Tag: Creative Writing – Poetry

Image: ©️ Gislain

Author: Gislain

Standing eyes to eyes

Hooked fingers

Tension that rises

Hugging strangers

With heart that cries

Brain off – just lovers

Arms hang on thee

Keeping tight the other

Close to the body

Closer than ever

Closer they could be

Harder they have ever

Heart pulsing the pressure

Beating out the time

For a song or a measure

For a poem or a rhyme

To get a last taste of pleasure

Of an instant so sublime

Don’t know what to feel

Apart the heartache 

Not made out of steel

And can easily break

Not afraid to leave for real

Just afraid to stay for fake

Image: © Muhammed Salah 

Author: Nadia Aden

Image: ©️ rkarkowski – Pixabay License. Source.

Author: Marina Silietti

I saw the sun the other night 

I didn’t think we’d meet again 

I assumed it was far away 

Far away from me 

For a second 

I believed I’d feel it again 

The wide stream of emotions 

But I didn’t 

Instead

I felt a relief 

Seemed like heaven 

Until I understood that the stream 

Reached the moon 

Fading at its finest 

Breathing at its brightest 

I dreamed about the moon that night 

Until the dawn came back 

And I thought about the moon that day 

The stream was complete 

And I couldn’t escape its curves 

Even if I wanted to 

The moon and the sun belonged to somebody else 

I couldn’t see their light beams 

They were far away 

Far away from me 

Clear Graveyard! Give me a break!

Take me away 

And let me face the bliss 

The infinity 

The immortality 

Far away from their volcanoes

Finite and deadly volcanoes 

Clear Graveyard! Walk away! 

Take me home 

Back to where I belong 

Turn me into 

Your dissolving dust 

Back into what I am 

Nothing! 

Image: © Alicia Metcalf

Author: Alicia Metcalf

My Mum
used to cut apples in quarters
after school
when we were kids.
- it was the ground rule in order to eat chocolate biscuits.

My Mum had many ground rules
such as
-always telling the truth
(except when it is about hitchhiking during summer)
-always sing Abba songs out of tune
-never disturbing a mother who is reading

Now that I am older
I often think about these apple quarters
cut and shared with love

and I do myself cut them that way now
and I do hitchhike with strangers and lie to you about it
but I also give you books
and I write you poems

Author: Victor Joyet

I.

I am the end of everyone  the last man 
It doesn’t matter if it now comes to an 
end It’s good for everyone to be dead 
sometimes      good to be alive    again 
I will dance on the wire and people will 
be amazed I’ll crosswalk the air and the 
light dance on the wire until I die and 
dance on the wire one more time 

                    I shall smoke the last cigarette 
butt       inhale the last breath of poison 
look around the hexagram of the heaven 
close my eyes and let the sun shine red 
behind 
                    one last time

II.  

                                                            Nonday morning 
                   Smoke on the verge of eternity 
Alone in 
                      the dead-end street world 
Every day and every year the same stuff on TV 
The Internet is choke-full of brags and misery 
And I just don’t care 
I don’t wanna spend the night on air 
Ruminating that avant-garde cinema dream 
I keep thinking                                there is 
no music on a dead plane 
“I used to blackmail the night just to get some 
sleep” was what you used to say 
But you ended up talking to yourself

III.

Words to be thought words to be said words 
to be sung and words to whisper God’s 
language is still to be found fashioned and 
heard down there on Earth down there on the 
ground there is no church and no temple down 
there on Earth down there on the ground 
bone machines and articulated minds 
mortal spirits without any idea of time 

Down there on Earth down there on the ground 
for the first time shall I tread 
Crossing my arms I’m facing the man 
This is the only prayer I mean to utter 
This’ll be the only time 
                                                      I look into your eyes

IV.

I used to walk around so much I used to go 
nowhere at all I grew aimless and shameless 
Soared over the ocean and through the rain 
My senses sharpened the distance between 
the world and my eye narrowed seeing and 
being became one single gesture and losing 
my gaze into the above skyway whenever I 
saw a star I’d wonder if it were dead or alive 
I’d wandered and wandered got so stinky and 
so filthy and so soiled that when I looked into 
the mirror I saw a man I’d never seen in me 
Lost      absorbed                           life-washed 
              That was just another me 
            I didn’t know then but I’d started anew

V.

