy cries over the blood-soaked body of a 32-year-old woman.
The editors gave the footage a black and white filter
so that the only way we would be able to tell how deep the red goes
was by listening to the boy’s grief-stricken howl.

Someone changes the channel, complaining
that they shouldn’t be showing such awful things.
Children could be watching.

They don’t know that by seeing the gruesome realities of the world
do we experience life completely, which is why we should be watching.
To know what’s happening would be the first step to being able to help.
This is what we should be teaching our children;
we shouldn’t be teaching them fear.

Because imagine being that woman—to have people see your body
sprawled out on the scorching hot asphalt.
To have them hear the dreadful things that had been done to you.
It makes them sick to the stomach.
And so they switch to a different channel.
Because they can.
Because your body in a strange position makes them sick to the stomach.

Imagine if the story makes you sick to the stomach.
Imagine if you were part of the story. If you were the boy, howling.
Imagine if you were her mother. Or her child. Her friend.
Imagine if it was you lying there on the ground.
Someone changes the channel.

- L. V.

L. V., i found this poem staring back at me from across a busy road

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literaryvein

1 year ago

Your writings are addictive

Praying for your recovery.

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literaryvein

8 months ago

The day I realised I’m going to be me for a lifetime,
I met Grief.

She was sitting on the curb
just around the corner; face resting on her hands,
elbows on her knees.

When you died, I understood why
people need to grieve.

You see, it’s so close to a year
since the funeral
and the memory of every vein
that runs across the back of your hand
is still crystal clear to me.

Without grief, how could loving someone be possible?

When I die, I don’t want anyone to find the body.
Let’s keep the world guessing.
Is she still alive? Was she ever alive?
Did she drown, fall off a cliff? Did she bleed out, starve?
Did something big and raging devour her whole?
Did she vanish into thin air?
Maybe this is why he called her a mystery.
Was it a murder? An abduction?
Look for a ransom note. Perhaps a suicide note?

The day you realised you are going to be yourself for a lifetime,
I hope you walked around that corner with your head held high;
your shadow, following closely behind.

- L. V.

L. V., i found this poem on the back of your hand

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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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