Cigarette —Daryush Acharya

Hope this cigarette
will keep me alive
longer than you would...
- Alive In Coffin

Alive in Coffin. I am a guy breathing in a coffin made up of flesh, bones and blood. Back in my twitter days, I used to write in 140 characters and that passion motivated me to write short poems. I get crazy when thoughts knock my skull. Currently, I am writing from my grave and in my free time, I try to control my heartbeats.

Duality —Vidur Sahdev

i tell myself
not to write,
for the words
blatantly boast
of my lack
of self control,

but with each verse
while this ego dies,
i secretly feed
a hungry poet,
letting him believe
that he can own the world.

Being ever more hungry for the pure, Vidur breaks open space we long for at

Vidur Sahdev.

Wild Dream – Life Of A Bleeding Crown —Ummi Salma

To feel without feelings

To lock up before hearing the word broken

To move effortlessly without hearing whispers of insecurity

Is a world I could only dream of.

If a glimpse of this dream is the closest to reality,

Then I’ll take it.

Not in full, but like shards of a broken glass,

I’ll take the pieces slowly.

Besides

I don’t need a full cup of wine,

Just a sip will suffice

To let me know if this dream

Will make me feel whole again.

— Read more Ummi Salma poems on toosweetsite

Ummi is the first to officially join the Gift Crows chapbook coming April 2021. Read more about that project here.

Should Twilight —Linda Lee Lyberg

Should twilight paint your silhouette in shades of amber and rose

Recollections of past memories stark in black repose
As I plunge, the cold winds murmuring in despair
You’ve gone and where–
There was once a white lucid thought of you and I
Now naught but a broken grey shadow remains
Swimming in the dust specked evening air.
 
©2018

Read more Linda Lee Lyberg @ Charmed Chaos blog

Âme Perdue —JoJo Alwaealy

Loving memory;

“Kisses of the sweet.”

As I begin with this story to tell,

from whispering to the losing thoughts of discrete.

While embracing the shadows,

I run for you down the street.

The beauty and grace,

to remember them between the lane,

I seek for answers beyond my burning

sensation of the bittersweet.

Tender lips, the touch of honey,

long and slowly they reach my skin.

therefore, I close my eyes,

feel with my heart, and preach for this sin.

“My thoughts leave me rising,

my heart less disguising,

you have been in my soul mesmerizing.”

As I was wishing for more,

I do not want the story to begin.

Stamp of approval

Read more JoJo Alwaealy Blog

Dadaist Collage Poems 1 & 2 — Elmediat

In 1920, one of the founding members of Dada, Tristan Tzara, wrote instructions for making a Dada poem, leaving the responsibility of selecting words and communicating ideas up to chance rather than the artist. Here are Tzara’s instructions:

TO MAKE A DADAIST POEM
Take a newspaper.
Take some scissors.
Choose from this paper an article of the length you want to make your poem.
Cut out the article.
Next carefully cut out each of the words that makes up this article and put them all in a bag.
Shake gently.
Next take out each cutting one after the other.
Copy conscientiously in the order in which they left the bag.
The poem will resemble you.
And there you are—an infinitely original author of charming sensibility, even though unappreciated by the vulgar herd.

Elmediat @ Implied Spaces blog

Layers of Longing —Shreya Sharma

My beating heart is a drum
a thunderous rhythm
reciting an epistle of my grief.
A concoction of
     togetherness & separation.

There are layers of longing;
   of being seen
   and seeing
   of a single touch
   and being touched
   of love
   and being loved.

I swallow nights in counting kisses-
and envelope the remnants,
sitting as wildflowers on my waist. 
A site to behold,
for million nights.
A star to make a wish for eternity,
A church to worship.

Shreya Sharma blog

Nest —Mike Ennenbach

today
as you sleep,
i stare
at the ceiling
pondering
the sea salt crystals
on your lovely hands
as they dig through
the crates
of my every
unspoken thought

the hard tangle
of roots
writhing
just under the flesh

the forks of lightning
dancing
within your eyes
as you seek
the hidden words
in every
earnest verse

scribbling in
invisible ink
the parchment saturated
with words
meant only for you
written in lemon and milk
unseen until
the half baked verse
is placed in
the inferno
resting
upon your tongue

this morning,
as you sleep
the quiet is
broken
by chattering birds
whistling the cadence
of my heartbeat
weaving the dull
inner throbbing
to exalt the sun
which pales in
the majesty of
your beauty
a diaphanous
cacophony of
unsundered pontifications
building into
a white noise generator

as my cracked
whispers
fade into nothing
as the ceiling
sinks
drawn to my
pulsating need
i seek to
unfetter the knot
in my own chest
where the birds
leave baubles
of bright beauty
for you
to build a nest

Mike Ennenbach blog

Clouds —Priyanshu Mehta

I look up above and wonder
If it’s a sad thing
To be clouds
To not be able to confide in
The Sun, the stars or in crowds
To keep changing colours
So they can keep celebrating the sky
To keep floating around
So little birds can fly and dive and enjoy
To drain yourself down 
For the rainbows that satisfy 
To keep moving along 
Until one day
You shrink and dissolve and die

I look up above and wonder. 
Maybe that’s what am I. 

Priyanshu Mehta’s blog