PoetryForHumans

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Welcome, humans!

We are still sort of feeling out the shape of this thing, but here are a few basic guidelines:

1. Poetry only! No prose, sorry.

2. Anyone with poetry in their gallery is welcome to join, but all submissions will be voted on individually.

3. One submission per category/folder per day.

4. Please, do not submit to the 'Featured' folder, it's for poems that have been featured in our journals only.

5. We don't currently provide critique on submissions, declined or approved.

6. English only, please.

7. (No robots.)

Gallery Folders

Featured

the Alistair Codexa book that's long and low
of red and green semaphores
in black sunset skeletons
of cracked desert asphalt
of cool green ivy
of an old canoe in a deep Wyeth meadow
of early Friday summer afternoons
of memories of men who had memories of Lincoln's men
of beat-up old family guitars
of Western songs derived from bloodlines that include
Wishing You Were Here, Heartlight, and You're No Good
of pipesmoke drifting
across a covered porch in a summer rain
of playing horseshoes
with Mark Twain, Boucicaut, and Tutankhamen

of soothing strains of Django Reinhardt
flowing from a Victrola in an abandoned Oregon farmhouse
of dozing in a northern motel room
while an old movie plays on TV
of running wide-open through the desert in an old Cadillac
of a stateroom on the Normandie
of sabre-toothed tigers in an Old Florida tea-room
of Northern Lights on Isle Royale
of copper sunsets in 19th century towns like
Duluth, MN; St. Joseph, MO; and Milwaukee,

Let goI’m trying
not to look at you,
or the fading
of my scars.

I’m trying
not to see
how simple
it has all become.

I’m trying
not to see
the signs,
or how everything
has shifted
to let the rainbows
seep through.

Follow
the rumor
of our stars,
through
the veiled horizon,
where the bloodied shroud
sears through
to lay bare,
the stain
that sits upon
my soul,
pairing
your own.

Will you step closer
to see
the light
of our reflection?

Will you finally let go?

The MomentThere was that moment
I thought you would change it all
Damn, how right I was

ReclamationSpringtime,
My goldmine
Of poetry
And quicklime.

Like April showers
Growing flowers
On the graves
Of bad times.

Featured

Free Verse

early nightsonly in sleepcan I speak through the staticstretched diaphanousin fact it's justthe mind plays tricksout of habitand I'm old hat(love) I knowthatbut the flame'sunextinguished each distant starstill being mapped.unskinned (I remain) a torchlonginglitand adoring

somethingdream impending stormsevery night ohevery night (the)sky isholdinglight againdon't shakewith memylove

grief,we named you Sorenand let your golden curlsgrow longlet you toddlein the orchardgumming fruitchildi wish i knewyour favorite coloror where your plum treewould have grownwish i could have drunkthe honeyed weeksyou would have bought usfrom the grimgriefi see that cheshire grinworn soft on a new facehear little feetthat would have runinto the curtainsif i’d let them kick aroundinside my ribsif i hadn’t swallowed hopeof better daysof changeif hadn’t choked downbitter truthsand bled

all ineffably preciousI want to know youwhen we are oldstill wrappedin your blanketof starslostin the lightof you.I'd like to teachmyselfnew wordsinvent themlike you invented mebut I stuttereverythingblueand paint thesesilent portraitsendlesslyand I can notimaginemy heartwithoutmy heartcan not stopthe dream of youloveyou areso far beyondmy bloodyou are stillthe brightestthingI've ever seen

