nature – Page 9 – Jordyn Saelor

Fields of Frozen Flowers

Here is a poem about loneliness. *** I don’t know how to explain this “normal.” I think you have to live this, it’s like explaining smells to someone who can’t smell it’s like explaining childbirth to someone who’s never given birth it’s like I have

Freezing Rain

There’s pretzels outside. Dipped in clear chocolate, hanging low over creaking snow. The crunchy candy’s layered thick, inviting a thirsty lick, a cold touch crackles it breaks the pretzel salt on the sidewalk sprinkled for freshly baked branches.

Hello and Goodbye Forever

I shared this article a couple months ago. Since then, I made a song with (almost) the same name and similar themes. –lyrics– (intro) Take me to the battlefield take me to the ash fields–let the hungry come, feed them bitten stars (bitten stars, bitten–) falling to lost paradise (verse 1) Pa pa-ee pa pieContinue reading “Hello and Goodbye Forever”

Precious Crumbs

That moment when you wake from a nap and try to count the minutes you were out by the number of pins and needles in your feet–is it only your tired brain that can’t peg a number on

Road to Jericho

I think the Samaritan on the road to Jericho was someone who once lay dying in the desert and needed somebody to save them.
I think that’s how they learned to save the next someone.

Sunrise (a haiku)

On a blacksmith beam, pole vault over the city into the sunrise. *** I saw this image on Grace of the Sun’s poem and it inspired me to write my own poetry:) If you want more…check out my buy me a pizza page for a fun little poem using song lyrics

I don’t have a poem today

Because I’ve spent the whole day posting stories here https://www.wattpad.com/user/blackviolettwilight

Future Evolution

According to evolution and survival of the fittest, and “favorable genes are the ones that get passed down,” homosexuality should’ve ceased to exist eons ago, but spoiler alert: it hasn’t, and I often ask

The Fig and the Wasp

I don’t think I’m parasocial, but sometimes celebrities show up in my dreams, Kit Connor singing onstage, Janelle Monáe faking their death, and there’s nothing odd or fantastical about the fact

Whence the Waters Wailed

Flighty fingers hold the key to the pit in my gut where I bottle all my resentment. You know what you said, bedhead, but I pretended