Artpetal's poetry

[Artpetal]

A general topic for any poetry I might write here. I read a lot of fiction and some poetry, and I actually studied literature in college, so I hope my poetry is good enough.

 

Her dressing gown is a flower sown.

Like feet that wouldn't walk until a waking

girl is out of bed, her approach is on 

hold until she gets dressed. 

Daintily she steps along the carpet in her room

on those days that she can't sleep.

This flower sprouted at later hours 

in the day than most, but a warmness in her

chest tells her she wants to be in love.

The cloudy night's a lighter color than the

clear sky, and on a night like this 

she wears an off-white dress that satisfies

the eyes. Where's her beloved,

who would be hypnotized?

Buttons are a nuisance for a girl's clothes,

when all she wants is for a dress to cover

her from head to toes.

[Davie]

Thank you for sharing your poem, @Artpetal.

Lovely! Like how your scene of clothes and appearances also shows off her feminine movement. 

—Davie

[Artpetal]

I've become more timid with time,

as estrogen wrapped around my brain

and made me better, freer and smarter.

In pursuit of Lasting Me, the girl I am

and always really was, though I'm a queen

and wear a crown I blush more red than

the jewels at my feet.

I'll push aside my troubles with a wave

of the hand - 'cause I can't deal with them,

goodness knows. When faced with fearful things,

I can only show an averted gaze

that's not my partner's but my own.

Smiling isn't secret but it's born in shadow,

'mysterious' Mona Lisa.

[Artpetal]

Steps in snow would hinder progress,

the turning orbs of stars at night

a kind of imprint of my feet, 

snow in space. Out there,

along the way to heaven, is cold and wet

and damp; things that stopped me, held my

breath in place, and ordered me return to

home. But pressing on,

I wanted to go far and reach the sun

whose warmth would make the journey

of my legs all worth my while. 

This fireplace for me is second home.

[Artpetal]

Doves may sing a leaden song
as air, struck with heavy feelings all
the day, will have more noise than
clearer notes. Where is peace? 
That question that we each can ask.
If nowhere to be found is this our
greatest joy, one wonders what
the point of sudden warmth can ever be,
a flaming up of sense against the cold.

[Davie]

Lovely and fascinating, @Artpetal.

Like blues songs hung on flakes of snow.

— Davie

[Artpetal]

Thank you, Davie

[Ticket For Epic]

@Artpetal Someone much more eloquent than I once said that "Art is how we decorate space, music is how we decorate time.".  I think the same can be said of poetry.  You've made time a lovely experience on this thread.

 

[Artpetal]

Thanks

 

If life's too short, then it's too short, not tall

like a tree but more of the size

of me. Silk, and skirts that cover my knees.

I'd rather stand still than walk,

in meditative moments where the call-

ing of a bird is made for distraction.

Even silence, as strange as air that pulls us

down, has a meaningful focus - the solemn water

of the sea that spreads a song

could upend gravity. That's how I feel!

I wanted, and I want.

There's something precious in my grasping

hands, where I hope to hold the future.

[Davie]

On 2/5/2022 at 8:04 AM, Artpetal said:

Thanks

 

If life's too short, then it's too short, not tall

like a tree but more of the size

of me. Silk, and skirts that cover my knees.

I'd rather stand still than walk,

in meditative moments where the call-

ing of a bird is made for distraction.

Even silence, as strange as air that pulls us

down, has a meaningful focus - the solemn water

of the sea that spreads a song

could upend gravity. That's how I feel!

I wanted, and I want.

There's something precious in my grasping

hands, where I hope to hold the future.

Lovely, @ArtpetalIt shows serenity and peace to be the supreme state of mind it should be. Thanks.  — Davie

[Artpetal]

The only thing I never liked is me.

A thousand pardons from 

the roaring oceans, whose building song

is rebellion towards the moon.

It seems like something's saying "Yes,"

but hard to hear above the waves.

At least, there's something to the din

of chatter so unlike the vascillating

sea, when words can have a meaning

that we never thought they would.

Will words weigh anything, or not?

I feel so awful knowing when.

Rather that I could know how

to speak

above the noise, the city and the jet.

[Artpetal]

I told you to come and you 

didn't. Spurned and uncared for, it would

seem the world would have to stop

and turn no more. Revolving world,

whose axis is in motion makes me sick.

Happiness is a dream that never

made it home. I've forgotten what 

it's like to breathe. Disaster is the

spinning wheel of a train. Loneliness

is the carousel at night.

[Ivy]

Nice one

[Davie]

9 hours ago, Artpetal said:

I told you to come and you 

didn't. Spurned and uncared for, it would

seem the world would have to stop

and turn no more. Revolving world,

whose axis is in motion makes me sick.

Happiness is a dream that never

made it home. I've forgotten what 

it's like to breathe. Disaster is the

spinning wheel of a train. Loneliness

is the carousel at night.

Loneliness, like many feelings, can be tamed by poetry such as this.

Thanks, @Artpetal Lovely

[Ivy]

10 hours ago, Artpetal said:

Loneliness

is the carousel at night.

This line…    a very liminal place…  

[Artpetal]

Board games are a waste.

When you win it's over, and there's

nothing left to do. In the middle of

the game, your dice will take you places

that you didn't want to go.

What a wonderful lie, to be the first

to beat the game. If you're of age,

you won't play games anymore:

I have thought so from the start.

 

[Artpetal]

I hate to think it's all undone, a life

that promised to be something better

than what it was. Promises are trash,

or nearly that, and true love is just convenience.

...But being not so selfish, and not unkind,

convenience is another word for ease.

A relationship of ease with someone warm,

whose heart will not at night turn into dust,

is worth your time and mine. Alone,

together, common breeze will stir the air

and push the leaves from place to place.

To be at rest in bed, or not, there's also waking, too.

A window's air will mail through the gap...

[Davie]

Thanks, @Artpetal. Lovely, a little lonely, but lovely.

[Artpetal]

Nah, not lonely. Just mad.

[Artpetal]

Walk the long stretch home:
from step to step, never part.
We can't avoid us.

[Mmindy]

@Artpetal Thank you for sharing your writings with us.💖

 

Hugs,

 

Mindy🐛🏳️‍⚧️🦋