Free Verse

Fixed Form

creatureBrothers and sisters, let me set the scenefor a nightmarish creature so foul & obscenethat penning this poem makes me want to scream,but the timing is perfect - for it's Halloween.So, if we must, let's just start at the topof his oversized skull with his unruly mopof so-called hair the no-color of duston a fissured scalp peeling & leaking out pus. His locks wind 'round horns, they're teeming with germs,and look more like the husks of a million dead worms.You've heard of bats in the belfry? Well, it's not just a phrase;small ones nest in his curls to hide from the sun's rays.One more word on his noggin, for this must be said:it's ten times the girth of a normal-sized head.And if I haven't yet made the case for distaste,let's move to the horror this thing calls a face.Skin's the color of pumpkins dying a slow deathor a failing sun breathing its very last breath.Brows like hairy slugs perched on orangey doughcrown flat yellow eyes peeking out just below.Those beady orbs nestled in pouches and foldsof flesh home to all sorts of fungus and molds.I suppose that's a nose next up on the list,but it's rotting & roaches peer out through the slits.Lips: scaly twin creatures all coated in muck,like two lizards who crawled in some mud and got stuck.Yes, his mouth is a marvel of nature's mistakes.He has not one tongue - he has twelve made of snakes.Oh, that slithering nest-hole just can't resiststriking at themselves as they writhe and they hiss.And it's best if we speak even less of his teeth,but they're green as the serpents who sleep underneath.Now, we've seen enough here, so we shall beginto speak of the mess under his bulbous chin.And what appears next is not what you'd expect,but two giant flaps like his neck... ate his neck.His dermis is saggy, his guts are all storedin a carcass that's shaped like some mutated gourd.Yet he wears tailored suits, expensive and finethat cling to limbs clunky and elephantine.At the end of each arm is a claw like a crab.The horrid appendages pinch and they grab.He keeps them well sharpened and shined to a sheen,but they are so small they can hardly be seen.This would be almost a humorous twist,if only this beast didn't really exist.His mountainous legs suffer from the same flaws,capped off in feet as tiny as his claws.His whole frame reeks of sulfur. He's covered in grime.He leaves a lingering trail of malodorous slime.This journey, I know's been an unpleasant one.Dear reader, hang in there. We are almost done.He lives in the depths of an ill-smelling bog,shrouded at all times in a venomous fog.Lit by giant mushrooms with an unearthly glow,a sick, swampy kingdom where twisted things grow.A pestilent monarch, he squats on his throne;sips gallons of blood from a goblet of bone.His subjects are legion, they flock to his side;all manner of ghouls that the heart can't abide.There's a pale hateful zombie, who's bedecked in flies,and humanoid shape that has fanged mouths for eyes.There's a three-headed harpy who screams at the sunand a man-eating frog that weighs nearly a ton.One could spend forevertrying to describethe monsters that make up his hideous tribe.But our time draws to a close, my stalwart friends.Lock your doors, say your prayers -for this is THE END.

fragmentgalaxies could fall in thiswhere i swim in circlesand we both drown

NaPoWriMo 2020 Day 16: I to YouI
will trace
your footsteps
backward in time,
second by second,
pausing at every frame
to capture your breaths - inhale -
exhale and reach for your heartbeat
so I can feel it before it stops -
to memorize all of you in snapshots,
because your time has already run out,
and no matter what I desire,
you are gone from me forever.
But your imprint still remains -
dearly then will I hold
all you left behind.
This I promise -
never to
forget
you.

lyridso
tonight
I will chase
and collect those
falling stars, while I'm
already half-wrapped in
a wish. love, I would make them
all gifts to a gift. although the
galaxy's set them adrift, I would
gather each flickering meteor stream,
place them by your bedside, so you can wake
to a dream - to all that you're longing
for. love, you're all that I dreamt of
and more. (you are wishes made
and granted by the score.)
so tonight I will
chase and collect
those falling
stars... for
you.

Fixed Form

Visual and Found Poetry

NaPoWriMo 2020 Day 20: Homemade Gift by MysticSparkleWings

Visual and Found Poetry

Collaborations

garden goalsto please the bees and
birds, as well as butterflies
(and to please my eyes)

mutable curiositysynthesis, we've made our match
this was better when we were hand to hand
the gaps between your grammar and skin
kept me en pointe, and you looked as if
the kisses were more than simple clues
to the hidden truth of your dialect
and I starved for the words you'd lisp
your moon eclipsed by plumes of lust
could only reflect what the hands allowed
grasping hungrily at your fastened mouth
but these flames that seared the flesh
will wane, I've learned, and simmer down
to finally expose the gleam I dread
so when our fingers unlace the braid
of how we sought to cool our thirst
from the same pining I lit you with,
the pool of light run dry and dull
the fading of your clumsy speech
will come as no surprise at all to me
but some nights, in a drunken haze
of memory entwined with dream,
I'll set the clock against a mirror
to watch as time turns on its head
as time runs backwards to the space
where you're unknowable again

Collaborations

Haiku and Eastern

08.04.20no matter the stormyou'll always have an anchorour lifeline remains

housekeepingtransience beckonslike the train slides off the bridgedown into the lake

love languageslaughs in the kitchenthree timers and two kissesthe cookies are done

summerlingghosts speak in cricketssummoning sweat, breaking tidesbringing colors home

