Don't be dejected
You are enough
Perfection isn't a bar
You need to meet
You work hard
Do good deeds
Grow and fly where
Others do not
Lift your chin up
See yourself as I do
It's all true
You are the most wonderful you
#Emoetry #dejected
#writingcommunity #poetry #blueskypoets #vss365 #skypoet
I felt like I needed to write, well, something else this week for #PoemsAbout #EdgeOfKnowing
@alanparrywriter.co.uk
@thebrokenspine.co.uk
#poetrycommunity #poetry #poem #poems #skypoets #blueskypoets #blueskypoetry #poetsofbluesky #skypoet #writingcommunity
As Melancholia Draws Nearer
(Øresundsbron III)
#BlueSkyPoetry #SkyPoet #WritingCommunity #PoetryCommunity #poetry #poetrysky #blueskypoets
@blueskypoetry.bsky.social
#PoemsAbout #EdgeOfKnowing
@alanparrywriter.co.uk
@thebrokenspine.co.uk
#poetrycommunity #poetry #poem #poems #skypoets #blueskypoets #blueskypoetry #poetsofbluesky #skypoet #writingcommunity
Warm hands
Papery skin
Tidy nails
Hold my face
Firmly but gently
Lifting me out of my fug
@blackboughpoetry.bsky.social #fragmentsFriday
#WritingCommunity #Poetry #vss365 #blueskypoetry #skypoet #writing
A poem about outgrowing past versions of yourself and the strange feeling of no longer recognizing who you used to be. I Met Myself and Didn’t Recognize Him I passed myself in a memory and didn’t stop. He looked familiar— like someone I used to trust. Same hands. Same voice. But there was something different in the way he stood— like he still believed things I had already buried. I almost called out to him. But I kept walking. Some versions of us are better left alive in the past.
A poem about how time doesn’t really move on but instead folds, allowing memories and emotions to return as if they never left. Time Doesn’t Move Forward Time doesn’t move forward. It folds. That’s why a smell can take you back ten years in a single breath. Why a song can reopen something you swore was gone. Nothing leaves. It just waits— pressed between moments like pages in a book you keep pretending you’ve finished.
A poem exploring how indifference, not hate, is the true opposite of love, and how the absence of feeling can be more final than anger. The Opposite of Love Isn’t Hate The opposite of love isn’t hate. Hate still remembers. Still burns. Still cares enough to feel something. No— the opposite of love is the day you realize you don’t feel anything at all. No anger. No longing. No need to understand. Just silence where something once mattered.
A poem about the strange and confusing nature of human existence, and how despite everything not making sense, we still find ways to connect and love. We Are All Pretending This Makes Sense We wake up. We work. We speak in small, careful ways about things that don’t matter because the things that do are too big to hold. We act like this is normal. Like it makes sense to exist at all in a universe that never explained itself. And somehow— we still find ways to love each other inside all that confusion. Which might be the strangest thing of all.
Maybe the point isn’t to have everything figured out.
Maybe the point is to keep showing up anyway.
Here’s some poems. 💙💙💙
#poetry #blueskypoets #writingcommunity #BlueSkyPoetry #SkyPoet
Holding the Bloodstone - Day 6
the bloodstone rests in my palm
long before and long after me
#Bloodstone #Poetry #SkyPoet #Gemstones
read.jltooker.com/p/month-of-p...
In case you haven't had a chance to check it out, here's the link to the online version. These poets are practically perfect in every way. Enjoy! 🤗
#poetrycommunity #writingcommunity #poets #writers #writing #skypoet #skypoem
Holding the Bloodstone—
Two lines a day. Listening.
Day 4
ancient silica and iron
my breathing slows
read.jltooker.com/p/month-of-p...
#poetry #Bloodstone #Writer'sLife #SkyPoet #Chakras
My poem called Wet Swings. … When the sun was shining, it meant we could go out and play. The sandbox, the swings and playground. All day, at least until the moon knocked. Rainy days were different. We could not play in that area. The wet sand, playground and swings said so— and our parents, who said no from worry. So we didn’t use them. Instead we’d search for puddles, and splash around in the biggest one. We’d return home dripping wet, parents saying we’d catch colds. And we always did.