As open skies we moved………………………...
From a wing to another…………………………..
Skull and limbs all exposed…………………….
We needed nothing………………………………...
Bareheaded and free……………………………...
…We needed nothing……………………………...
…Toward eternity…………………………………....
………………………………………………...……………....
………………………………………………...……………....
………………………………………………...……………....
………………………………………………...……………....
………………………………………………...……………....
………………………………………………...……………....
………………………………………………...……………....

VI.

Behold the fireflies of the mind in pieces all the 
colors of thoughts in motion across the scenery 
of the allegorical meaning of yourself the crazy 
geography of heaven’s truthful sin 
These are roads painted on the canals of your 
vanishing body the idle image of a world gone 
mad roads that’ll take you into your own country 
where seasons and hours are landscaped into the 
mirror of your self 
                                              Now the silence will shatter 
from the sounds inside your brain this is the birth 
of the eighth day 
                                         Thusness widespread on the 
planispheric memory of a day forever forgotten

VII.

When will I be taken away? How will I be taken 
away from it all? What for a manner is to draw 
someone away like that from their friends family 
cats books clothes and whatsoever that holds 
together the pieces of one’s very own private self 
without any warning just like that gone as a dart 
through the classroom of time? 

Suddenly I feel so afraid when I think of death 
22 only yet I feel so old when surreptitiously 
I grow conscious of my own mortality 
22 still alive When will I trespass? When will I 
meet my other self? 22 still alive thinking of my 
friends wondering who’ll be the first one to die 
the first we’ll have to cry our hearts out for

Editor’s Note: Associated Artwork

Below you may find a list of artwork which this piece’s author associated with each sonnet. As some were protected under copyright, they were not included directly on this page. However, you may refer to the following links as you read the sonnets:

I.
Mark Rothko, Orange and Yellow, 1956, 232.4 x 181.3 cm, Albright-Knox Art Gallery, Buffalo, New York: Orange and Yellow, 1956 – Mark Rothko – WikiArt.org

II.
Franz Kline, Suspended, 1953, USA: Suspended, 1953 – Franz Kline – WikiArt.org

III.
Mark Rothko, Light over Deep, 1956, 139.7 x 111.8 cm, Collection of Rita and Toby Schreiber: Light over Deep 1956 Painting By Mark Rothko – Reproduction Gallery (reproduction-gallery.com)

IV.
Gerhard Richter, Cage 2, 2006, 300 x 300 cm: Gerhard Richter: Cage Paintings, 541 West 24th Street, New York, April 19–June 26, 2021 | Gagosian

V.
Yves Klein, Monogold (MG 18), 1961, 77.9 x 56 cm, Museum Ludwig, Cologne, Germany:  Œuvres – Monogold sans titre – Yves Klein

VI.
Franz Kline, King Oliver, 1958, 251.4 x 196.8 cm, private owner: Franz Kline (1910-1962) (christies.com)

VII.
Mark Rothko, UNTITLED, 1963: 5a2007bf2e81a47f8657e4ec7f94b164_large.jpg (1500×1500) (touchofmodern.com)

Images: © Sylvie Di Vito

Author: Sylvie Di Vito

That Other Place


How strange it is…
I don't recall 
Which was the path
To this strange place
I look around 
What could it be
A piece of hell? 
A piece of grace?

In here the sun 
Reflects the moons
And kites fly high 
Though there's no wind
Through gates once locked 
Now gaping doors
I watch the sages
become fools!

I have met people 
in this place
That I was most 
happy to see
For I'd have sworn
Hand on my heart
Long time ago
Had ceased to be 

Here Love and Fear 
Are King and Queen
And all their children 
All night long
Enjoy the game 
Of harlequin

How odd to lie
Where deceit rules
Where even killed 
I never die!

But O you dreamer 
Don't you see
How this mirror
-Secretly-
Distorted 
Every bit 
Of your 
Rea-
-li-
-ty?

