Writersoftumblr - Blog Posts
Let me reach out and touch you,
Caress the soft and warm humanity hidden deep inside.
The reminder of all the parts of you no one loved before.
The parts you have to keep locked away,
Afraid of the bruises that take root so easily, yet take so long to heal.
Let me hold this part of you.
Tender, Gentle, and Without End.
Tuesday, 21st September 2021
I am a sucker for self-sabotage. My words, all of my own creation, fool me every time. Layers and layers of veiled truths that blind me--but I guess I am not looking at the signs.
For one gradually passing moment
the swirling mist clears a path
leaving cool crystals grasping
onto each strand of grass
Even in shadow
does nature thrive
a silent spectre
full of bristling sighs
with a glimmer
the light then shows
the blooming tree preserved
alive in its shadow
Wednesday, 28th July 2021
Love is more than the dream wistfully painted across torn pages in dripping ink and meadows of wildflowers, by writers and poets huddled by candlelight seeing love written in beloved faces. Seeing love in yearning clouds slowly chasing after the sun's fragile rays. Love is heartache and hurt and pain - a climbing river pushing back against everything you know. It inspires and challenges, it breathes life and ends it. It is everything we want and everything we do not dare to have. Love can bring just as much destruction to the harmony it creates. But it’s never about what love is or what it is not - it is how we shape its destiny within our own lives that counts. Love will always be with you, but will you let it stay? And sometimes we know that we just have to chase it away.
Tuesday, 20th July 2021
At night in quiet solitude of the passing day
I turn the yellowing pages of the waxing moon
Molten in a burning light to show its age
And cast in pooling stains of inky blue
It glows in flickers of a dying candle light
Wrapped in a purple wreath, delicately crowned
An encroaching darkness consuming the night
It dims its eyes to rest amongst the drowned
Thursday, 8th July 2021
There is freedom in the shadowed storm as the veil-wrapped sky billows in a climbing release. I lay here on the rough strewn ground, a wilderness of rain-kissed grass, tumbled yarn, and loose cut threads. Find me in the running lake carving eyes into the overgrown path, lost to the planted sky now curling into a silver smile.
Freedom is more than just running through the rain on Thursday afternoons.
Wednesday, 7th July 2021
As the thunder roars in such tumultuous pain, the sun singes the rim of every cloud until the whole sky is cloaked in a brightened sadness, a softening grey. And the world will sit in shallow wine while the teardrops of the encroaching night play in ripples across the sun's sleeping face, waiting for the moon blank and ghostly behind the starless sky. It is new tonight but hidden from sight, it bows in heavenly patience.
This deafening cacophony
creates a solitary peace
encompassed in small rooms
rippling a quiet release
Watching old AJR concert is my secret to writing
Excerpt from Otherworld: Volume One
Cluck. Jo looked down, one foot raised. Underneath sat an orange and white chicken. It tilted its head at Jo’s foot, blinked beady black eyes, and clucked again.
“Is that-”
“Roast!” A deep voice called. Surprisingly, the chicken answered. It flapped its wings as it went running down the path. The chicken named Roast squeezed between two fence posts to dutifully return to its owner.
“Sorry, we’re just passing through,” Jo called to him.
He put his hands to his pointed phyrra ears and yelled, “What?”
Jo walked closer. “We’re just passing!”
“Oh, well welcome. I’m Kho, this is Roast.” Taller than most phyrra, Kho was only a couple inches shorter than herself. He had sandy chin length hair, honey colored skin, and dark freckles dotting his face. A wispy beard decorated his chin and jaw. His clothes were dirty and patched over, and his hands were closed around a pitchfork that he set to the side to scoop up Roast. Kho lifted the chicken’s wing gently, waving it up and down.
“Hm,” Maven grunted over Jo’s shoulder. “Never seen that before.”
“Her brother Toast should be around here somewhere.” Kho looked around the yard, shading his eyes against the sun.
“Toast,” Lola echoed over Jo’s shoulder.
Cluck.
A brown and black chicken looked up at Lola from behind her. Toast drew back his head and pecked at Lola’s ankles with all his might. When she shrieked, Jo had to cover her mouth to avoid laughing. Not everyone else on the team had the same courtesy. Kho looked between them. “Where are you all… from?”
“We’re… well…” Jo trailed off, unsure how much to share with this random farmer.
“We’re headed from Lekonis,” said Lola carefully, “towards Ipbo. We hear they’re debuting airboats for the holiday.”
Kho looked between Glade sweeping their tail behind them to ward off attacks from Toast, and Iila, who was trying on her most winning, and most terrifying, grin. “Alright then.”
The sun beat hot on the farm. Animals were sheltering under woven awnings and lapping at water gratefully. Jo thought about her own empty canister. “Would you by chance have water for some friendly passersby?”
Kho looked apprehensively at the weapons at their belts and slung across their backs. He shrugged and waved them forward. “Thought you wouldn’t ask.” He didn’t sound happy; in fact, Kho’s voice was trembling.
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A Journey, New Home
In front of me are two steps.
Once taken, two more appear.
Will there ever be
more than two
visible at one time?
Behind me is one step.
On a road I already walked.
Will that step
be any different
if I took it now?
I know what I already walked.
I can strain to see what I have yet to traverse.
Is it better to retreat to the known
when I see one step further
in the unexplored?
Forever Writng
quill rose
@esteejanssens
See more like this.
Her Falling Star
Content Warning: self-inflicted violence
Estrella refused to look away from the sky, especially once she made her last wish on the star that shot across. She waited for another. Too late; her breath quickened. Starlight streamed down hollow cheeks. Estrella refused to take her eyes off the sky, even after the trigger was pulled.
Banana Skirt
Young with fruitful purpose
Blossoming into words-
“I am Woman”
Grown from the seeds of home
Born fruitfully endowed into trial
With berries of milk
Leaves of pink
Curves of bursting corn
“I, a black Woman”
My skin, a peeling
Covering the buds
Blossoming into overt
Speech against the weeds
Who pretend to be flowers
Occluding to capitalize on Sun
Too young
To understand there is enough
For me, too.
~ quill rose