Sipping my tea, here I am wishing a very happy and prosperous new year to all. I hope you all work harder this year, laugh harder and be more kind to everyone around you especially yourself!
Having said that I would like to start this post with a positive approach for my baby that is Olive skins. I am all ready to start it with new hope and zeal. Last year actually did not go well personally at all, it made me stronger though to deal with my things consciously.
So once again, my that poetry page is all ready to welcome your contemporary, surrealistic poems. I also would welcome any suggestions at @email@example.com. If you wish to join this baby venture as a member, contributor, you are more than welcome!
You can check out my website here and get started with it. This month, there is no theme for the submissions so you can play with your thoughts, creativity and what not!
Temperature as high as this pain,
grief: a dialogue now between this sour body.
A sinister talk to my mind,
threads of summer bright,
Yes, understand this poem now
understand the grief behind the back,
the bareback of velvet love,
the river madness,
my body shuddering like a torn piece of cloth
to miss your teeth on my chest,
your breath on my bosom.
Understand this departure, as well.
I remember the absurdness of clouds spread over my head, hovering. Blue lilies dancing in the sky. A quiet place of porous Gods. I would stare at the sky, releasing my chemical reactions in the thin air. My orange vase neck, oscillating between the concrete human eye and the prism of soil. I would name it Illusion.
Phonetic switch of moonflowers and blurred windowpanes. I saw it all.
At times, I would be a God myself, walking through the soil where the humans sew each other, excavating noises. Annihilation of a cold muse in the sky.
There are shapes and humans walking up above, flickering heir worldly eyes. I have it all,
in my pockets full of moaning psalms,
rolling down my sliding cheeks.
I carry a piece of everything, everywhere I travel.
Where does it go?
Your unspoken word of lust,
an ensemble of parched dancing words,
Do you let them run?
Or do you absorb the guilt, like a sponge?
Harvest the other sides of pixie lawn now,
Run… run along the shores
embossing a pain onto the sand.
Among the stars is a paper flower blooming,
with a binomial tongue to speak.
The star and the earth do not suffice your sparkle.
Pelican featured sunset glows.
Slurp and slurp.
The agony hides behind the crevices of teeth.
Churn your fear like a betel leaf,
Take a flight,
Like the bunch of sun-kissed memories.
Observe the faint freckles between my fingers,
the red polka dot- a hum of my quiet anger,
slithering like thin sheets between two mouths.
lips- a place of complete soliloquy.
What do I see here?
A place of delusional spots,
hallucinations about a place like home.
So, I form a lotus with my hands,
a shape so pure, spitting shades of anger,
spitting again and again.
i form an Ode to the poetry,
through my index fingers, pastel skin blooming
and my knuckles rather happy.
This is a song I create, with a chest- brown light.
not everything stays.
Not people or letters.
i wrap my red poems amidst my lashes
and knitting them in my womb.
Something shall stay,
Here, amidst the wild eyes.
So, I have been missing from WordPress from like an eternity due to certain reasons. I havent read anything here. I have missed reading and posting my poems both. I am just dropping a Hi here to know how things have been with you guys. I hope everything is going well with everyone.
Will be posting some poems soon.
olive skins accepting submissions- https://oliveskins.com/
Meanwhile, you can read my poems on my insta handle @myvaliantsoul.
there is absolutely an archaic music ruffling in my ear,
I call it home.
wrapping a ceremony around my waist.
There is belongingness to this body,
with nature being receptive of my patterns.
A short, polka dot marrying the tablecloth.
the small details that you often ignore.
And I surrender my eyes, amongst the worldly chaos.
The chopping of walnuts, the breaking of my patient knuckles,
as if waiting desperately for something abnormal to occur.
Raindrops/ a plural form of tears.
or a. singular verb. to soothe the reaction of popping pills.
I rest my fingertips,
whirling blue pain,
as heavy a s a cotton ball
on the drops of this waterfall.