Nature's Song

… And every day, we see her walk these ways;
A ghostly shade, despite the wind or rain…
She talks, she screams, she weeps and then she prays;
We, silent, hear her endless same refrain.
We do our best to calm her dreadful fears…
-Though, sadly, helpless feel- and this is why,
With tender leaves I catch her bitter tears
And with our heart we sing a lullaby.
As she, against me, leans through her despair,
The river swells her voice in gentle shush
The wind and I intone a joyful air:
Her pain by rustling branches try to hush
… And every day a smile we hope to see
Her sorrow yet too heavy seems to be…

Image: ©️ Andres Stadelmann

Author: Andres Stadelmann

Shampoo

I spent several hours looking at that door
In silence
My mind racing in every direction, but my body still.
Waiting, hoping
It cried out to the silence, begging it to respond
Instead it lingered, there, by the door
An old memory of a long-forgotten friend
The door responded in its stead
Alive—it shook and cracked and gaped its wide and loud mouth
Whispering, slow at first, then whistling ever louder until its scream, cut
   by the sudden grasp of the
handle, rang my eardrums.
The intruder, not yet half a man, wore that kind of awkward expression
   meant to display a weak show of
embarrassment all while betraying the narcissistic pride lying
   underneath
The decisive ones were the ones who played with the silence
Those that opened and closed the door
Those who let it rattle unabated, begging for attention
Without knowing, me, sitting alone in that silence was the biggest
   offering I could have made
The silence meant everything all of a sudden.
And I, as a part of it, took greater meaning as well
There was no greater way of loving her, than sitting alone in that
   silence
And so it would take off,
whispering tentatively to the floorboards,
swaying gently in the rafters,
leaning by the entrance,
and I with it, transfixed, and yet in constant motion
There are those who go to the batting cage and crack their bats until
   the silence overtakes them all, and
there are those who cower in fear in the company of endless and
   mindless chatter
But the silence persists nonetheless, molded by your heart in its barely
   motionless chambers
It’s so loud you can hear it, pounding in your ears and extending to they
   very end of all your extremities
It’s so soft that to hear it you have to listen very carefully
To truly hear it
In that silence I cried.
Silent teardrops filled with noise
That rolled off my face into the awaited abyss.
And as my still body began to move
It called out my name

Tío

Oh Dani did I cry for you
Such eyes I had not seen

Memory does strange things to time
Of that blurred still when you attempted to cross the world in an instant
   on your broom (you must miss
hurting your knees now)
Sportive drive pick-ups
A crack in exchange for a smile
The virgin hairs on your cheekbones
But your final words
Impressed
Seem a lifetime away
I look at my garden
Grown over with weeds
And I’m aching with that loss
To put dirt on my hands
Of toiling to cultivate, bleeding and sore
With a seed of trust
Some good to invest
And you’re still running on that beach

If only I could fill pages
As quickly as I spilt tears

C’è

Anna you were beautiful
Like everything on that day
And you made that greeting, to me
And that smile
And your profile picture
That day I realized that you don’t go to a wedding alone as a bride,
   for the groom
But as a friend, daughter, sister, sister-in-law, aunt, niece, child, woman
And all this was true
For that secure hand
For those enchanted voices
And for the gaze of the one who stood beside you
It would be trite to call it love
Almost reductive
But for a glance
That outside in that stable someone cultivated for the first time
Yesterday you witnessed
And today
I expect nothing else

Lucie

Remember when I said I was alone?
That happened again today
And when I was sitting there,
Just looking at my screen
I thought

When I consider that
A million miles away
Someone visiting a foreign country
Reminiscing about long lost friends
I find myself on a train
Looking out the window

A memory of some time
Passed with people
Whose names and faces I recollect
But who was I?
And why should I recall?

When not thinking
But only feeling
That one beat
Calls my name

I wait

And close my eyes
Or perhaps I close my eyes and wait

But regardless


I go back to sleep

Image: ©️ Manuel Ferrazzo

Author: Manuel Ferrazzo

My pain loves me more than you ever will,
She understands me like nobody else,
And when my blood drips for her she pales,
She knows that, for her, my hands could just kill.

