L. V., The Illusion Of A New Beginning: An Almost Villanelle

L. V., the illusion of a new beginning: an almost villanelle

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9 months ago

Detail of "Louise Loved to Climb to the Summit on One of the Barren Hills Flanking the River, and Stand There While the Wind Blew" by N.C. Wyeth (1907)

L. V., I Found This Poem Lost At Sea, Bloated With Caffeine

L. V., i found this poem lost at sea, bloated with caffeine

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literaryvein

9 months ago

grief makes you want to die every single day. but you don’t.

Tulips in a Milk Carton (detail)
Paul Wonner, 1989

you go on with what’s left of your life. you make the bed every morning.

you take out the trash. you buy your weekly groceries.

and as you inspect which milk carton looks the least wonky,

you realise this is how to kill yourself without breaking your mother’s heart—

you go on with what’s left of your life.

L. V., i found this poem grieving in aisle 3

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art writeblr writers on tumblr poetry creative writing literature poets on tumblr my writing original writing spilled ink spilled thoughts still life tulips poets corner literaryvein paul wonner contemporary realism

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literaryvein

11 months ago

Your writings are addictive

Praying for your recovery.

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<3 writeblr writers on tumblr poets on tumblr anonymous spilled ink hah but thank you sincerely dear anon

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literaryvein

1 year ago

Detail of "The Garden of Adonis - Amoretta and Time" by John Dickson Batten (English, 1860-1932)

The 7 Wonders

I wonder how many more poems
are standing in the way
between now and the day I die.

I wonder if the sickness is our bodies fighting back.
Often we hear about people fighting for their lives,
but we are here too—the ones fighting for their deaths.

Room C-30. I wonder how many people have died here.
How many wept.
How many threw up on this bed.
And if this mattress is the same mattress or
if they threw that one out.

I wonder if it would be considered betrayal, to my younger self,
if at any point in the near future, I don’t kill myself.
I think this means I’ve outlived myself.
Maybe one day I’ll write something about that.

I wonder which words haven’t been put together
before I put them together and were they better off apart?

I wonder what it’s like to be there.
To be the one telling everyone that you’re gone.
To hold your hand until it grew too cold to the touch.

I wonder if I’ll ever forget you
or if I’ll die before I do.

- L. V.

L. V., i found this poem at the beginning of a rainbow

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literaryvein

3 years ago

L. V., i found this poem towering over us

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literaryvein

6 months ago

i love your edits sm

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so sry everything here's quite fucked up tho just need a way to untether myself from the heaviness before it's all too late

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literaryvein

11 months ago

Girl with Starry Dress and Bouquet (Detail)
by Charles Blackman

July wasn’t a poet
but the rain was here, the daffodils told her.

She picked up a pen
and wrote on the walls and on her body

L. V., i found this poem tucked safely between 2:53 and 2:54 in the morning

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literaryvein

3 years ago

L. V., i found this poem on the ground, sobbing

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literaryvein

6 months ago

Detail of "Набережная Рей в Базеле в дождь" ("Ray Embankment in Basel in the rain")
Alexandre Benois, 1896

The rain winds up inside me. I rage and I pour. And I drown all at once.

I settle into a gentle tap tap tap at the foot of your bed.

L. V., i found this poem when you kept me awake ‘til 4 in the morning

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literaryvein

10 months ago

your page is like going to a museum; each post like a painting. Specifically the ones you weave your poems with classical paintings. i can go over the details for a long while. it feels like taking a magnifying glass to a miniature work of art to fully appreciate the little touches; and when i step back, i see the whole painting -- the bigger picture. thank you for the experience.

This is far too lovely. Thank you, dear stranger. You made my heart feel a little less heavy today.

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