#oldpoems — Public Fediverse posts

Mist

a lake

filled with fish shadows
swimming in dark depths
across a bottom covered with
green creeping algae

weeping willows press close
moss hangs from branches 
looming over the water
where the wet roots of the trees 
grip fungus covered rocks
 
a mist slowly rises pale and thick
from the glistening surface
forms appear and vanish within
weaving to and fro like ghosts
swimming up into the night sky

a white blanket spreads slowly
over the sleeping countryside
swirling around houses
and slipping into chimneys
across the silent hearthstones
until the rising sun
burns it away
 
 From the collection "Words at 16 (1983)" - edited June 2026

“paper mind” – written 12 march 2018 by Allēna

write something
anything
there’s cerebral spinal fluid
where some of my
brain used to be
and it’s one of the many
possible scapegoats
to blame
for why i am like this

humor me for a moment
picture a house with a single
flap for receiving letters

one letter enters

you don’t want the letter
you set it on fire

(but they’re like a hydra)
(the more letters you burn)
(the more come pouring in)

so you get more letters
and burn them
until you are suffocating 
in them

my brain did that a decade ago
i remember the very first thought
it found a girl beautiful 
and the panic set in
the letters poured in
and i drowned in thoughts like paper

the mind full of paper has become 
the paper mind
people and places like wind
blow through it and blow it open

write something
anything
do not burn this paper mind
though you can do so quickly

quickly
quickly

           still

-Allēna

#dissociativeidentitydisorder #fromTheArchives #OCD #oldPoems

#Wood #WoodFires #BurningWood #Poetry #OldPoems #OldSayings

There is an old poem on firewood, which to some extent, holds true, in my experience.

Beechwood fires are bright and clear,
If the logs are kept a year,
Chestnut's only good they say,
If for logs 'tis laid away.
Make a fire of Elder tree,
Death within your house will be;

But ash new or ash old,
Is fit for a queen with crown of gold.

Birch and fir logs burn too fast,
Blaze up bright and do not last.
it is by the Irish said.
Hawthorn bakes the sweetest bread.
Elm wood burns like churchyard mould,
E'en the very flames are cold.

But Ash green or Ash brown
Is fit for a queen with golden crown.

Poplar gives a bitter smoke,
Fills your eyes and makes you choke.
Apple wood will scent your room,
Pear wood smells like flowers in bloom,
Oaken logs, if dry and old,
keep away the winter's cold.

But Ash wet or Ash dry
a king shall warm his slippers by.

Flipping through poetry that’s so old I’ve forgotten even where the drafts were written nevermind who I was when I wrote them. I like the musty paper moth smell. This one’s called PORTION CONTROL.

#oldpoems #experimentalpoetry #slipstream #sadgirlpoetry #queerpoetry #smallpoems #doitfortheprocess #makersgonnamake #sadgirlsclub #poëzie #mastopoetry