She cuts my chest open to rip my heart,
Out of the hole which now stands here empty.
I can’t feel anything so I am free,
Hope ends where with undying love I start.

I wouldn’t want her to be my enemy,
I want her to be less scared of me,
I want her to understand and witness.

Witness my shame and my sorrow for her,
She will finally see me in her fur,
And decay shall be voice of weakness.

Image: ©️ Creative Commons -“Storm” by Daniel R Thompson – License

Author: Lisa Ziegert

Long ago, my fire stopped burning.

A big dark storm started raging,

Everything falling and flying.

A darkness, in my heart, growing.

Sadness started taking over,

Loneliness is my new lover,

I want it all to be over

But letting go I can never.

Whatever I do, feeling lost.

Staying alive, an endless fight.

Always trying to find some light

But I don’t know if it’s worth the cost.

Long ago, my fire stopped burning.

Long ago, dark thoughts appearing. 

Long ago, wills of life fleeing.

Long ago, I started dying.

Image: © Timon Musy

Author: Timon Musy

On the ceiling of a thin plastered cheekbone

03:00 a.m. probably not a Thursday

Fades the shaded reflection of a dim, buzzing streetlamp

On the irises of a non-sleeping amnesiac

“Sing in turn, tomorrow’s a blackout away”

He seems to scream inside his head

Lips half opened

Humming the sound of a dead lightbulb

On the flowing beat of the insomniac cars

That exist but to this only purpose

To give the illusion  a whole world revolves around a center of entropy

The man, is he

The sum of anything that could be

Facing a wall

Sitting as a drunken or erased Buddha

Thinking in spite of all its emptiness

Could that be a man

It could try to be first

A thin crack warns

From it will disappear in a thousand, three hundred and fifty-two years

Mind, wood, and the temple that contains them

Felt it something once it could have been pain

Love

Hatred or indifference pondered in the presence of another pain

Love

Hatred or indifference

Suddenly, a blackout, out of time all clocks considered

Quartz, copper, photon, sun through death sentence

In the harshness of a cold, unwelcoming bed

A tomorrow is sought

Though it is feared, that other self it always brings

The oblivion it shares

The indecency it sweats

The so it is now it imposes

On the sound of a first rain drop

No one is there

On the noise of the flood

All waits and looks, will someone open that door, will someone talk

Of the hive full of smoke, of the other so different

Facing a wall, behind a door, dimly lit by the reflection of a streetlamp on the ceiling

Wondering why the moon and the birds chase each other

Or if the blackout really has to end

Blinding as it is

In all the consistence it possesses

The drunken spoke once: “I heard of a sick medic”

Next thing we know he fainted

Nobody rose him up

He may still be lying there right now

Inflated with water and disillusions

What he meant was never understood

In a small crack on a wall

A train station where people leave but never arrive

Electricity jolts in the wires

As it coughs in a handkerchief the beat of a heart

That exists but to this only purpose

Drowned in a cold bed occupied by a single person

Whose eyes buried in the wrinkles of an unrested trunk

Enlightened by the loss of those who live

Awaits the blackout

Hoping for it to never end

But knowing well that tomorrow is at the window

Bringing oblivion

Until the amnesiac falls again on the head

Image: © Alex Pérez

Author: Alex Pérez

song of adelphity

content warnings: self-harm, description of physical pain

I
it seems to be highly recommended
to have your heart broken
your head broken
maybe your arm even
I’ve tried
but never found a way to be at ease
with the concept of self harm
cells do it enough by themselves

II
have you ever had a headache
a deep profound stomach ache
your period riping off your womb
the teeth coming out
even though you’ve turned 18 a while ago
your bones
your flesh
driving you mad
have you ever felt the pressure
so hard on your weak back
that you felt it was needed to remove all of your fur with the help of cold bands of cheap wax
taking a bit of skin with it
that’s how it goes
have you never had a moment of mourning
thinking back years from now
remembering something gone that left a hole that you thought would never be healed
have you never had someone hurting you more than you ever imagined you could hurt yourself
?

