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Any name y'all think might be better?
Russell Hobbs and Reed Richards sound like a power couple.
SnokenKeekaGuard
joined 1 year ago
MODERATOR OF
He's a sandwich maker, not a rice maker.
Ps he doesn't appreciate being compared to an appliance that needs water to cook smth.
Its one of my favourite instances! I will over time contribute to it more. Right now I'm just starting to post all that I write.
Thank you. I would love to read your work too so please do post anything you're comfortable posting here!
My first thought was that it was a dunk on jam filled donuts and it meant the opinion of someone who likes em can't be trusted.
But now i think its the opposite and the jam filled donuts temped the tattooed guy which is why he hides his tatoo reading 'be the best you can be' as he can't resist them
And I know she knows
Started this when I read a short story by Borges where I loved the line, 'he was seeking a soul worthy of taking its place in the universe'. Now this poem does not build upon any of the ideas of said story but borrows a beautiful line which I'll credit both Borges and the translator (I forgot who) for.
This is one of my few direct and simple to digest poems. Hope y'all like it.
Or drive too good
I don't think I've ever seen someone over 15 do it
A guy 2 streets down had a lion up until last year. That was ... something. My niece would cry anytime it would roar and we were passing by
Well, that walls coming down
Inseminate him .... bro?
Between two trees, he sways— one root in the earth, one reaching sky, bound by a thread of light to the quiet pull of space. His head tips down, but his eyes turn inward, searching the seams of shadow for a crack, a tremor, a way out of the silence.
Coins spill from his hands, not gold but weightless, each one a thought discarded, a truth left hanging like breath caught between worlds.
Suspended, he becomes the question— neither here nor there, but hung in the aching space where the body bends to dream.
Red and white, his blood sings the song of every sacrifice, a rhythm lost in the sky’s endless reach. He sways, not from wind, but from the soft unraveling of the ground beneath him.
To hang is to listen, to let go, to cling only to the pull of the unseen, the rope a tether to the self he cannot yet name.
He is offered to himself,
and the trees—
those pillars of thought—
stand silent, waiting
for him to fall,
or rise.
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Haha no I got that, what I meant was that the visibility is really low and you can barely even see any light.
My brain was well fried BT the time I replied to you and couldn't get my point across