Author: silenticel

30 day poetry challenge

romeosexclusivebitch:

passivevoices:

spiritslyrics and i decided to make our own poetry challenge. make sure to tag your poems poetry for am so we can see them! 

  1. write a poem about hellos
  2. write a poem/letter to your future self
  3. write a poem based of your favorite fairy tale
  4. write a poem in the style of a dictionary entry
  5. write a eulogy
  6. write a metaphor about your favorite season
  7. write a poem about something that makes you happy
  8. write a poem describing a color, without using the name of that color in the poem
  9. write an honest poem about yourself. don’t hold anything back.
  10. write a poem about the moon without using the words: “bright” “shine” “dark” “crater” and “moon”
  11. write a poem based off your favorite lyric
  12. write a poem in the perspective of a stranger
  13. write a response to a shakespeare sonnet
  14. write a poem about a place you’d like to visit
  15. write a poem in the point of view of a book
  16. write a poem with a hidden meaning
  17. write a poem about a natural disaster
  18. write a poem that starts with one word and ends with the opposite (i.e. truth…lies, up…down)
  19. write a poem based off a picture. link the picture
  20. write two poems- both sides of a relationship
  21. write advice you’d like to give people
  22. write in the perspective of your favorite fictional character
  23. write a list poem
  24. write a twenty four word poem
  25. write a poem based off of your favorite myth/mythology
  26. write a poem about someone you wish you knew
  27. write a poem entirely of dialogue
  28. write a blackout poem
  29. choose a word and write and acrostic poem about it
  30. write a poem about goodbyes

These are going to be useful.

OOOOHH i want to do this!! 

dear little egg, you’re
going to open your eyes
for the first time in a white
room, not knowing that 
my childhood home is now
underwater. and when 
you are older, i will let
you run in the back yard
without shoes on, but
you will never know the comfort
of sinking into healthy
soil. you will never understand
what it means to make a mark on
the earth that does not hurt
it. 
seven years’ worth of leaves
will still be decaying, and 
i will not know how to explain 
where they came from. 
i will not know how to explain
to you that other beings used to
live here, too, or
that there was once another planet
underneath a green canopy and
in autumn, the skies would 
bathe in fire.

i hope we’ll be living with windmills // a.s.m

inhale. exhale. 
inhale oxygen. exhale carbon dioxide. 
inhale oxygen exhale carbon dioxide.
inhale oxygen inhale carbon dioxide exhale oxygen inhale carbon dioxide inhale
oxygen exhale carbon dioxide exhale oxygen exhale carbon dioxide inhale carbon dioxide inhale oxygen inhale
carbon dioxide exhale
oxygen exhale
carbon dioxide inhale oxygen
exhale carbon dioxide exhale oxygen.

the earth’s breath is getting warmer // a.s.m

with her, it’s like art. 
it’s wanting to know
every single detail about her
down to what she tastes like,
down to what she sounds like
when she’s begging.
down to her dirty little secrets.
down to the parts of herself
one can only uncover beneath the
sheets.

sex // a.s.m

i found you
three days after you died.
i walked into your office and
found you hunched over your desk,
your face deteriorating
into your coffee mug.

i picked you up and threw you
over my shoulder.
your knuckles dragged on the sidewalk
the entire walk home.

we wrapped you
in all your favorite scarves and
put you in a coffin
filled with salt-water taffy.
while they sang ‘der voghormia,’ i growled,
and the sky echoed me.

i growled
at your scarves and your
salt-water taffy and your
face. for the first time
in years, you looked peaceful.
i growled and growled until they
started shoveling the dirt in.

the sky boomed on the drive home.
i saw your face in the windshield,
contorted into a sneer, your eyes
glazed over, your nostrils flared.

your face in the ground,
so pale, so silent, so peaceful.
so peaceful.

der voghormia // a.s.m

i never hear the ocean
when i put shells to
my ear. instead, i hear
His heavy breathing
from behind as
He pushes me on my bed.
on my disney princess sheets.
instead, i hear the sound
of the washing machine, loaded
with those sheets. those
bloody sheets.
instead, i hear Him
in every creak and groan in
every corner of the house,
each gust of wind that blows
when I walk home alone, every
breath I took after He broke me:
too heavy, too shallow.
hissing and foaming.

sally (sells) // a.s.m