I don't consider myself to be human; mainly, because when I was at my lowest (bravest) virtually none of you treated me like one. And those who did I hold in higher esteem than any of the be-knighted, the titled, the honoured or kings or queens of this pitiful world, Amen
#GutterPrayer #UK #Write
Thank you so much for the nice feedback. The prompt cues were great!
#PoemsAbout #GutterPrayer
‘A staircase of uneven steps’ holds everything: imbalance, ache, persistence. It’s devastation, worn thin by the climb. Each line bruises differently. #KeepWriting #PoemsAbout #GutterPrayer
‘A fag stained, piss stinking prayer’ gets you in the ribs. It's filthy, furious, & unholy in its honesty. This isn’t redemption. It’s revolt in stained hymns. #KeepWriting #PoemsAbout #GutterPrayer
‘A slick shiver in the narrow’ - tense like fear pacing a fire escape. This is prayer shaped by concrete & survival. #KeepWriting #PoemsAbout #GutterPrayer
‘The owl longed—for the day to fade, for the bleak lit in silver’ is desire wrapped in plumage. Gothic & glittering. Feels like prayer from a gutter beneath the moon. #KeepWriting #PoemsAbout #GutterPrayer
‘No god but the one that limps beside you, mud on its boots, grin full of glass’. That’s the sacred in the scrapheap. Blasphemous, beautiful, true. This prayer’s got teeth. #KeepWriting #PoemsAbout #GutterPrayer
‘That gutter of apathy and neglect and the voices and fists’ doesn’t flinch. You’ve nailed what it is to escape & still carry the bruises in your syntax. This one walks barefoot through the broken glass. #KeepWriting #PoemsAbout #GutterPrayer
‘The man who left Mam with five names and not enough hands’God, that cuts straight through myth, straight through sainthood. No polish, just truth with a mother’s hands full. #KeepWriting #PoemsAbout #GutterPrayer
‘Dear God, You don’t seem to mind’ cuts deep, so bare, almost resigned. That shrug toward grace feels half-apology, half-dare. It’s raw & unvarnished, like faith scraped against the curb. #KeepWriting #PoemsAbout #GutterPrayer
Scorched Bones
This poem is inspired by Borges’ novel “The Immortal”, which I do recommend.
I tried to work out with images what he did with paradoxes.
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#gutterprayer
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@brokenspinearts.bsky.social
Gutter Prayer Hear my gutter prayer! That’s right Hear my prayer from the gutter A gutted prayer Your life means nothing Nothing to these people A fag stained, piss stinking prayer To the kiddy fiddler on high Who plays back an evil tune He expects you to like it And you do Soiled as you are The fiddlers tune jerks off your balls Drops them to your knees Prostrate yourselves and pray Feel his pain, his suffering, his angst Have mercy on my soul Have mercy, kick me in my teeth Have mercy, take all my pain Have mercy, scourge my back of its penniless flesh Less flesh Praise Bejesulbub Praise him Praise his bedraggled bones And pour your sins upon him For your weakness is what he wants Of course it is Pray now For you have been redeemed Your mercies are manifold I see you And you shall be vanquished!
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#Gutterprayer @brokenspinearts.bsky.social
A little adventure into freeform, it is a bit dark lol
Hope, the slick owl sat solitary on an electric post down a squirrelly alley — brooding, shivering & bruised. A momentary shiver ran down the wire from its claws dripping blood. The blood dripped and dropped on the cobbled alley — an echo as some haunting refrain floating in a valley – piqued its interest. It rolled its flexi head, setting its blasé onlookers — a few sparrows and seven babblers — in fright, aflutter. The song ran breathless through its marrow; and the day’s blinding light obfuscating its sight, revealed a nubilous form of the creature of song. The owl longed — for the day to fade, for the bleak lit in silver, for the blur to morph into shape, for the shape to smelt, for the moon to pour the nectar or drop a sliver on its runcible spoon. - C. Oulens
#PoemsAbout #GutterPrayer
Prompt: Hope as survival instinct. about a creature clawing its way out of the muck, chasing a sound. Device: internal rhyme and at least one moment of repetition.
