Page is from Around the World in 80 Days byJules Verne
alliyah's poetry album
113 posts in this topic.
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This didn't really go how I wanted it to bahaha so I added some silly doodles-pretties to spice it up.
Page is from Around the World in 80 Days byJules Verne -
Love the nature theme! The large space between "In the midst of" and "rest" is somehow fitting
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thanks @Liminality! Blackout poetry definitely creates a unique sense of pacing.
family photos
"son threshing in harvest"
another label lacking clarity,
inviting story-making
to fill in all the gaps when
I keep asking where I came from
whose son are you, little boy?
who ironed your coveralls
and combed your hair?
did the rake you carry blister
your hands or were they calloused
already from years of work,
were you proud of the dust under
your finger nails, is it somehow
the same dirt under my feet?
why are you working here;
separating grain from chaff
harvest fruit from weed?
did your mom scrawl the words
on the back of the picture? what
was she meaning to save? was
it for me? or for you? how many
years are you gone, were the
years you lived long like the summer
sun, or short like rain season?
how many people ever told
you they loved you? or did they
say such things, back then? it's
a little cliche these days to say
except in poetry, but I have to
believe whoever saved your picture
must have loved you, so
in some way I guess I do too.
my son threshing in harvest,
help me sort out all this
grain from chaff, and truth from
story, I want to know who we are. -
more monthly musings
june 6.14.20
the summer air is filled with more insects
than souls, the hush-snap of their wings
become a rainstorm we are wading
through, this must be what the ocean
feels like for a grain of sand; infinite
but only in its entirety.
prompt: firework - metaphor
july 7.7.20
july is a firework,
darting across the sky, boasting our
impermanence a moment savored then
gone too soon, leaving, always leaving;
leaving the day behind before my skin
is used to the cool of the river water, leaving
my bed in the middle of night to catch fireflies
in my hands; something to remind me i was awake,
or that i was alive, leaving all the stray rocks
i collect on the edge of my desk, because i'm afraid
of leaving the earth with only my bones attached
so i want these pebbles to weigh me down,
keep me from floating away with the driftwood,
leaving all my hopes latched to dandelion feathers,
and hoping one of us finds our way to the sun,
because light moves too fast in july,
and before i can ever breathe,
it's already gone. -
follow the sun 7.16.20
we became migratory birds
leaving, returning, eternally
unrooted to the earth;
balancing wings on thin air
home only in our feathers
trying not to fall -
I am somewhat sorry that this exists, but I did want to try the prompt so here it is! xD
follow the bees 8.10.20
Prompt: nonsense phrases
you'll catch more vinegar
with bees, they know where
we hide everything we're
not allowed to say, but if
the cat gives you back
your tongue, you should run
and never look back because
some people aren't worth dying
for and cats have nine lives,
so teach her to fish, and let
her be, let her live, become a
bumble bee and learn where
all the pigs flew to, it's the only way
to leave this world alive. -
prompt -> poem with strong sense of voice, yep I feel like this sounds like a lot of poems I've written before.
anticipatory grief 8.20.20
i'm not sure i remember rightly who you were
something about hurricanes and a thousand
raindrops pretending they could stop an ocean
you were too out of control, wild and carefree,
and i'm not brave enough for unpredictable,
so i stayed indoors while everything changed
and waited out the sun, i don't like being suprised
with my disappointments - so i always count raindrops
before the creek floods over and i know exactly
how many steps it takes to leave me behind, and
i forget why i'm in love right before the storm starts. -
prompt-> something ordinary
roadkill poetry, part iii 8.22.20
pull that shell off your back,
become a lute, you armadillo,
your fate is tied up in this dust bowl
and you will become soup
or music, so don't worry much,
we're all roadkill, but not all of us
get a chance to sing. -
august plagues 8.27.20
The rain is here
from hurricane runoffs
we are 300 miles safe, yet
prayers echo through the gutter,
pooling in the street, tapping quick at
my window, streaming rivlets around tires;
lament already soaking
parched soil. -
From Liminality's prompt -> "quilt blanket"
things i learn to love about my grandmother in hindsight 9.9.20
you got the sense that she probably told the sun
when it was time for the day's work to be done -
her skin told her story clear; too many days
with too little rest, you could see worry etched
into her smile, even young - a strange expression
to find saved in a photo album, but somehow
it gives me peace - to know the weight
against her strength. she was always
like a well-loved quilt; too weathered to be
so unexpectedly warm. -
rabbit trolls 9.14.20
don't get lost in rabbit trolls, they're a wild goose
you don't even know where you're going here,
what's their name? you're becoming overly sentimental,
like four orange slices cut out of an overgrown watermelon
and i couldn't be happier with your decision, except
i'm very disappointed that you thought you needed to tell me
why there aren't any fifth tuesdays in july, i can't understand
and i choose not to, but there's only one way to grow a cat
out of a forest, you plant every seed you can find and abandon
it to approximately 135 degrees and if that doesn't sound like
happiness i don't think you'll ever find it, we're only one sunset
away from living here if you don't lose your left sock in the drier
but that's becoming almost a cliche thing to say, and i admit
we're not writing under the carpet anymore like we used to,
no one does, and it's not my fault, it's probably an HR problem
on your end, signals lost you know? but we're still going to meet
next week and there's going to be cake i marked off stamps on
the calendar and there's a no return policy behind the brick house
you're going to want to take a left, but not until after labor day. -
I love what you did with the quilt blanket prompt, @alliyah! And 'rabbit trolls' is so interesting. It's got this mix of absurdist imagery ("orange slices out of a watermelon" is my fave <3) and workplace-speak that kind of reminds me of the idiom poem you did a while back.
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thanks again @Liminality! <the orange slices out of a watermelon is also my favorite !! I'm digging the absurdist poetry lately because it definitely lets you just play with words and phrasing in new ways>
tornado man, i know you well 10.11.20 - weather / spook prompt
whisper caught; suspended - half in the air,
not fully formed - a suspicion really, that we've
met somewhere else before, only neither of us
can remember; no lack of sobriety - only wispy
thinking, only drunk on memories with a little too much
hope to drink / shaken; love? no dear, i'm not that naive, i
just know fate tied us together in some other
universe - where; did you say you were from? again,
i don't listen to your answer, because i'm
still turning your name over in my mouth, and
anyways, we already know each other; reincarnation
to the tune of tornado sirens, weren't you / running somewhere
when you left, and the roof caved in crushing / spinning air,
memories in whispers all too intangibly-entangled not to cause damage; and there you were carrying - a great many pieces of you,
i know i buried myself; under rubble before i could see
where you ever went, i'm scared of ghosts; so i become one
before they can haunt; my dreams - is that where we / met
maybe, you passed through asking for directions; got lost
when i could only think of space in terms of constellations
we couldn't reach; - it's strange. i guess, you know? but,
this is probably the most convenient time to say our good byes,
again; or anew - before things get too complicated. -
sorry for the notifs, i managed to post this twice with the wrong spelling of "borrowed" @_@
[color=darkcyan]eponymous - november 2020, definition poem
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Love how you formatted the list poem like a dictionary entry, especially with the ie. marking the shifts in perspective. It is a wonderful way to convey ambivalence about a subject.
"a name is a poor substitute for a person" --> love this line <3
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