I love short poetry, it is actually my favorite kind of poetry. There is something magical about being able to express a truth, or paint a vivid image, with only a few words. So, when I woke up today with these few lines echoing in my head, I had to write them down and share:
“From the first light
of the gods,
till the last tide
of the moon,
doubt lingers…”
(Image from Pixabay)
Hi! I was flipping through my journal today and thought maybe I would share a few random bits of poetry with you! These are poetry bits that never made it into larger poems, but I still kind of like them!
1)
“My soft, strawberry soul
thrives like cold rain
in the quiet shade of the vine.”
2)
“Brother man,
love…peace…listen.
Take your sweet sister
and dance between
the worlds.”
3)
“Why do the wounded
see clearly through the shadows
while privilege blinds?”
4)
“Now, looking back,
I wonder if I somehow missed
the awaited resurrection,
or if I was taken for a fool
all along.”
5)
“Numb.
Do I want to feel?
Maybe another day
when my skin is thicker
and the bruises have faded.
I guess in reality,
that means
never.”
6)
“I used to care more;
Now I couldn’t care less.”
If you like these little poetry bits, let me know! I have plenty more I could share 🙂
“Lady Lillith” Painting by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Lilith has been one of my favorite mythological figures for years. Here’s why:
Lady Lilith
Written By: Maranda Russell
Kick-ass,
Adam’s first wife
you spurned his advances,
refusing to be beneath him,
but had to be equal
or even superior.
The Dark Maid,
The Maiden of Desolation,
are you truly so dark?
Like the owls you adore,
you flex your wings
and curl your talons.
Symbol of fears,
cursed to give birth,
your children murdered,
you seek revenge
from human children,
but who can blame you?
Succubus,
vampire of wet dreams,
refusing to kneel,
you chose to leave
paradise rather than
submit to a man.
“Fighting Back from the Inside” drawing by Maranda Russell
Fighting Fear
Written by: Maranda Russell
I took fear by the hand
and shook him until I heard
the sound of his yellow bones
popping in and out of place.
I pushed him down the stairs,
his skull cracking
against the white, stone steps
on his way to the finale.
He hit the basement floor,
his form a worthless gray lump,
emitting the mocking voices
no muzzle can silence.
Still, I must close the door
at least one more time
and pretend not to hear.
So I do.
“Repaint the Ceiling”
Written by: Maranda Russell
Waking up,
I lay there and wonder
how long it would take
to repaint the ceiling?
Maybe a subtle, powder blue,
or a rolling green sea?
A buttery yellow,
or a soft and gentle lilac?
Something to take the edge off
on the nights I’m cut open
and bleeding on the carpet.
