New Poets On Tumblr - Tumblr Posts - Page 2
"I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself."
Franz Kafka
Texting sucks, lets have deep conversations and roll on the grass instead.
Hands are unbearably beautiful, they hold on to things they let things go.
What should i do with these hands if they can’t hold you?
Give me your hands
My soul will sleep inside of them
Inside of them my soul will sleep for eternity
Her hand in mine and in my chest a garden.
But i still don’t know how to hold your hand without reading the ugliness of my own, but i can’t contain my soul from enveloping yours!
I clung to your hands so that something human might exist in the chaos.
I don’t know what to do without you, i don’t know where to put my hands.
This is what i like about photographs- they are proof that once, even if just for a heartbeat, everything was perfect.
Jodi Picoult
Where are you?
You were everywhere All over my mind, soul and heart.
The shining sky, The warmth of my coffee, The melody of the ocean, The blankets whom used comfort me, It all feels foreign.
Even my words, making me a fool. My pen falling from my hands, It was not the moon, sky, ocean or even my books; my legacy. It was you, my muse.
In the radiating gleam of the moon, There you stand breathtakingly. Occupying my mind, Blurring my thoughts.
-Hydra Lowe
Yalnızlığımı sayfalara doldurdum
Kaçıyordum her şeyden Yalnızlığımdan, İsteklerimden, Hayalleriminden, Eleştirilerden, Bakışlarından, En çokta o acı gerçeklerden; Hayatımı her gün zehreden, Beni mutsuzluk dolu bir geleceğe iten, Hayallerimin karşısında nutkunun tutulduğu, Bunaltıcı sorularımın üzücü cevaplarını benliğinde saklayan o gerçekler
Neden hayallerim yetmedi? Niçin uzaklaşamadım onlardan? Sadece uzaklaşıp mutlu olmak istedim Kabullendim de, denedim Acısa da denedim Ama… her kabullenişim sadece yastığımın duyduğu hıkçırıklarla bitti
-Hydra Lowe
Mister Copenhagen
Coarse cheeks have been plowed with the frail frost of the night.
Arteries are meek
no noise abrades your ears
no breath breaks the common air of gloom
no seagulls inhale the salty perfumes
and then it dies.
The New Port awakens, still rusty from sleep
the lucent colors of the olden abodes flood into your eyes
the sovereign sunlight dares to creep
he is alive.
An olden viking pride streams in the blood of the city’s gorge
ebbs onto the delicate Little Mermaid’s feet
and the cobblestones begin to bustle
the herd of the North Shop have to be rustled
impatient ties of the center hustle.
His mind’s roadways are sweltering
utterly overpowering
swirling around drunkenly
in the carousels of Tivoli
and the blazing wind comes in
whipping his bones.
Yet
The Langebro
is forging its shadow
loyal to its vow to the languorous sun
too indolent to rise after a never-ending summer.
His eyes become heavy
He asks his brother Stockholm
if his veins were again empty.
The city gradually plummets into a slumber
but the Odin nestled in the muscles of Copenhagen
continues to wander.
© Margaux Emmanuel
scared & scarred
Lying on the couch, scared of dying sane, drowning in spicy leather. Hungry fingers are yellow, but there are no cigarettes to be smoked. The thirsty throat burns, but there is nothing left to drink. To heal. Postponed trials leave bruises, but there are no words to be spoken. Letting the sun descend, afraid of heresy, breathing thoughts to be condemned.
© Margaux Emmanuel
the bus
Doleful faces at the bus stop. I was one of them. The clouds were vehemently spitting thick rain, smiting the cobblestones of the streets, and trickling down our wan faces. Drowsy, I closed my eyes and let the cadenced sound of the rain lull me to sleep. Alas, the bus of perdition came. I never dared to get out.
© Margaux Emmanuel
vacant soul
Suffocating in between four walls
empty
But inside me breathes
an untamed waterfall
clemency
in a timeless room
waiting to pull the trigger
around noon
children scream
stuck in a dark daydream
pills flow out the cracks of the door
while I am dead, suspiring on the floor.
© Margaux Emmanuel
wannabe ghosts
Specters
fruits of crossroads
wilt from bruises
deep rivulets
wrinkles carved into her face
hungrily
smile at the lost muses
nebulous eyes
hunted
haunted by ghosts
virile oaths crumble to lies
piteous floorboards are waxed
feverishly
discoloring jeans
a discolored organ pumps blood
mechanically
the door will open
free a flood
yet
a fire alights
begins to kindle in her lungs
reminds her
of all their damned tongues
forgotten Prozac
unearths an amnesiac
she gets up
discovers the phantoms’ tombs
abandoning her scars, she runs
realizing that there’s much more to a woman
than a lifetime
of sewing the dead’s
loose thread
© Margaux Emmanuel
a bird’s haiku
Serenading sky drunken poet in disguise clouds blinded by lies.
