Category: Dull Poetry

Wisdom of the Universe

Pisa, Florence, Italy, Art, Campo, Cemetery, Grave, Graveyard, Gravestone, Stone, Marble, Female, Woman, Girl, Young, Beautiful, Naked, Reclining, Mural, Fresco, Monument, Art, Fine Art, Ancient Rome, Classical Roman, Craftsmanship, Quality, Statue, Sculpture, Carving, Structure, Europe, Ornate, History, Historic, Ancient, Old, Ruins, Old Ruin, Past, Ancient Civilization, Archaeological, Archaeology, Architecture, Tourism, Travel, Travel Destination, Landmark, Color Image, Nobody, Copy Space, museum, woman, solphia, poetry, poet, feminist poetry, feminist, mental health, depression, ptsd, dallas, texas, dublin, ireland, irish, texan

Museum Woman

I am a woman, who should be in a museum, A relic for you to look at. I should be packaged in plastic, So when the world ends, and the fire consumes, The smell of one thousand years of petrol, Will escape back to the firmament. Encapsulate and preserve me, Make sure the acumen is…
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Functioning

I repeat the decisions made by my ancestors, I walk with no confidence, Hiding behind Ray Ban, Smoking too much and drinking from Croesus’ coffer. I build enemies because I know too much, And give no proof of their asininity, The crowd was never my friend, But loneliness does not offend me. I like words…
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Paris is Burning

Notre Dame is burning. The flames reach the sky to become stars. The stars become black holes in the hearts of Parisians. The city that cradles lovers, and the poets dangling cigarettes on their lips sticky with the syrup of some decadent pastry, have, again, something to write about. They’re all crying. The babies in…
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Mother

Is the bird singing for me? Swallowed up in the tree? When my inner self is falling apart? I do not know the answer to that. I’m not human anymore. I don’t belong in this realm. I have nothing else to learn. Nothing left to give. It has all been taken from me. Someone give…
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Sophia, God and the Oneness

I want to heal I want my ancestors to visit me before I fall in my grave Their smiling faces Their knowing faces Some look Vietnamese Where did they come from? The colors swirl connected to magnets in the sky The sacred geometry dancing by the custard moon Let’s reconcile Let’s tear a hole in…
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Finding Hemingway paris france romance relationship goals first kiss love holiday eiffel tower rue mounffetard poetry poem writer amwriting

Finding Hemingway

A week after our first kiss, You take me to Paris, Because that’s what the mad ones do, True story. We drink at the airport, Smoke until they call us, I don’t sit with you on the plane, I lose my phone. The bus driver drops us in the city, I realized I don’t speak…
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