your life is not a museum;
it’s an archeological dig
they can order it when you’re gone
with monuments and letters carefully packaged away
but not today.
Calling all poets.
September 1 marks the start of spring, here, in Australia.
Submit your springtime poetry for the first 30 days of September and tag it “springtimeseptember”.
I shall be tracking this and at the end of it all, there shan’t be prizes. Instead, a chance to interact with new poets and read the works of others; a prize in itself.
Spread the word, wonderful writers.
there’s an ad on tv advertising soap
and i pretend i don’t see how flaky cracks spread across smooth surfaces
through the smallest of touches
what a pretty lie,
to be white and soft and beautiful in your hands
what a pretty lie i am
"Something in me vibrates to a dusky, dreamy smell of dying moons and shadows."
to find glory in pane
can you imagine what it would be like to kick back,
fling your fist in defiance in a state of
crumble the earth in your fingertips because it is a dream more vivid than god’s own—
this is semi-permenance:
tall buildings pained,
glass houses paned with heavy windows that reach to heaven only to be shattered by angels who fear their own reflections and see the devil instead like a stain,
oh, i wish i was immortal
but those who become dust and sand reflect celestial bodies
so i do not need to be.
push me into space and i will leave you too
i am saturnine,
heavy eyes and somber—
perhaps i exaggerate
but at least i do not pretend
to be fifty leagues deeper in space
when i am losing air along with flight-mates
to my own misdeeds
see, when you are haunted by your own misgivings
i begin to wonder if you’ve forgotten the ground beneath your feet
and if we could walk on the moon
would you push me off too?
i found gravity in the cracks of a man
a giant who lay in a tomb so vast we called him an island
and travelled eleven straight hours with an empty sail
to bathe in his quiet waters
i stood upon his shoulders
in reverence, my toes curled towards holy ground
for i had never met a god so lonely as he who felt my emptiness and called it his
and when i say i found gravity in the cracks
i mean i found a grave
and a deep quiet
and it was my own.