Gaslit mind, mine is blind.
Sunlit eyelids, covered eyes.
Afterimage, booby prize.
It couldn’t be any different,
Out of sight, out of mind.
A snap of a finger (hypnotic drive).
Brainstorming impulse; cloudy eyes.
While karma’s a bitch,
trauma is its son.
Creativity is a burden;
It might as well die.
All the photos I refused to take,
All the group photos I was left out of,
Aren’t making it any better;
The negatives neither.
Since I have some time now, I’ve put together this anthology for you all. If you think my effort is worth it and the quality is good, feel free to buy me a coffee, there’s a button at the end too. Feel free to share this post and comment too.
I’ve also added a few extra poems that you might not have seen before.
I’m testing an intricate idea here. This post is a single post with a collection of poems separated by pages (you might see page breaks depending on where you are reading this), with chapters and titles organized by the appropriate headings (no hyperlinks). Call it my postfolio; it’s a post analogous to a book.
Welcome to a journey through language, writing, and the metatextual world of poetry. We’ll explore how language can be both a creative tool and a barrier. From the playful frustration of crumpled drafts to the powerful imagery of ink and blood, these verses challenge traditional forms, blending free verse with deliberate constraints.
The author
“Did I read that right?
Is it what you had written,
or echoes of my mind?”
It’s that what I did write.
For writers don’t just inscribe on paper;
they engrave words into minds,
only if (if only?) they are strong-willed.
“But, writer (lucky bastard!),
your persona warrants your safety
while your words break people’s heart.”
this is a fine line;
call it a verse
there is a fine line
that verse
this verse
Idk, the idea of “there is a fine line between that verse and this verse” sounded cool in my mind (feel free to quote me 🙃), both (metaphorically) nodding to the content and graphic representation of those. Plus, it has a touch (subtle hint) of visual poetry; metalanguage for the win.
In the poem, line and fine take two definitions each: a metrical and a graphic line; thin and of high quality.
Althought the initial line is far from being the epitome of verse perfection despite what it playfully suggests (the line as it reads isn’t and doesn’t intend to be a perfect model of what it describes), play along — as the verses doesn’t only point to themselves but nod to other works, represented by the poetry format.
Reveries That I Call Poetry 