Member DD and DLD Feature #2 (April 8- April 22)

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Hey everyone! This is DannyAnthony here with your second edition of the weekly (oops!) Member DD and DLD Feature blog! This blog will feature our members who have received a DD or DLD in the last week, if any. ;) For the poets not part of our ranks who received DD's & DLD's, I have invited them to join our fantastic group! So, let's get to it!

**I have been a procrastinator, so this issue covers the last two weeks!**


DD:


Counting the Ringsi
near my sick bed
he murmurs of how he's crumbling
but I'm still here
I've fought so long, I'm here
for a while I trust
I believe this, I must
even when it's bad, because
his faith alone is not enough
my random thoughts of how long
I have, and his thoughts of
"will she be able to outlive me" -
even at moments like this
it happens that
we hold on and speak of a future
ii
rolling restless this early morn'
you exhausted and I
drying up from a virus
spying through the shredding
of 250-thread count bedding,
between the hillocks of your shoulders
we never can sleep
in anticipation for what's to come
to plant the seed and watch it grow
though we will never see it bloom
for all the other things we know
and live beyond that fertile past
of what we did and what we'll do
as sleep will still not come to us
close apart, we dare not fall
from the tree that burns in season
counting the rings of our poetry
iii
the moon has set,
I wake in the dark
to the rush of wind
I hear him rinsing off
in the basi


by jadepandora

magnolia nights and ivory starsi.
i threw the stars out into the cosmos & used my fish hooks to hang the moon too; hide the sun from wanting eyes beneath the zaffre mountains (look how they sleep) painting the night (wisteria) with such grace.
ii.
for who could know the wonder growing a pair of antlers can bring for a small child. time to decorate [find what you can]: shattered compasses, gears [never do they turn], maybe glitter. look how pretty she is with her elegant horns- all isabelline white & with its specks of fallow & teeth splashed with honeydew [no makeup] & a compass too many to show her the many ways to make mistakes.
iii.
has anyone ever wondered  how a butterfly sleeps? does it keep flapping its wings in the night until its lull brings it to dreams? only to create a cosmic latte,  for all the world to see. does it hide among the twist & turns of the yellowing tule trees, waiting for the sun to rise? only to close its eyes again, slowly. waking in the dead of night to create cosmic cream of vanilla sta


by littlemoonboots

Part-Time HookerI inhale smoke and dirty thoughts
(sleeping with a waste-of-calories
with no sex appeal. her heart
doesn't beat
 the volume of
smell increases as it's
getting hotter than a
 fever heat
 I don't mind her
cold hands around my --
 burned out lights form a
silhouette; film this on
screen like a dream
you can watch or hear.
but she doesn't scream;  
her bones suffocate me
as she's wrapped around
my body -
she's stiff, cold, dry.
sleeping with a waste-of-calories
with no sex appeal. her heart
doesn't beat. )
Until I can't breathe.


by nosedivve

Witch OilThere's magma boiling in her frostbitten veins;
incandescent pixie dust and
                                soot-stained stars,
sluggishly making its way through
a childish heart — wishing for one last chance
to spread her wings and soar to
                                          Neverland.


by lupus-astra


DLD:


Ocean Captiveplease,
awaken from this
captivity.

you’ve become a servant to the ocean,
obeying its every command –
succumbing to its demanding beauty,
hypnotised by the tranquillity.
waves,
       (rising and falling.)
waves,
       (falling and rising.)
you fragile, broken thing,
a beautiful golden fool –
your frame filling with
salt-water;
bones stiffening, skin wrinkling
blood turning blue.
you’re visiting the ocean’s depths,
welcoming the cruel world below;
but those lungs of yours are burning,
and those soft eyes are questioning –
so open
       (sapphire.)
so hopeful,
       (yet wavering.)
please,
you ocean captive,
open your eyes
and
swim to the top –
and breathe the air,
once again.


by imaginative-lioness

I took offMy day off.
I stand in sunlight
without asking.
I can watch it being day.
The mud is soft and cool at home.
I'd bury well without a casket,
I’ll be a naked pill for earth.
I build a garden box from wood,
smash my thumb.
Red bell
peppers;
too late for lettuce.
I had a premonition
I would live like this.
No one will remember me.
I’ll forget by Tuesday.


by spoems

half-priced whoremaybe in fifty years,
she thinks,
she will stop feeling his finger-shaped bruises
on her hips and arms.
stop hearing his words—you think you can stop me, little girl?
in every passing "are you okay?".
stop feeling the wind like a ghost of his acid breath
on the back of her neck
beautiful, beautiful, beautiful little girl.
maybe fifty thousand dove soap bars later
and too many scalding showers
and dusty baby blankets and days spent lying in bed,
looking up at the water stained ceiling,
will be enough to leave the man
on the corner of anderson street and rosa parks avenue
right where she never wanted to find him.
just ask her, she knows first hand
that worlds don't end in bangs but
in whimpers
she knows what it's like to die with a fist
over your mouth and fear in your nostrils.
pretend she is made out of ashes and paper thin words—mourn
the loss of her innocence, her freedom, her control.
cast her out into the ocean to dissolve among the waves,
find her a god dirty enough


by MisfitableGrae

TodayToday the sun shone brightly, as though the months of darkness were only a bad joke.
I walked out to see the world again, the cracked pavement, the slush, the green dumpster for dreams (full again).
Still, there was a warmth in the old bricks which had been lost. Cars and trucks made music on the wet asphalt.
My head opened up to let dreams in again. Binge and purge, the day won't last long.
Tomorrow or the next day the darkness will return, blowing snow and foul bitter winds through my clothes.
Tomorrow the ghosts will whisper again in my ears, calling, cajoling, saying "Join us."
Tomorrow maybe I will, but today the sun is bright, and love is still alive.
Today, the beasts are relegated to lurking in the shadows, hungry but helpless.
Today, I am.


by Bark

Transformcat-to-fish dreams—
      bowl of water;
               breathe.


by nosedivve



by momo-madness

BeliefBelief
She tells him the child is not his.
The old women mutter and cluck
as they slap wet cloth against river stones.
He wraps his arms around his chest as though he fears
he will also sprout with child. "A dove,"
he quietly asks? She points to a blood spot
on her cheek. "He pecked me here." It still hurts
when she touches it. It always hurts.
He loves the child, the cuckold's hatchling. He loves his lying wife.
But he knows she lies. When the old men stumble
into the stable, beards matted, coarse as grain,
he simply mutters, "Drunks," bad wine, betrayal.
One afternoon as he saws cedar planks, sawdust thick as pollen,
an angel catches his hatchling as he falls from a branch.
"I shaped the angel out of air," he thinks, so desperate
to believe that a dove pecked his wife, and she swelled with child.


by swansisters




Be sure to check these poems and their respective poets out!! :D

DannyAnthony,
Member DD & DLD Update Blogger,
PoeticalCondition
© 2013 - 2024 PoeticalCondition
Comments15
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momo-madness's avatar
thank you so much for the wonderful feature alongside lovely deviants :love: