Poems from the Notes on my Phone

I almost exclusively feel compelled to write free verse poetry when I’m feeling really bad, and for whatever reason, I always seem to write this poetry in the notes app on my iPhone.  I think that reason that I feel the need to write free verse poetry is that I just need to get thoughts out of my head and down somewhere.  I don’t need to work with restrictions like narrative or rhyme.  I think the reason that I write in the notes in my phone is that these poems don’t feel polished.  Like the feelings that inspired them, the poems feel raw and harsh.  I’ve mostly dismissed these as not worth publishing but have never had the heart to delete them.  I’m glad that I haven’t because I’ve come to appreciate them for their emotion.  These are a few that I’ve written recently.

Birth to Death and in Between

A symphony
Unto this world
Fall into it
Caught in loving arms

Held and sung to
And fed and loved
And loved
And grown
Shaped and molded
Prepared
To receive
This world

You
A fallen star
One in a million
Or one of
Seven billion
That have not
Burnt out
Or returned
All the same
All afraid
All hiding
In lives
Lives they’ve woven
Out of sunsets
And diamonds
And love

Falling, falling
Ever faster
Into the void
One can’t avoid
Falling falling
Never looking
Always reaching
To the sky

Once created
Alive and happy
But never
Fulfilled
A desire
Pure and honest
To create
As one once was

Happy
It’s nothing
A momentary
Flash of light
And return
To dark
Sometimes longer
To be dishonest
But always
To return
To dark

Your hands are clumsy
Always breaking
The sculptures
Before they’re complete
Over and over
Always sculpting
But never completing

Always growing
Growing careful
But your eyes
Grow faster
Than your hands
Finally creating
What once would have
Satisfied your eyes
But no longer will

But then you find
You sit at the door
From which once
You were thrown out
You are returning
You are knocking
You want to break the door down
But are again turned away
Not now
You are not yet ready
Though some day later
Until you have truly returned
You are incomplete

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A Million Pieces

I’m a glass bottle
I’m full
Full of words
Words I can’t say
Tears I can’t cry
On the verge
Of overflowing
Of breaking
Shattering
Into a million pieces

I’m an old book
Tucked away
Never read
Never to be read
My pages yellowed
And cracked
Breaking with every touch
Crackling
Into a million pieces

I am a broken light
Afraid of turning on
Bearing my light only when
It cannot be seen by others
Afraid to blind them
My light too bright
Too intense
My bulb
Bursting
Into a million pieces

Author: Jackson Palmer

Jackson Palmer is a student studying literature at the Mississippi School of the Arts. He hopes to use the education he obtains there to write novels, short stories, poetry, and scripts for movies, television, and theater productions. Additionally, he would like to write within a number of genres such as comedy, drama, horror, etc. Some of his favorite writers and influences include Billy Joel, John Steinbeck, and Dan Harmon. He hopes to explore concepts and systems of thought such as existentialism, nihilism, and fulfillment within his writing. He would like to thank you visiting his blog and hopefully reading his work. View all posts by Jackson Palmer