the sun shines through a foggy pastel sky burning orange against faint pink and blue it peeks behind a mountain, hiding from the ocean in its view.
the rain has been pouring for hours, wailing in the darkness, crying in the showers puddles lie in the crevices of the ground drops falls from leaf to leaf and roll all around.
blue streaked feathers dart amidst the trees like this place is an early morning sacred sanctuary a second of peace to be gleaned from the sky this moment is ethereal, and passes from all unobserving eyes.
i’ve been enjoying watching the storms pour and staring at the clouds for hours on end, hence all the weather poems. idk i just think they’re neat
not really sure where it came from, but here’s letter writer.
dear God let’s have a conversation i’m just tired of waiting for an invitation there’s been more thorns than colorful carnations did you have a plan or was that just my imagination
dear God where are you supposed to be are you only over the oceans or do you rule the seas because i’m slowly drowning and it isn’t even deep but would you believe that i feel like i’m free
yeah, the world is burning did you have a clue, have a clue we’re all hurting and no one knew, no one knew is this a tunnel we’re supposed to walk through so tell me, how the hell, am i supposed to trust you?
forgive the cursing, sometimes i’m inclined to bring out the sin and my much needed pride that isn’t holy i realize but that’s a situation in which you thrive, right?
you’re aware of the growing mess pick out my flaws and i’ll burn the rest something tells me though that you know best who am i to argue when you created this
do i know where that came from? nah
do i hope it meant something worthwhile? yeah
is that really all i can say about this? pretty much
~with shortness of breath, i’ll explain the infinite, jo~
hey how are you i saw your instagram story are you alright do you need to talk can you tell me what’s going on
i know it’s been a long time you have your own life and that’s fine but you used periods in your sentences the last time you even texted me
got your message that must hurt a lot i can’t believe he would be so dumb you’re tired of living you wanna quit the world is fine without you in it
and it’s like what do i do what do i say if i had any power i’d make the pain go away but there’s a screen cause life is mean that’s keeping you from me in the end i’m just a profile pic of then
i wrote this song in like ten minutes and got stuck at the end, because it’s the kind of thing that you don’t just finish in ten minutes? yk? it has a tune, and a beat, and some chords, but it doesn’t yet have an ending.
which is sad.
you know how sometimes we do response posts to each other’s posts and add on stories of others’ stories and draw art based on another’s words and vice versa? how we’ll take prompts and write them out based on how we feel and join works with another person and call that a collab?
well, consider this an open call collab to respond to this unfinished song and add to it in your own words.
or whatever comes to mind.
it’s your sandbox go play in it yk?
comment if you do respond, maybe we all need a little sad friend song
~i can finally see, you’re as fxxx as me, so how do we win, jo~
what is love but a line that is ingrained in the minds of the people preceding its infamous successor baby don’t hurt me don’t hurt me no more because love hurts but they don’t tell you that, now do they?
what is love except to make people blush shake their heads and tell me that i’ll get it when i’m older but i’m older, and i’ve received nothing was it meant to be pressed upon me, at an opportune time?
what is love that people insist upon its exclusivity yet wish for its instant availability and frown on those who don’t feel love in the same ways they do because, of course, that’s the only love that matters?
what is love when they laugh at the idea of friendship being a deep and true source of that which they crave at the thought of choosing to be a character in someone’s narrative simply for the sake of being there?
what is love when i cry alone at a beautiful piece of art and want someone to cry with me and laugh and fight and eat cookies with but despise the societal expectations and views that come with the whole thing?
what is love when i feel deeply in love with the soul of a thing, regardless of gender or identity or their views on mary poppins a cup of coffee, the sunrise, are equally enchanting is it so wrong to be in love with a little of the world at a time?
what is love when it has been used as a knife, dragging down my skin tearing me open and leaving me raw is it love to feel so loveless so used, so worn is it anything more than these chains that forced me down into the shaky ground?
what is love but another chance to slowly try again to fall in love with who i am to step out into the sun and be okay with what has become?
~and oh, there is no power on earth or below that could ever break our hearts or shake our souls, jo~
p.s. no, no, of course i have a crush and of COURSE it’s not what happened after watching the lumineers explanation of cleopatra, of cOuRsE–
Allison Beery is a Christian teen with a passion for creating and capturing beauty, whether it’s through writing, art, photography, or taking a walk in the woods. She lives on a big farm in Central Virginia with her parents, four siblings, and a multitude of pets. She strives to glorify God in everything and love people genuinely. Learn more about her at her blog, A Farm Girl’s Life, or stalk her art Instagram @thecolorboxstudio.
i can remember last year as vividly as my favorite song, the post that popped up on my reader saying the first blogger i ever followed had published (and illustrated) her own poetry book. i can remember reading through a few of the poems and all of the reviews, gaping in awe, marveling, interest piqued.
what i would’ve given to be able to pay for shipping.
it’s a year now. it’s a second book, another one, and allison’s asked me to review.
which, i eagerly say YES to. i didn’t think i could wait this long and yet i have and o f c o u r s e i’ll help her with her blog tour. abso-wonder-lutely.
my eye is puffy from scratching it when i open the pdf. i drink a chocolate avocado smoothie, play sleeping at last, and read the first poem.
