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This one was from a prompt on/around 5/30. Something about doomscrolling. I had a darkly humorous take on it with a kind of Terry Pratchet vibe going in my head. But then it turned weirdly personal and just became this ugly venting thing that is hard to read. I would like to put a disclaimer
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This is a genre-bending poem that winds up being 5-6 minutes when read aloud or 5 pages printed. However, I think the payoff is worth it in the end. Originally from a prompt: “to describe what animal or plant you would be reborn as”. I asked if cryptids counted and they laughed and said yes…
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June 4th, 2025 Prompt: Tell me something about the creatures that live in your area. Write a poem that uses the name of a species of animal I could find near you. June 5th, 2025 Prompt: Tell me about someone or something you lost, specifically how it felt in the body… Like this was an
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These might’ve been April. I’m not sure. Time doesn’t always linearly in my head. Right now I’m thinking about next week, mostly so I don’t think about two days ago. I swear it makes sense. Anyway, without further ado I give to you more poetry…
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Some little blubby bits from Bluesky. Some pulled, some not, some hadn’t seen the light of day at all. Hope you enjoy. Best wishes 🤗
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These were from Sans Merci in 2010. I will add the other 4 later, as well as some from The Pickett and Good Newspaper. Thank you for your time 🤗
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I pulled some amount of these off Bluesky recently. Figured they could have a home here. I will try to add more when I have time next week. Regardless, wishing y’all the best 🤗
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This was partly inspired by a memoir I edited for a woman who insisted she knew one of the loves of her life in a previous life. I blended that inspiration with some weird dreams I was having leading to my wedding recently. I hope it’s enjoyed. Best wishes y’all 🤗 __________ Was that you
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I didn’t knowwhat I was walking into whenI wandered inside that bookstore on that spring cherry blossom day. The vellichor, the taste, the smell the ink and pages, leather binding blisssunlight’s kiss hits differently the day beforeyou never truly see daylight again. I remember I was thinking of the upcomingsummer’s plays, a retinue of contemporary
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The fearIs that I’ll be like himChasing shadowsA reality of my ownBut no others. That a webwork of wordsWill become my prison.That shadows will whisperMy faults, my successesMy pain, my speaking plain My end of daysAnd yours.I will speak riddlesAnd you will belittleThe coming apocalypse. And I will speakTo the pigeons in the parkAnd think
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Poetry With Hart 