L. V., I Found This Poem Stuck Between Wakefulness & Dreams

Detail of "El Sueño (La Cama)" ["The Dream (The Bed)"]
by: Frida Kahlo, 1940

August was a lion without a voice.
That was a metaphor—August was not really a lion.
If you’d rather have the truth, here it is: She was sick.
She was stuck between wakefulness and dreams.
In her dreams, she kept scratching off her face
because she has always wondered what it’s like to be pretty too
and everyone kept yelling something about wanting everything
and August wonders why they want everything
because doesn’t everything come with the bad things too?
Are people in love with the bad things now too?
Oh wow, don’t people fall in love with anything these days.

- L. V.

L. V., i found this poem stuck between wakefulness & dreams

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7 months ago

Letter (detail) by Federico Zandomeneghi

who is this boy you keep kissing in your poetry?

- L. V.

L. V., things people say

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9 months ago

Winter Carnival (Detail)
Andrew Wyeth, 1985

Have
you
ever
felt
the
kind
of
tired
that
made
you
wish
you
were
dead?

L. V., i found this poem walking the shores of your dreams

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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

7 months ago

- Detail of "In Love" by Marcus Stone
- "Person 1: How could you love me for a lifetime? I will bore you to death. / Person 2: But doesn’t the sky never look the exact same way twice?" -L. V.

L. V., i found this poem when the sky washed us in gold

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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

10 months ago

I can’t do poetry, my words won’t write, if you could help me, that would be quite alright :)

As you can see, my poetry is shit.

"Poetry at its best can do you a lot of harm." —Sylvia Plath

"Poetry, I feel, is a tyrannical discipline. You’ve got to go so far so fast in such a small space; you’ve got to burn away all the peripherals." —Sylvia Plath

Are you certain you still want to write poetry, dear stranger?

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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

7 months ago

- film still from Wuthering Heights (2011)
- "What goes on in my head and in my heart feels less like ghosts / and more like blood and bones when I write them down. / I feel more real, more human when I write." -L. V.

L. V., and this is how i bury you

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literaryvein

7 months ago

Detail of "Sower at Sunset" (1888)
by van Gogh

All at once, I was Icarus and I was the moth.
I flew too close to the bright yellow light.
Unlike Icarus, unlike the moth, unfortunately,
I survived.
- L. V.

L. V., i found this poem at the hands of a stranger

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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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ask

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