and then the other.
and then the next one after that.
i can’t stop reading. i can’t.
in a world that treasures instant, immediate, rich, showy content, allison has weaved the abstract of daily life into intricate threads of love and musing, jam and fireflies, adding a touch of whimsy with simple, but meaningful illustrations, that all combine to one, big, beautiful tapestry known as spark.
i think, of all the writing genres, poetry is the one that’s the deepest. the one that reveals the most about not just the person writing it, but also the person reading it, and spark just brings that out in such a beautiful way. reading allison’s poems was like having a midnight chat with her, which is insanely beneficial for the soul, it turns out. even though every single poem is personal and came from one person, experiencing each and every one was a bit like looking into a mirror. i could see myself.
and you can’t remember what you were about to do
for the life of you?
poems that make you see yourself are the type that should never be forgotten. and this particular book has already managed to bring a bit of hope back in a dim, dreary world.
so i write allison back.
what made you,
brave art girl
begin to weave
(yes, i’m serious.)
it was so:
some things cannot go unsaid,
and yet they cannot be spoken.
beauty must be handled with care:
i saw the label on the broken petals
scattered across the grass
and knew my tongue was too heavy
and my heart too timid
to bear these words across the waves.
thus i trained a pen to
whisper my secrets to the page, instead.
do you have a favorite
in this collection of poems
one with extra special
top dollar care?
and you wonder –
is this even the same song?
“but mommy, which one of us
do you like the BEST?”
an innocent smile.
“i love you all the best
a knowing sigh.
but that never satisfied you,
and so i’ll tell you, if you promise,
wide-eyed, to let no one know.
finger to your lips, now, tiptoe:
a collection tears through
an uncaged summer drive.
that, my dear, is code for
how can I decide?
the art of words
set your life for the better?
and discover that we were
this whole time.
it is not good to
let your thoughts tangle.
poetry is an excellent conditioner –
it makes for a less sloppy appearance
and easier breathing, too.
plus, sorting through the pictures
your mind takes when it’s awake
doubles the enjoyment:
or makes it infinite.
with all this writing
you must get thirsty
is there any favorite drink of yours
to sip on during the process?
a poem rises
too fast to do anything but
who can drink water
in the middle of the ocean?
my thoughts drain far too quickly;
i will catch the drops,
then quench my thirst
after the pen’s hunger
has been satisfied.
f a m i l y.
do they inspire
can we inquire?
something wonderful must come of
this melt-in-your-mouth joy!
i live with these faces and so
i paint their portraits.
they appear between the covers
if you look close enough.
they have shaped the hands that hold the pen;
they shape my heart,
they shape my days.
i paint from life.
would you want fame
for the work you do
the art you create
the mess you make?
(that assumes you make messes. i apologize.)
there can be too much of
a good thing.
fame is messy,
i write clean.
but i would love to know
my book has touched the hearts
being famous without
would be nice,
except it never seems
to work that way…
this small bird was going to fly with him
to the stars.
you write with one
which do you prefer
paper, or a computer?
poems are nocturnal things,
silent creatures, words with wings.
a pen and paper coax them best
to eat from my hand,
the smooth ink flows well
with my thoughts.
and then, once the words are grown,
and the screen catches the poems,
if you had just one day
to say everything you wanted to say
what would it be
if it was today?
i would say
all the things i’ve been afraid
to say before –
i would say, please look after
these hearts i love.
maybe you didn’t know, but
i knew them,
i felt them, deep inside.
take care of them for me.
perhaps you never really
knew me at all.
but then again,
smiles are no less real
for being followed with
a stare at the soul.
draw forever and write never
write forever and never draw
would you pick one
and why, if at all?
my heart is finally clear of
don’t make me pack it all up again.
you may have heard
a picture is worth
a thousand words.
i have used a pen
to create art
before i learned the forms of letters.
and i would continue that way –
unless, perhaps, writing comprises
all different kinds and shapes and sizes:
if i had to choose between
drawing on paper and
email, text, poetry, stories, words
spilling from my heart when speech won’t do –
perhaps i would put away my sketchbook forever.
but i could never
how did you hear
a picture is worth
a thousand words?
promoting art is hard
and so they go together
and it makes me happy. that a friend is releasing her thoughts to the world. thoughts that i wish everyone could read. it makes the tiredness feel not so bad, the loneliness not my only friend. i think it’s beautiful. i think that it’s about time and i think allison’s work is a m a z i n g, but in the little way you don’t notice, like how a robin’s egg cracks open to reveal a little fluffy birdie, or how someone opens a gift wondering what it is. amazing. i can’t wait to see where this spark will go.
turning the closed box curiously,
but the hinges won’t give.
simply because… because it’s raw. it’s real. and it’s not something that’s easily published.
but today is world suicide prevention day, and that’s why i have something to say.
i wrote this based on reading/hearing/talking to people who have gone through the toughest things, the things that drag you down and make you want to lost all hope, the things that make you want to end it all.
so part of it’s hearing from other people.
another part is from personal experience.
i wonder how far people can spread this and read it, but even if nobody sees it, that would still be enough.
~even when the dark comes crashing through, when you need a friend to carry you, when you’re broken on the ground, you will be found, jo~