poetry reading ideas

Dialogue Prompts #1
  • “No, no, it’s okay, I’ll be your bridge.  You can walk all over me.”
  • “I find this to be highly illogical, incredibly ridiculous, and absolutely irresistible.  Let’s play.”
  • “People have been spilling your secrets to me for years and you just found out?”
  • “My bed is reserved strictly for me and my dog.”  “That is not a dog!”
  • “Sorry, Human.  I don’t know the proper etiquette in these situations.  Do we offer him a beverage?”  “He’s unconscious.”  “… So we don’t offer him a beverage?”
  • “I’ve seen you topple buildings and freeze rivers, and you’re afraid of a kitten?”
  • “I wish I’d had more time to tell you this before I sent you away.”
  • “Her eyes are brown.” “No way.”  “I’m telling you, they’re like outer space, like a starry, dark chocolate brown.”
  • “We’re not going to break down the door and shout, ‘Die, evil dictator, die!’  It’s immature.”
  • “Damn you, genius space monkeys.”
  • “I’ve looked after coma patients that were more interesting than you.”
  • “Would you mind not setting my stuff on fire every time you get angry?”
  • “You don’t understand – my dad can’t be the killer.  He golfs on weekends and watches soccer every night and buys sweaters from the clearance section at American Eagle.”
  • “Not only am I a late bloomer, I’m late for everything.”
  • “You weren’t in my vision.  You shouldn’t be here.”
  • “I don’t consider myself the type who hurts the people they care about.”  “Consider yourself a liar.”
  • And finally: “I stabbed my last twelve brothers; why should you be any different?”

The multiverse theory is true:

in one I never meet you
never almost touch you
never learn that a name can taste like blood.

in another we fuck in my apartment,
seven years after we first met.
i don’t call you after.

in another you kiss me at 7:27 a.m. on a Thursday morning
we both don’t feel anything
it’s easy not to talk again.

in another you fall in love with me but
i never even learn your name
this isn’t the cruelest one.

the cruelest one is
the one we both live in now
where I miss you sometimes
and you miss me never.

—  in another we never get hurt– lily rain
now tell me this,
and you tell me true.
would you still love me,
if I hadn’t bloodied my hands,
crawled my way out of hell for you?

I loved you first; I'll love you still, so what’s one more bitter pill? (h.m.)

inspired by Not Easily Conquered by whatarefears and drop-deaddream

Obama pulled the troops out of Iraq and Afghanistan in the same way that I quit smoking

Both started when I was 14.
A few years later, Bush and I promised everyone it was gonna stop, but we all knew that wasn’t quite true.
There was a lull.
Then a surge.
Then we all said fuck it in 2008.
A few years after that, Obama and I were telling everyone that it was finally over, no more.
But then a few months later, the headlines would tell you, NOW it’s over. That last time was a soft goal, this time it’s concrete.
It’ll work this time.

Finally, just last year, I actually quit smoking, but just like how drone warfare isn’t technically “having troops there”, I was still using chewing tobacco.

Now in March, I’ve made it a week without chew, and we’ll see how that goes. But I’m still a better man than the president.

He can’t even go a week without killing children.

i used to love everything about you:

the stars glowing in your eyes,
the gold covering your heart,
the bright smile on your lips,
the silky sound of your laugh…

now that time has passed i know

fire when liquid still burns,
pure metals are icy cold,
lips can make your stomach churn,
silk can cut you to the bone.

the softness of your skin, 
the lightness of your touch
-imaginary hints of presence,
blurred border between real and not.

i used to love everything about you
but you are not the ‘you’ i thought i knew

—  i made you up; d.m
So bad

Words that are overused
not beautiful enough, 
repeated, over and over… 
emotions wasted for nothing….

Call me a poetic tyrant
loathe unto me your spite
but I cannot sit quietly
and perceive such…

Day by day by day
and day by day by day
surrounded by frail thoughts,
mere targets for scorn
unrelenting and hegemonic

Yes I am MAD!
yes, it is maddening!
such a noxious flux
of shit stained garbage
and we dare call it… POETRY?

I might not be an Odinson
nor the bastard of Orpheus
but i have enough disdain
to fuel a perpetual sniper
and aim at the sheer atrocities
written upon this world.

I will accept my fault:
I am but a humble misanthrope
talentless, worthless like the rest
but with aspiration…a clear difference
And until I find endless Edens
my default reaction is thus:

“So bad”

Book Gifts For Writers: For the aspiring (or actual) author in your life! Some are inspirational, some aspirational, but they’re all darned wonderful.

Peruse all of our holiday lists here!

We are living in a culture entirely hypnotized by the illusion of time, in which the so-called present moment is felt as nothing but an infintesimal hairline between an all-powerfully causative past and an absorbingly important future. We have no present. Our consciousness is almost completely preoccupied with memory and expectation. We do not realize that there never was, is, nor will be any other experience than present experience. We are therefore out of touch with reality. We confuse the world as talked about, described, and measured with the world which actually is. We are sick with a fascination for the useful tools of names and numbers, of symbols, signs, conceptions and ideas.
—  Alan W. Watts

“We’re a good looking couple.” He said and she laughed from the other end.
They had always boasted about how they mixed their emotions with basic bullshit and were the best and coolest out there.
They had listened to the rain together, as silence hid in coils of old time landline, and they’d whispered all the clichéd things in this world.
She was a child of the eye of the storm, and he was the town caught in between.
They’d met at secluded buildings and kissed each other’s noses till one fine day, she dropped her clothes and he slammed her body against the rotting wall of the empty, hungry kitchen cabinet.
She dropped her inhibitions and was just reduced to a dust storm when he decided, he wanted to drop his promises.
In this game of skin and mind, she lost her control and he was just a shadow of leftover buildings.
One midnight, when she halted her weather and tormenting clouds, silence resting in their hearts echoed loud footsteps of a boy who couldn’t meet the eye of the goddamn storm.


"Maybe Someday"

(aka Shoot Poem Part III. Part II ended around Prophets, so this picks up from there…)

Maybe someday you’ll realize zip ties and hoodies
Are more than just fun and games,

And it really will take all night
To “decontaminate.”

Maybe someday you’ll let me hold you,
And you won’t push me away,
And I won’t have to resort to drugging you
Just to get you to behave.

Maybe someday we can share a meal
Without your childish rage,
Without deflecting your care, “it’s only for Bear!”
And admit it to my face.

Maybe someday we’ll both stop playing heroes,
Repeatedly putting ourselves in harm’s way,
And take that vacation you so desired,
‘Stead of accepting this cursed fate.

Because we’re perfect for each other,
You’re gonna figure that out someday,
Till then I’ll burn down Samaritan in a four-alarm fire…
Your sacrifice will not be in vain.