Just a little nostalgia from childhood. I remember swinging high then jumping off the swing… then failing the landing— and getting stabbed by pieces of bark.
Looking back… not a fun memory 😂
#poetry #poetrycommunity #freeverse #writingcommunity #writing #skypoet #blueskypoetry #poet #tenshipoems
Holding the Bloodstone - Day 3
flecks of iron peek through
red drops on a field of green
read.jltooker.com/p/month-of-p...
#Poetry #Bloodstone #Chakras #WritersLife #SkyPoet
Almighty
Lethal to the quick
A sword may impart its cuts
Also by hand held
Deft #pens can unravel #man
Marking descent line by line
#vss365
#tanka
#poetry
#PoetsOfBluesky
#SkyPoet
#SkyWriting
Day 2
palms press against coolness
warmth gathers in the stone
— Holding the Bloodstone
Two lines a day. Listening.
read.jltooker.com/p/month-of-p...
#Poetry #Bloodstone #WritingLife #SkyPoet #Chakras
I am not starting over.
I am returning
to the version of me
that never left.
#micropoetry #skypoet
My poem called Teacups. … I place them like always, yours on the left, mine on the right. A small symmetry we never planned, but somehow honored. Each morning, I fill the kettle, and let the steam rise slow. Jasmine for you— hibiscus for me. They sit between us, those two teacups— quiet as prayers, warm only for one. And though your hands haven't reached for yours in seasons, I keep pouring, because letting it go, feels like losing you a second time.
Another day, another visit to the doctor’s office (in a few hours) 😭
Hope you’re all doing well, and staying healthy too 😊
#poetry #poetrycommunity #freeverse #writingcommunity #writing #blueskypoetry #skypoet #tenshipoems #poet
With thanks to Paul @thewombwellrainbow.bsky.social for this week's #PromptCombo theme #Allowed
#poetrycommunity #poetry #poem #poems #skypoets #blueskypoets #blueskypoetry #poetsofbluesky #skypoet #writingcommunity
My poem called Animoria. … While in the hospital room, the brush called to him. Hesitant at first— he picked it up, and made his way to the easel. The tip of the brush pecked the canvas, then glided from one side to the other. At the end of the day, a blind man slipped away. What he left behind? His Animoria to be displayed.
I think I invented a word (I think).
I’ll make another post with the definition for Animoria. I’m really hoping it doesn’t exist, then I can say I invented a word 😎
#poetry #poetrycommunity #freeverse #writingcommunity #writing #blueskypoetry #skypoet #tenshipoems #poet
#PoemsAbout #InBloom
@alanparrywriter.co.uk
@thebrokenspine.co.uk
#poetrycommunity #poetry #poem #poems #skypoets #blueskypoets #blueskypoetry #poetsofbluesky #skypoet #writingcommunity
@nathanbrazil.bsky.social @daveashleypoet.bsky.social @jackdaniels75.bsky.social
#PoemsAbout #InBloom
@alanparrywriter.co.uk
@thebrokenspine.co.uk
#poetrycommunity #poetry #poem #poems #skypoets #blueskypoets #blueskypoetry #poetsofbluesky #skypoet #writingcommunity
#PoemsAbout #InBloom
@alanparrywriter.co.uk
@thebrokenspine.co.uk
#poetrycommunity #poetry #poem #poems #skypoets #blueskypoets #blueskypoetry #poetsofbluesky #skypoet #writingcommunity
mushrooms
Soft lamps in the dusk,
mushrooms breathe electric songs—
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴.
#HaikuFeels - Breathe
#Haiku #Senryu #Poetry
#MicroPoem #SkyPoet
🧵 A Thread ~
#Poetry #BlueSkyPoetry #SkyPoet #Poem
If You Could Go Back 🥀 ⏳️ by Danny Bryck
know, I know
If you could go back you
would walk with Jesus
You would march with King
Maybe assassinate Hitler
At least hide Jews in your basement
1/7
Another #nothing poem for #PromptCombo 😀.
