Summer Feature 2# + Hiatus

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insomniaplague's avatar
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Atlantis, Bone FlowersYou will be mapped
and marked and manifested,
unmarred and bare
through the days where
my heart burned for the sea
to uncoil itself
from the tides
and bury you skin deep
fissure thick
when your lungs learn
to surrender.
And you will stay
in the silence.
Ruins.
Nothing but ruins
the scorching summer sun
won't wash clean.
The architecture
of your bone-wrapped
frame
will not be the pillars
of your heart,
but the downfall of
your embodied
spirit, a soul left to
wander through the sediments
of rain and dust
and sand
while Time
whispers an ode to every
inch of hairline
falling from your scalp
(you will be valued
for everything
but forgotten,
like nothing).
by :iconbrokengod--veins: creates a fantastic image of the cycle of mortality that moves into a metaphor.

Trickling Airthe Cloud Recliner - northwest in summer,
gasps and sputters while watching its
stuffing spill distilled water; overcast.
and it thinks of Man, waiting to drink the
air out of Cloud's kinks (the Earth moves)
when condensation soaks floating vapor.
no one is there to drown in Cloud's air that
trickles sunward without a care,
coating the damp, cramped Earth with its last breath.
                                   air
                                ↗      ↘
                        Cumulus  inhales
                                ↖      ↙
                                  water
by :iconnosedivve: is an absolutely brilliant piece featuring a stunning ending, a brilliant rhyme scheme, and a curious idea.

Unheard of and undefinedSometimes,
I have this sudden impulse to
bite off my tongue.
It wasn't made for
pretty words and kept promises
in the first place.
Back to back and
straight on til daybreak,
our soliloquy seems never ending.
You laugh,
I wince;
I whisper,
you interrogate.
When was the last time
you remembered to cry for all the broken hearts
that were not your own?
by :iconlupus-astra: leaves you with such a feeling of emotional intensity, it's literally breathtaking.

PuddleLook deeply
as the trees
who have
no eyes -
see me
reflected
in the skies...
A sad
disguise.
by :icongudrun355: is a beautiful piece with an interesting rhyme.

Gardening for dummiesHer head is a flowery poem,
filled with pots and weeds
and mother earth
dug deep in roots and taciturn.
Now no one will come near,
but she has thorns
and worm-filled words,
and a spade for planting
the lesser verse…
but the loneliness
she buries
beneath roots and words
and stanza stems
until it digs ant tunnels
to resurface
again.
by :iconnullibicity: forms a intriguing image of a poet, in the form of something that is nearly synonymous with the art.

arrested.{ two kids who can't share toys, )
knees to the ground, all skinned and
young blood.
bad things die too early, it was my
ticking time bomb on the playground.
everyone calls me murderer, but all i did
was fall into the sand pit and only
three drinks of poison later found myself
pinching you over a plastic fire fighter.
don’t, please, dig me out of the grave.
didn't you see me trying so hard to
bury my blistered body six feet under?
{ two kids who can’t share toys, me and my nightmare. }
by :iconghearradh: is a work that is both cryptic and comprehensible, with a title, at least to me, that turns a whole new spin on this "childhood memory."

:thumb375192450: by :iconlacewinged-beauty: is an absolutely glorious work of art; every line seems one of those especially "good bits."

justi am everything i never wanted to be.
it's funny to realize,
five years ago i would've looked at me and thought,
"you
are the worst kind
of lost because you don't even know it,"
and now,
i see that's what i was before.
but i'm still just a fraction
of an idea
that tries so hard to show itself.
others say
i should
speak louder,
sing louder,
just
be
louder;
but i was born with vocal cords covered in
bubble wrap.
my fingers curled in,
with my arms pushing against my chest
in an x
because it marked the spot
i often fight to fill,
while
everyone else was armed with pitchforks and shovels and i clutched tightly
with my fingernails
and screamed
at the moon's blood-orange light
that ran into my mouth and down my throat to bloat
and scrape
and carve its name into the nest of space that was meant for my heart.
i am
not
a work of art
just a work of the everything's wrong in this time;
just a girl
born with just enough
to want a taste of love
from
and for the world.
by :iconhfeather53: works an entry to a contest I am sure she will win, with all the grace and brutal honesty instilled within.

--

I'll be at Shenandoah valley for the next week. See you guys on the 8th (or, maybe later, since I have a birthday party and 3 graduations the 8th through the 9th.)
© 2013 - 2024 insomniaplague
Comments26
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nosedivve's avatar
Aww, thank you so much for the feature!! :love:

You put in some really lovely pieces in this feature, and I'm honored to be among them.

I hope you enjoy the parties and graduations!!