Haiku and Eastern

Experimental

internal love algorithm fragments<span id="safe">cats</span>
<span id="dangerous">humans</span>

alaska / from forever agoyou say there are only two types of cold: in one
a shadow hangs on your bones like an old ghost /
the other is a color or stillness or both.
watch how the sky bleeds into horizon:

abcand almost anyone
broken
believes breath
can't come
curdled dreams
dwell
demanding entropy
engulf
everything forever
first
fading grand
galaxies
grown hungry
harvesting
haunted insides
insidious
invaders
joyless
jumbled
jaded
killing kindness
keeping love lost
liquefying memory
mercilessly
making nebulas
nonexistent
negating ourselves
our own
plaintive pleas
pulverized
quietly
quickly
questioning reality
refusing reason
somnambulant snakes
swallowing the things
that understand us
ugly
vicious
venomous
vultures
withering wonder
wanting
xeroxed xenophobic x-rays
you're you
yet
zapped
zeroed
zombified

triptychi've been mistaken for myself, again
studying the sick
in pictures that refuse to look me in the eye
and missing steps along the way
stumble dust-clouded
wolf roads spurned by bits of bone
and half alone i
ooze catharsis
pulling out teeth so i don't bite my tongue

Experimental

Concrete

I've got your backopen up
let me in
I'll fuse
allofmylimbs
be
co
me
yo
ur
sp
in
e
(I think you'll already find)
o u r n e r v e s s t r e t c h
map to map
inflamed
n
intertwined

Concrete

Prosetry

Dear Lovei.
We slept together the first time we met.
The smooth sensation of strangers’ hands,
bodies folded into origami.
The cement floor dug into our spines
as we rolled over one another —
we didn’t wait for the bed.
ii.
After a week I was smitten.
It was your birthday party that did it —
guests sat in a circle around you,
praises pouring from their hearts.
It constricted my throat,
droplets begging to be free.
I held the pieces of me in my hands
as I told everyone you were the kindest
person I had ever met.
iii.
The fierceness of this feeling,
the volcanic eruption of it,
killed whatever doubts I had.
But you forced me to wait,
fending off my forward advances
with a grin and a laugh.
You wanted to make sure
I was ready.
iv.
You were going to propose to me
in a hot air balloon.
The deathly fear of heights didn’t stop you,
but the price did.
Instead, we were alone in our room —
the perfect way to celebrate the occasion.
v.
Unfortunately, you were allergic t

Love is True North My lover is a young man with an old soul born into the wrong time. He is wrapped in layers and pages, some we write together...
He belongs to history as well as to me.
The sun rises with him and he goes about his morning ritual, a kiss pressed to my cheek and my forehead before he leaves our bed, a half mumbled prayer whispered into my hair. As I brush my teeth, he holds a soft round bristle shaving brush and paints his face with warm foam while tossing a wink at my reflection. My man shaves with a straight razor that he places in my hand. I’m always afraid to cut him, but he laughs off the idea that I’ll slit his throat. The only reason he shaves is because I dislike beards and the way they scratch at my sensitive skin.
"Poor baby," he croons, gravel-voiced into my ear when I complain about his early morning sandpaper stubble.
Now he hums a melody from ‘Sweeney Todd’ as I hold his head back,

my repetition is thismy heart is full
yet unheld
let loose
from my chest
constantly
overflowing
In my dreams, it is you & I. We are together,
and you are happy. Awake, I know I am not the shape
behind your closed eyes. I am not your dream and
do not need to be. You do not need to be mine,
the dream is to see you happy.
my heart is full
hands unheld
a home
in my chest
you live there
unknowing

Prosetry

Urban and Spoken Word

arcadei.step oneput the quarter inprepare to beat your high scoremorph into your second skinjoy comes from a joystickor press of the buttonsmash 'em all at onceand can't nobody tell you nothin'transform under neon lightsconquer every hurdlewhether you're a spiky-haired yellow kidor pizza-eating turtleii.catch that Pac-Man feverbecome an 8-bit junkieit's more fun than a barreltossed at you by a monkeyfind your magic sword & shieldto save Hyrule from doomor use a Hundred Hand Slapto prevent a Sonic Boomprepare to hop across the roadwhen the coast is clearand finish any ninjawho says "Get Over Here"iii.zombies ate your neighborsand there's no one else to save yaso act like you're a Belmontand this is Castlevaniadefeat those Ghouls n Goblinsevery unholy creationbirthed from the sick mindsof the Umbrella Corporationwant the uprising televised?you've got the solutionset it all to musicand it's a Dance Dance Revolutioniv.you can brave the Dragon's Lairor make Space Invaders bleedbut watch out for that Asteroidand stop the Centipedeyou've got some dug to dig you've got some toads to battlethere's bubbles to bobbleand snakes to roll n' rattlethe time has comeyou've leveled upthe power's flowin' in youpull the flag down at the castlesaveand then continue

not with a bang...the past
is a pit
I pulled
myself
out of
cast off
all aspersions
left the molehills
for the mountains
use them skeletons
as stepping stones
the snakes
become the ladders
sure the closet
remains
cluttered
but it doesn't
really
matter
I'm a
haphazard
collection a
jigsaw
given sentience
this after-
life's gone
unrequited
but the dam(n/m-ed)
still bursts
with sentiments
found
the love of
lines
but lost
my interest
in the circles
this heart
bared the book
left
open I
don't
pave my path
with hurdles
I still
hunger
for the
stars
and I've got
a few
million
spare
forevers
I could be light
I could be heat
I could be
a perfect
shelter
and for the best
I could
fade
away
but would I like to?
(no I wouldn't)
oh what
becomes
of the
fire
in your
chest
when you've got
nowhere
you can
put it?