© Margaux Emmanuel
sit on a tree, free
Tagging the streets with trembling hands, afraid he’ll break the lace.
Digging in the wind with trembling hands, knowing he’ll capture my pace.
Flirting with bridges with trembling hands, laughing
he’ll remember this face.
My hands stopped trembling
it’s a chase
I whispered
the agony of the race.
© Margaux Emmanuel
watercolors
A failing heart is brushed with the dust of silence
a shadowed mind shudders at a patient blindness
an orphaned violence
the whistle of our thoughts trickle
drip
while I fill the crevices in the canvas
with the remaining paint of your dying lips
for no sane words can describe my heart
sailing these fugitive waves
too strong for art.
© Margaux Emmanuel
howls of the lost lunatic
the ecstasy of forgotten time
of the void impalpable by feeling
of this cavity in my heart
this disaccord of light
that bleeds through the dark
that touches the depths of these caved in walls
that touches despair’s budding shadow
soaked in this arid guilt
while we’re pushed in the gulf of hysteria
searching for the words
to our own lost poetry.
© Margaux Emmanuel
kaleidoscope
The wrinkles of youth were playing
in the garden of adolescence
where stubborn roots make their way through infinite bouquets
of blades of grass
piercing the innocence of the horizon
wandering hearts
that have bled before
meet in this verdure
to bleed together
while we wait for a boat on the shore of a lake
on the shore of life
to come retrieve yesterday’s dew
because the unspoken’s remains
dwell in us
dismantle us
at every quiver of the waves
at every shiver of the waves
pieces of faith bloom
only to fade
when will the flower skim the greenery?
© Margaux Emmanuel
bullet eclipse
an asylum for doubt
a saturated drought
where your eyes spiral down
my arteries
unspoken words amble upon a shard
of reason
of treason
inoculation
against melancholia
palpitations
holding hands with dementia
I can now hear
the moans of hysteria
© Margaux Emmanuel
bittersweet
Swirling in the ashes of honey, I awake crying under a bridge. A blur of roses forcefully blooms in my lips letting faraway delusions plague me in the twilight. When the crepuscule flees while passionately kissing the horizon, when there is nothing to write, nothing right and nothing to feel, where do the lonely petals of sentiment go? The scream of silence reigns, misunderstood. My reflection in a tearful cup of tea has suddenly dulled reality.
© Margaux Emmanuel
Accountability
Fuck you to death Mark Timmins You pleasureless bastard Go find a fucking king To die for Go find out What it means to truly love Stop hiding In the waiting The shadow That your well-crafted Cynicism casts Cannot shield your fragile heart From the burning bright light That pulsates From the unchallenged Pointlessness of existence Forever Get out there And fuck some shit up
𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗠𝗮𝗻𝘂𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗽𝘁 𝗻𝘂𝗺𝗯𝗲𝗿 (𝗰𝗼𝗿𝗿𝘂𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗱 ) :: 𝗘𝗿𝗼𝗼𝘁𝗶𝗰 𝗺𝗲𝗹𝗼𝗱𝗶𝗰 𝗺𝗲𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗹𝗶𝗰 . . .
𝗛𝗲 𝗯𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 𝗺𝗲 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗔𝗺𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝗰𝗼𝘀𝗺𝗶𝗰 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲
𝗢𝗻 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗹𝗶𝗽𝘀 𝗜 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗹𝗼𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗮 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝗴𝗮𝗹𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗰 𝘀𝗲𝗻𝘀𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀
𝗜 𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘀𝗲 𝘀𝗲𝗻𝘀𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗵𝗶𝘀, 𝗜 𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗜 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗽𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗹𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲
𝗡𝗼𝗻-𝗲𝘅𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲, 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗽𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀, 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗮 𝗴𝗶𝗳𝘁
𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗔𝗺𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝗰𝗼𝘀𝗺𝗶𝗰 𝘀𝗲𝗻𝘀𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗲,𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗶𝗽𝘀 𝗼𝗻 𝗺𝘆 𝗹𝗶𝗽𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗲
𝗔𝗹𝗹 𝗜 𝗳𝗲𝗹𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗺𝗲, 𝗶𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗺𝘆 𝗲𝗴𝗼 𝗼𝗽𝗽𝗼𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗺𝘆 𝗯𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘀𝘁𝘀𝗜𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗺𝘆 𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗰𝗿𝘂𝘀𝗵𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝗻 𝗺𝘆 𝗯𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘀𝘁𝘀
𝗔𝗹𝗹 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝘀𝗼 𝗵𝗼𝘁, 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗮 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗺 𝘀𝗸𝗶𝗻 𝗮𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗻𝘀𝘁 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗲
𝗝𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗺𝘆 𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗯𝗼𝗶𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝘀 𝗶𝘁 𝗯𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗸𝘀 𝗳𝗿𝗲𝗲
!!:: this is an original text written by me Etheny :: !!