this is for crys whom i said a hurried goodbye to today. to crys who wanted to pack me into a suitcase. and to crys who is the only friend i know that made going away seem easier than it really is. im giving you a crazy suitcase poem of goodbyes that doesnt make sense, bt a suitcase full so goodbyes seem really easy in multiples. love.



Goodbye felt like an easy thing today,
a thing i cld carry around.
Not quite the suitcase for travelling
but the suitcase that travels.
It is big and brown and quite
very faithful.
It is a suitcase full of goodbyes,
there is enough to go around every traveller
you meet.
If we all had a suitcase of goodbyes,
goodbyes would never be hard.
because there would be plenty to give around.
and goodbyes would always be easy
because there would be someone else.
But my suitcase is small,
and it only has a few goodbyes left
You can take one of the last
but i know you will return it someday
because the goodbye is on loan
and will never be overdue.

P.s this is my surprise, only u cld awake my dormant writing. sorry i left early, had to pass groceries to grandma before she sleeps bt good anyway because totally didnt have to do the whole goodbye at gate thing.

Had i known better
I would have left my heart
in winter's care.
Promised with vows of satin lining and
sealed by heaven's laced crystal blessings.
Locked deep in cotton slumber,
not even pea-sized gravel could arouse
her from centuries of divine order.

She waits patiently,
for only time tells.
And time passed with the deaths of courtly monarchs,
of authors and borders
and earth's aging forests.
For that day would finally arrive
when trees part,
naked from the once dense foliage of secrecy,
winter would be shy of its thin chamber walls
for what lay inside was
fast surrendering
at a speed faster than light,
revealing herself in full crimson glory
it was time
for the mistress to claim her heart.

how would you like my heart done?
rare, medium or well done.

scarlet freshness,
firm but unyielding to the touch
she resists the master's prodding fingers
seared, but unhurt.

slow wrinkles form,
struggling to protect the deep red heart centre
the burst of sizzle cries
at her first release of sweet juice.

pasty charred brown
my heart is well done,
yielding to your knife.

I stood in the silence of night,
tiptoeing to hear those voices i knew,
faintly voices that told of winter's rare bloom,
and autum's first harvest of fruits.

I always knew what was first to grow,
where they grew,
and how to make them grow.
But one day,
i just did not know
silence was left alone.

Years later,
when moonlight met me in my eyes,
I still wondered,
which came first,
that you went into hiding
or was it then
that i stopped searching.







hi guys! erhm buliuming is angela-me if you havent already realised. everyone writes so beautifully, i feel like im in a fantasy world. like really. like in this fairyland where everyone speaks a different lang from this place called earth. maybe its martian talk.

ok, its my first writing, and sorry, i dont like to title my works, (first time today i wonder why there are more 'untitled' in artist anthologies than those of poets?) will try to change this. anyway, i am not a control freak, you can tear it inside out and make all sorts of meaning out of it. (except no romance pls>shoot eyes at crys) very unpolished, but since we are called trigger poetry not digger poetry, i take the liberty to leave words unturned huh.

What better way to start the community with a love poem?

here's an excerpt:

this poem is for the pillow clutchers
for those looking into the imaginary eyes of the person who fills their mind with sugarplum smiles
for those who have a cannon of dreams ready and waiting to blossom
for the men and the women who want to be understood in that way that only someone who kisses you can understand you
this poem is for you.

- love poem, tenessee mary fons

I love the phrase 'pillow clutchers'. 1st triggerpoetry topic: love?