@brokenspinearts.bsky.social
@alanparry83.bsky.social
#blueskypoets #BlueskyPoetry #poems
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#gutterprayer
For @brokenspinearts.bsky.social
@alanparry83.bsky.social
This poem is based on prompt 2: Cathedral of Cracks.
Prompt: Find divinity in destruction. What if the cracked pavement is the altar?
I am sitting on my suitcase under the snapping fluorescents of a paint store The glitter of dandelion seeds spreading in a slow breeze feels like frail, silent company It is sometime past midnight, somewhere before dawn And anywhere is better than there That gutter of apathy and neglect and the voices and fists My friend’s big brother will pick me up And I will sleep on the basement couch There will be no drawer to unpack my things in Because I will be moving from house to house, From couch to lounger to cot, Wash, rinse, repeat but I will be warm and feel the unsaid welcome of boys Anywhere from here is up and anytime of night welcomes me I am spread under an umbrella of stars And I am migrating to better places By DLM, 4/19/25, 2:07pm
For #PoemsAbout - @brokenspinearts.bsky.social and @alanparry83.bsky.social are helping me find a voice again, I think. This week's prompt is #GutterPrayer.
I Am Sitting On My Suitcase
#Poetry_by_DLM
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Although part of a collection on the Easter rising in Dublin it also fits for #PoemsAbout #GutterPrayer It’s about Michael Mallin in the voice of his son ,a priest, who, in this imagined prayer, struggles with absence and inherited memory. @alanparry83.bsky.social @brokenspinearts.bsky.social
‘I don’t pray, I sing’ is defiant & tender. The imagery hums with devotion, but it’s the voice that leads. Confident. Unafraid. #KeepWriting #PoemsAbout #GutterPrayer
‘Stay out of the gutter, now’ catches care passed down in ordinary warnings. There’s something raw in its restraint, a prayer disguised as caution. Beautifully done. #KeepWriting #PoemsAbout #GutterPrayer
‘A war for pride, a battle for butter’ Oof! Rhythmic, bitter, exact. It’s the mundanity of struggle, turned lyric. This writhes with fury & doesn’t flinch. #KeepWriting #PoemsAbout #GutterPrayer
‘viridian gunk glowing holy’ is a filthy benediction, devotion scraped from street corners. This poem wallows in the sacred muck & makes it shimmer. Unwashed & undeniable. #KeepWriting #PoemsAbout #GutterPrayer
‘water into wine, bloody marks / of stigmata dribble down his arm’ is vile & visionary. Unholy and holy all at once. A gutter-stained gospel, where delusion meets grace. Can’t look away. #KeepWriting #PoemsAbout #GutterPrayer
‘A kind of unfinished manuscript / where errors and crossings out / on each tear-washed page are rife’ reads like an ode to human frailty, messy, holy, real. Love how this leans into grace through imperfection. #KeepWriting #PoemsAbout #GutterPrayer
‘Every drop is a link in a chain / we have shaken’ seethes with consequence & complicity. The whole poem pulses with dread, like truth whistling through a leak in the system. Fierce. #KeepWriting #PoemsAbout #GutterPrayer
Thanks a lot; the tussles are so normal, the rest was difficult to imagine. Appreciate the repost. 🙏😊
#PoemsAbout #GutterPrayer
Seagull Lust Ellen Harrold Night catch cradles lye askew at that seductive crevice where tarmac meets mottled brick worn porous by mildew. Scattered, yellow starlight strewn from an earth-worn bag, viridian gunk glowing holy in the grace of rotisserie windows.
For #PoemsAbout #GutterPrayer with @brokenspinearts.bsky.social I'm thinking of simple things on a cold night. Can't fault seagulls for being so loud. We stole all their fish. #poetry
Always looking for the light, you are! #poemsabout #gutterprayer @brokenspinearts.bsky.social