Glasses raised for our host @janpsolivagant.bsky.social
#poetrycommunity #poetry #poem #poems #skypoets #blueskypoets #blueskypoetry #poetsofbluesky #skypoet #writingcommunity
With thanks to our luminous host, Jan @janpsolivagant.bsky.social here is my #PromptCombo for #nothing
#poetrycommunity #poetry #poem #poems #skypoets #blueskypoets #blueskypoetry #poetsofbluesky #skypoet #writingcommunity
My poem called Cracked. … An egg rolled my way. Curious, I picked it up, crack~ but accidentally dropped it. I looked into a mirror. My outfit is good today, but— crack~ the mirror didn’t like it. Walked away from her doorstep. Got into my car, and drove back home. crack~
Forgot to post yesterday 😓😭
#poetry #poetrycommunity #freeverse #writingcommunity #writing #skypoet #blueskypoetry #poet #tenshipoems
A poem about what remains after everything burns away—the idea that even when we lose the softest parts of ourselves, something stronger and unbreakable survives. What Survives the Fire They told us we would burn— and we did. Not all at once. Not clean. Piece by piece— the soft parts first, the trusting parts, the names we used when we still believed someone would answer. But something stayed. Something ugly and bright and impossible to kill. And now when they look at us they don’t see ashes— they see what fire couldn’t take.
A poem about the fear of being truly seen and understood, and how vulnerability can feel more dangerous than isolation. The Quiet Violence of Being Seen You looked at me like you understood— and that was the worst part. Because I did not come here to be known. I built this carefully: the distance, the version of myself that survives introductions. But you— you stepped past all of it like it wasn’t real. And now I have to decide which is more dangerous— being alone, or being understood.
A poem about how we learn to hide pain and function through it, turning survival into something that looks like strength from the outside. We Learned to Smile Like This We learned to smile with our teeth closed. To say “I’m fine” in a voice that didn’t shake. To carry whole storms in the space between two breaths and call it normal. Nobody taught us how to break— so we didn’t. We adapted. Turned pain into posture, into timing, into something that almost looks like grace. And now people call us strong like it didn’t cost anything.
There Is a Version of Us That Wins Not the loud one. Not the one they write stories about. The quiet one. The one who kept going when no one was watching, when nothing changed, when it would have been easier to disappear. That version of us is still moving. Still choosing. Still here. And one day— without warning— that will be the version that wins.
Not every truth arrives loud.
Some of it waits—quiet, patient—until you’re finally ready to hear it.
Here’s some poems. 💙💙💙
#poetry #blueskypoets #writingcommunity #BlueSkyPoetry #SkyPoet
The Wanting
Come to me now
And bring your kiss,
lest you think
You've been dismissed;
I'll always hunger
For your touch—
That fateful stroke
I crave so much.
#poetry
#amatory
#PoetsOfBluesky
#SkyWriting
#SkyPoet
It’s so much simpler
to love
before
love’s let you
down.
It’s so much richer
to love
beyond
the grave
of uncertainty.
And so comes
the threshold—
of that
which deepens.
Perhaps
you should
have known.
Certainly,
you didn’t want
to believe.
#Poetry #SkyPoet
#Love #Relationships
Oh—
this wilting
woman.
I know,
sweet girl—
it would all be
so simple
if only
you didn’t know
how much more
there is—
and could be.
The apple,
swallowed.
The box,
opened.
There is no use
in resisting…
There is simply
no going back
now.
#Poetry #SkyPoet
#Consciousness
My final one for #PoemsAbout #Melt this week. Thank you everyone for reading.
@alanparrywriter.co.uk
@thebrokenspine.co.uk
#poetrycommunity #poetry #poem #poems #skypoets #blueskypoets #blueskypoetry #poetsofbluesky #skypoet #writingcommunity