optimism bottleI want to write (you)
something
new
diaphanous
and alluring
uniquely
cerulean
to part my jaws
and enounce
novel expression
of synapses flickering
and fired
but we both know
how I'm wired
how dammed
has been my
best luck
how these months
have found me
starstruck
a constant
cartographer
punchdrunk
on your heady
sharing
so this is me (again)
simply
and solemnly
swearing
shelter and sunlight
seeing and hearing
yours
sincerely
a former amateur magician
with no
tricks
nor plans
for disappearing

Death himself could not keep me in his armsI refuse to be yours.
I refuse to be your bleeding heart,
your “last night’s game” or splintered photo frame
misplaced, defaced, a broken trophy for your junk drawer.
You do not get to claim me, you do not get to name what we did when you did it to me
acting like you did me a favor or I caused you to sin.
Because,
in truth:
I am not your mouth, your hands, your grinding hips.
I am not the mother you abhor or your feelings of entitlement.
I will not provide mirages any longer to fill your bleeding emptiness.
And furthermore,
I refuse to let you bleed on me again—

It is a miracle I have survived so many others’ histories
when it is a miracle for me to have also survived my own.

Urban and Spoken Word

Songs and Lyrics

august (and everything after)all of my best mistakes
are well intentioned.
when this summer ends
I wonder
where we'll be.
I'm still dreaming
of those plans
that you once mentioned,
I'm still wondering
if you ever still
dream of me.
and I know
the human heart
has many chambers,
more rooms
than anyone
can hope to fill.
still, I'd
like the chance
to earn a little
space there,
but only
if you'll let me.
say you will.
(I'll never ask,
just wait to hear
you say you will.)

Songs and Lyrics

Week One: Catalyst

walking the wirei huddle in your sleeping
a starved pup gnawing bones
and nursing kicks
and i watch you
for your tells
your stirring
for when your eyes
turn just too bright
and fight me
and when your face
contorts me to
a stranger
i tremble
on your wire
not knowing if
i will survive
the fall
.
you begrudge
my every meal
.
my skin is a map
of a thousand cuts
and when you hold me
it’s with the knife
still in
your belt
and when you wipe my tears
it’s while you murmur
in my ear
‘love
you don’t have
to make me
do this to you
again’

Week One: Catalyst

Week Two: Destruction

engraved {08}shooting stars
come around once
every blue moon.
& the cold hue
is dimming
damning what was
i think i see asterisms
folding into studded prions.
cosmos
all for naught;
fuck me
genius
what happened
to visionaries?
what happened
to visionaries
is a question that
seems to go unanswered
for as long as we
can recall.
with sorrows
snaked into
the only home
that was;
it appears
hope for spaces
were made for graves
& not engravements.

Week Two: Destruction

Week Three: Insight

Week Four: Rebirth - The Afterlife

doing gratitudeswe have
both
spent time
as ghosts
(haunting
and haunted)
and I do not know
if the shape
of your name
on my tongue
sounds to you
like resurrection
I can only speak
of the new life in me
of the spark in skin
and jolt to heart
and
to the fire inside
you started
to how I feel adopted
spelling
family
with felines
and foxes
to how I feel at home
(to how you feel like home)
how I've never felt
so seen
so appreciated
too
I guess this may
be less a poem
and more
a thank you

Week Four: Rebirth - The Afterlife

Week 4.5: Freewrites

Affiliates

it's alive (a PoetryForHumans journal)

by YouInventedMe, Jul 16, 2020, 9:32:28 AM
Journals / Personal

Hello, humans! Apologies for the time away. @Tiger--eyes and I have slowly been getting work up in these dusty rooms again. Don't be surprised if you get an influx of requests for work in the near future. If you submitted something over the last few months that expired without being accepted/declined, please feel free to submit again. I had planned on going back a looking all expired submissions over, but Eclipse seems to have eaten all of them. I'm also hoping to get the weekly favorites feature running again, but Eclipse makes features (particularly Lit features) a pain and aesthetically unappealing.

I hope you are all doing well.

We'll see you around.

2 Comments