Mirth and wrath in equal measure,

Lord of laughter and displeasure.

Tower fallen with years of weeds;

Wheat that weeps with bleeding leaves.

Once a palace, now a ruin.

What was perfection only human.

#poetry #poem #spilled ink #writerscreed #twc #art #poeticstories

evanescentincinerator

judas-redeemed

THE WORLD IS ENDING by judas h.

evanescentincinerator

firstfullmoon

Christopher Citro, from “The Hay Out There and the Hay in You”

evanescentincinerator

I'm drowning in greenery; this sea of leaves I planted.

Although slowly dissolving the scenery's fantastic.

I could swim for shore I'm sure that I would make it.

But what would they say when I washed up afraid and naked?

#poetry #poems #spilled ink #writerscreed #twc #poeticstories

evanescentincinerator

Spring remembrance, nostalgia of hope,

Memories of dreams that allow me to float.

It smells like rotten leaves, but in a way that’s clean;

Primordial soup more alive than I have ever been.

The waters hot from sunlight, and hums with life.

A chorus of insects and birds singing out of sight.

Its nice to be alive on quiet afternoons like this

I wish that a moment could provide eternal bliss

#poetry #poem #spilled ink #writerscreed #poeticstories #twc

evanescentincinerator

Lost in the middle distance staring at the void.

My body's getting weaker despite the steroids.

I don’t wanna take my pills, sleep, and drink a lot of water.

I'm tired of waking up just to eat and call my doctor.

Wouldn’t it be nice to die without the guilt and violence?

I hope there's an after life, but first a moment of silence.

#poetry #poem #spilled ink #writerscreed #twc #poeticstories

evanescentincinerator

Glittering fingertips trace shapes in the air;

It’s miraculous, but I’m only distantly aware.

The prestidigitation the thaumaturge performs

Is secondary to the the person and their perfect form.

#poetry #spilled ink #writerscreed #poeticstories #twc #poem

evanescentincinerator

putah-creek

lazy man I never put my hoses away

they lay wherever I drop them

I never bother to remember where, either

I have spent my life walking around

looking for the far end of hoses

I imagine finches watching me or raccoons

all of them thinking me a fool—

stupid man! he should put the hoses away!

well, to hell with them all

I don’t have feathers or fur

and I don’t go around judging people

with poems on their minds

-james lee jobe

evanescentincinerator

wildthingsandmagic

Forgive me, if I still believe in magic, the warmth that settles over two strangers like a glove when a height has traversed us both, when distance is a snapshot of time and we’re here. The moment that vibrates our being, the resonance between — palpable, we are both the receiver and the transmitter, inhabiting the same wavelength.

Music, a door amongst doors; pathways amongst 8 billion lights.

I never knew. Thank you for having me.

evanescentincinerator

localwarlockunion

theegosystem

the worst is wanting to create and create and create but being trapped in a body that is so so so so tired

evanescentincinerator

tristamateer

“I read somewhere that love only gets old if you let it. I can’t remember why we stopped writing love letters and started crying drunkenly into the phone. I can’t remember when we stopped watering our roots. I can’t remember when we started competing for the sun. I tell everyone who asks about you that we outgrew each other. I still don’t know if that’s the truth. Maybe we just got tired.”

— excerpt from “19 Days” by Trista Mateer (via tristamateer)

evanescentincinerator

A golden warrior, wings of gossamer.

Blessed messenger, I wish I could be her.

Bags of golden sand, life, in so many hands.

She knows her godess’ name and that she understands.

Her mother is the queen, and all her sisters friends.

An eternal family giving meaning to the end.

#poetry #poem #spilled ink #writerscreed #twc #poeticstories

evanescentincinerator

He made them perfect, painted like a masterpiece

Decorated faces, bodies, hands, and feet.

He made them joyous; They’d laugh as soon as speak.

Oftentimes they will tell the same joke for weeks.

He made them fearless; Its said they feel no pain.

They dance on the battlefield making bloody rain.

Did he make them gentle? Did he give them empathy?

If this is his perfection what must my god think of me.

#poetry

evanescentincinerator

Frequently I wrestle with what I would call an addiction

To the various anesthetics of my very human condition

Prescribed to me by doctrine of signatures I hope

The buds I smoke are somehow symbolic of growth

#poetry #poem #spilled ink #writerscreed #twc #poeticstories

evanescentincinerator

archangel-zadkiel

finally-figured-it-out

There was a young man from Peru

Whose limericks stopped at line two

finally-figured-it-out

There once was a man from Verdun

evanescentincinerator

schuylerpeck

I’m in the mood to wander — not the tasseled boots, music festivals, and peace signs stuck skyward — but creep silently, observe, take everything in and not say a word. live only as a pair of eyes, ears, and hands. dress myself invisible and haunt the antique store around the corner, poke and peruse and hold belongings someone once loved; curious if a whisper of them can still be felt. I want to trek a crumbling city, blow the dust away from the staircase railing and feel the hair at my neck stand at attention with every step forward. bump into someone I’m not convinced is planted both feet in this world. stay quiet enough to hear the echo of dining hall chatter, dances in the ballroom, events from ages ago held in the square. I want to part thick vines and feel the forest pull me into her arms. an audience of one to the songbirds, the croaking frogs, the springing crickets. tread so lightly, I barely leave a footprint.