deluge

march sun’s
false intentions barely hold
the wind at bay

spring (before the bugs invade) is sitting outside in sun and shade and listening to the early birds and wind rustled leaves, watching clouds against budding trees

i never quite understood an earthquake swarm until i saw them laid out on a map

I'm fairly certain there's more to this one, but I just don't have it tonight.

we know how to duck and cover, but not how to escape the water
(wars happen in famine or feast and
we are all caught in between)

my absolute favorite is #1. I love the first line so much <3

i used to write [poems, letters] to the future i thought i wanted
that falls faster through my fingers no matter how i hold it
until nothing quite resembles the dreams i told myself
and i don’t recognise me in the illusion

#5
i dream sometimes, in triplets my fingers aren’t nimble enough to play at tempo


#6
i forget sometimes that not everything needs to be trimmed to its essence and sometimes beauty is better than function
but sometimes it’s all i can do to handle the essence
and give beauty a pass.

Ahhh number 6! I know it's probably unrelated, but I come out of an architectural background, and people there are always talking about function vs beauty, and they have all these very grandiose ideas about why minimalism is good for society and whatever.

Anyway I have read a lot of self-important theory papers about essence and function and beauty and truth, and you have, in the most succinct and relatable way, described exactly what a lot of modern theorists have tried and failed to say about beauty and form. I want to print this out very large and put it somewhere.

10/10 Struck me through the heart. I love it.

we live in a land of earthquakes and fire -
what everyone forgets is they both mark endings and beginnings
creating their own renewal

the definition of humanity is still living where the potential of destruction outweighs the odds:
whether or not you plan for the rebuilding or curse someone else for not doing it for you is politics

april can’t decide if it’s still winter, or the start of summer.

why yes, it's the start of my annual complaining about the weather poetry! april is great, yo

sometimes i want to be done with gentle breezes and sunny skies:
give me the turbulence
potential
of a raging thunderstorm
(the ones we only get maybe once every other year) -
you can’t enjoy the peace
if it’s all you know

I love the strong images at the heart of such tiny poems. The brevity makes them feel vital and desperate, like the last scraps of some lost civilization, if that makes sense! Or like little flowers that preserve a piece of a big flowering bush.

quiet chaos lies in the unnamed

there are only so many times

there’s only so many unaligned pieces my expression of ocd can handle before the quiet chaos of an unmade bed and stacks on a desk cause more anxiety than -

Thanks!

This poem... started a few times, and never quite got off the ground, so have my attempts at doing something with a phrase that works, but nothing else did. I may come back to this later.