III
everything is left behind
everything is said alright
and if you’re not strong enough for us all
still I will ask you
to listen
to go to the core, to the root and think twice
the how and why
if you have yourself
I will have your back

§
§

the body shape

the body shape
i imagine
i embody the un-other
how far from the sheet
under
i go under way too softly
gentle
i knot my arms
feel the fingers on my back
this may work
i forget whose touch it was
what if
i can reproduce
the softness of uncertainty
the shake
the breath
fall asleep in silence
half awake
i lay still

§
§

there was a window

content warning: description of physical pain

I need to work on my saying skills
to try is not to be nor having any kind of interest towards you or you or you
I do not want to resist
I do not want to get stuck again
a year from now
will the stomach ache be gone
constantly trying to achieve the insatiable fantasy of existing
not even close
I never get the tone right
going out and running till stomach gets ripped out
feet on the ground
my back aches since I can’t move

§
§

somewhere behind your eyes

I would like to write a poem about you
maybe even
poems
about you
if you don’t mind me doing so
I wonder if you hated that I ordered decaf
I couldn’t drink it until it was cold
and I wonder
why I care
when we were drinking coffee I stopped thinking about
the taxes I have to pay
not that it was on my mind before that
but still
I do not know why I see the things you can’t see
you said
you can’t see them in your head
only somewhere behind your eyes
this is not a love poem but
I want to remember how you said it was awkward
how you asked if I had been anxious
and the relief to be able to say
of course
sure I was
it was not because of you
you didn’t ask
I saw the image in my head
so I wouldn’t fear anymore
but you couldn’t
I’ve said why already
before you asked you always said
like a song
can I ask ?
like a poem
I’m sorry I haven’t done the work in other languages yet
do you mind
if I take my time ?
we could keep asking questions and answering with blunt emotion
and make them all think it’s pure theory

Image: ©️ M. A.

Author: M. A.

The lucid idea
that love was merely a concept
ceased to exist
little by little
since the day
our eyes first locked.

Six years
of mutual unconsciousness
of the other’s existence
yet subsisting within
that tangibly close proximity
which served the sole purpose
of leading up to that
one ocular exchange.

It was that prelusive look
we shared
that perpetuated longer
than requisite
and that entailed
a series of events
that shaped our lives
to prevail such as they are
today.

The disappearance
of the butterflies never came,
it was instead superseded
by the feeling
of the ultimate piece in a jigsaw puzzle
slotting immaculately
into its emplacement;
you are everything
I never knew I always needed.

That bittersweet wait
consisted of many
profound twilight discussions,
exchanging innocent affection
and soul-reflective glimpses
into each other’s eyes.

Up to that moment,
I never had desired anything more
profusely than to entrust
my uttermost vulnerable
proof of love
with you.

From the time we took
which claimed the extinct rush
we were never in,
rose up the question;
“why waste the sweetest moments
of falling in love?”

Image: ‘perfectly sugared and glazed crabapple’ © paul+photos=moody. Source

Author: Anonymous

India pale ale

Third-place winner of the poetry competition

Were hectic bitter undertones of a first swig
steadying for the exclamation that our four
feet would trip through an all-nighter and
your former swarm?
Foam swirled into complete ego burial or

the censure of any comparisons stuck on
under chins like unsolicited spittle. One
spewed as fruit flies drowned in drink rings,
plucked, sponged, wiped
away by bartenders with the promise of a

blithe night, so to relinquish limerence was the
embrace of scarce sweet nothings as I secured
hair you once adulated from streams of bile and
the sticky grips of duplicitous people. Outside,

our collective reeling did not wane with the ease
of moons, yet we were tethered to your unrestrained
insistence it would pass. Just as one announces that
all the pigeons are vanishing from town tomorrow.

§
§

To come to a crabapple’s aid

Tannic throughout, the orchard’s
horse marine, a tart fruit scattered
across threadbare canvases of

eroded soil can be saved from
composting neglect in the shrubbery’s
shade. Chopped, it froths and slushes

above warm pans, strained for juice
then boiled into jelly. Perhaps that
seemingly unpalatable character

waits upon a baker’s time with the
heat of stovetop endeavors, before
revealing their sweet ambrosia.