Latest Posts by bustlingblankverse - Page 8

#603 Time is Nature's Music

The past is a galaxy away,

But it circles through your brain.

Memories on shuffle, replaying every day.

A bop for the stars, a tune for the heart,

But a place that you can never be a part

Of ever again. It's in the past.

It's a tune, but rewritten harmonies won't last.

You cannot rewrite it.

So push skip.

The future is a massive river just a walk away.

Notes at your fingertips that will not stay

Cupped in your hands. You see, the river bends

And spins songs that could be

With a decent percussionist and melody.

The water travels everywhere and nowhere: Possibilities.

"What if's" and worrying can cause instability.

So push pause.

The present. That is something within reach.

You're climbing a mountain, with a goal to reach the peak.

Every rock, trail, and handhold is an instrument in waiting.

Except they are meant to be used, are up for the taking

For a poet and a player, a worker and a lover.

Because as much as you want, you cannot make another

Riff of the past. It's too far gone. And on record.

And the future is cold and not set in stone. So your method

To make the best music in life is stay strong.

Ground yourself in the moment, take a breath, and move on.

#100

It was a wondrous day with splendid company.

Old friends but fresh rushes of feelings, turns of conversation,

And the laughter?

Hers.

Rich, bubbling, pure.

Like mustard meadowlarks singing for mountains streams.

His.

Grounded, unexpected, revitalizing.

The rough stream of sounds a lake makes under the watch of a persistent moon.

And of course, mine.

Not much of note, but if I were to speculate,

A little kitten leaping up the scales of an out of tune piano.

we had harmonized together.

Every hour was full of sweet humor and compassions.

When I had slipped into something less than,

His hand was at my slumped shoulder, thin fingers spinning shapes into my sleeve.

When it happened again and I felt at a loss,

She hurried beside me to help roll up my sleeves.

I'd like to believe I had been there for them in the smallest of ways.

There was surprise hugs from behind and comments of sentiment,

Shared sandwiches and the sweetest of silences.

A trio like us made me think of

Mundane mornings, nights out and exploring, of-

I pulled away.

It's a wondrous friendship we shared.

In a way, their company was wondrous and fearful tucked in a bundle.

I had hoped to keep relishing in their laughter for a long time.

I’ve had other wonderful days,

And yet

#89

I saw you today.

I had given up on spotting your sunlight silhouette.

But I saw you for a moment.

Your hand was real and raw and in my hand for the obsessing or destroying.

But I just watched my fingers curl around yours and noticed the crinkles around your eyes.

And smiled back.

# 31

My chest feels like a big red balloon.

Switching between over-swelled, Bulging, Tight.

To deflated and limp.

Again and again and again.

In. Out. In. Out.

The breaths come faster.

The balloons limitations heighten, only so much air can pass through at a time.

I grasp at the stings that dangle from my shirt. Who is sending all this so fast?

They need to slow down.

But I don't hate it and I can't stop it.

In. Out. In. Out.

The strings are wrapped three times around my wrists.

When did I do that?

In out. In out. In out.

The air is whooshing over and over.

I can’t-

Inoutinoutinoutinoutinoutinoutinoutinoutinoutinoutin

I force myself to focus on the softness of my sweater buttoned around my taut chest.

I fold my hands and feel the roughness of my palms, the smoothness of my nails, the surety of my string around my finger.

I focus on the lights above me and count the tiles on the ceiling.

The balloon miraculous slows a bit and I can feel my head again.

In out. In out. In out.

It didn't float away.

I didn't fly away on an overwhelming air currant.

I am still here.

I plant my feet in the ground and feel fresh roots make a home below me, anchoring me to reality, to the world.

The air gets slower and slower until I feel flowers bloom between my toes.

Until I feel the strength return me to a slow and steady flow of air in and out of my lungs.

In. Out. In. Out.

I want to write you an escape.

A pocket of happy time and space.

Where you're okay.

In the mountains, in a tree, in a nothing of muted pastels.

Just somewhere where you can sing,

and your fingers don't sting from strumming.

And our lungs can go on for forever.

I can write up that sort of escape with ink and paper and imagination.

The clouds would be puffy, and grass would be wet beneath our bare feet.

The longing and worry and confusion of yesterday would slip through our fingers.

We’d watch the drops puddle and tumble and fall through the cracks out of existence.

We would stay and it falls away.

And the rain blows and the wind smiles and the leaves sing.

Nothing makes any sense, but we are safe.

Yet that place, it's not...real.

The world collapses around us and I am left with ink on paper that I can't see clearly.

Your eyes are downcast and clouded.

You can’t see my words.

I don’t know how to cocoon you in that existence.

But then you take my hand and we run away.

And we make our own escape of flesh and blood and brick.

We joke in puddles of blankets and you play your ukulele.

And yet we have to leave for the bathroom.

The conversation is jolted and a little awkward at times.

Your fingers grow tired, and strings get off key, but we are here.

We made it.

And it's just the sort of escape we needed.

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#80 I wish poetry came easily. 

Bright words that could naturally sweep through me. 

Like intoxicating and wonder filled seas.

Of lavender, teal and parsnip creme

Trickle from page from pen, from pen to me.

I wish the dam was never closed.

Inspiration endless but an eb and flow,  

Not brilliant wet flashes then dry lonely stones. 

Then the dam’s tight as a dish and I am alone. 

Left to smack at cement and wait in the cold 

For the stones to split apart and invite me to explore the sea. 

But I fumble and stumble, push pen forward on. 

I keep writing haiku, couplet or song,

With remaining words, mediocre and oblong as can be. 

And I feel new stream beds forming beneath me. 

New Blog Who Dis

hello! I understand it is weird to have new blogs floating around on tumblr dot com, but i am new and I’d like to add some poetry to this helldump of a site! no offense to this site, I am planning on adding fuel to the fire.

but yes! Hello! you can call me blank if you must refer to me. i like writing blank verse poetry, if you like that sort of stuff feel free to follow me! I am not making promises but i would like to post semi frequently.

thank you for your time, have a dreat gay <3