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Queer

Casted_Runes
Mr Karswell
Fire of Insight
England 5awards
Joined 4th Oct 2021
Forum Posts: 401


Thought I’d make a thread for LGBTQIA+ poetry. Since “LGBTQIA+“ is a mouthful, I’ve called it Queer.

You don’t have to identify as any of the letters of the rainbow alphabet to post here, but poems should focus on “queerness”, which I’m defining as sex and gender exploration/identities outside the conventional. Men and women (gay, straight, or whatever) who enjoy cross dressing, for instance.

My only rule is that you leave anti-queer shit out of this thread.

poet Anonymous


You’d need a heart of stone not to be moved by Wilde’s expansive epistolary, To the Depths. Cruelly, Bosie deprived the world of so many Wilde rivers. Not literally, but he died in Reading Gaol.

Casted_Runes
Mr Karswell
Fire of Insight
England 5awards
Joined 4th Oct 2021
Forum Posts: 401


I don’t talk much about Langston Hughes, but he’s a poet whose work I love. It combines a simple free verse structure with the rhythms and style of jazz music. Jazz fans may like his writing as much as anyone.

Like a lot of queer poets of his era, he had to hide a lot about himself. Especially being a poet of colour as well, having to deal with racism on top of homophobia.

Cafe: 3 AM by Langston Hughes

Detectives from the vice squad
with weary sadistic eyes
spotting fairies.
Degenerates,
some folks say.  

But God, Nature,
or somebody
made them that way.

Police lady or Lesbian
over there?
Where?


https://www.out.com/entertainment/today-gay-history/2014/02/01/today-gay-history-great-‘was-langston-gay’-debate?amp

https://www.arts.gov/stories/blog/2014/jazz-poetry-langston-hughes

BobbyJames
Lost Thinker
Joined 4th Apr 2019
Forum Posts: 6

Man, it's been a crazy year. I'm trans, on hormones with buds growing, and putting out fires left and right.

I'm wanting to change the direction of my work to match my feelings today, and I just don't know how to do it.

Like, a new forum? A new form? I don't think I have to change my work really, it's natural at this point, but I want these poems to reach a massive audience that includes DUP.

It's tough to figure out, but I'm posting a couple if new ones if anyone is interested in critiquing, or helping me out with an audience.

Being Trans is normal for me, and odd for everyone else around. I've always felt like an alien. Being a punk queen is wonderful. Thicc skin required~

You've gotta stomp heads in when tou
need to, look mean when tou need to, and do it with style.

Just remember what Kamina said:

Believe in the me that believes in you

Northern_Soul
-Missy-
Tyrant of Words
England 33awards
Joined 10th Jan 2021
Forum Posts: 5781

Love Poem to a Butch Woman
by Deborah A. Miranda


This is how it is with me:
so strong, I want to draw the egg
from your womb and nourish it in my own.
I want to mother your child made only
of us, of me, you: no borrowed seed
from any man. I want to re-fashion
the matrix of creation, make a human being
from the human love that passes between
our bodies. Sweetheart, this is how it is:
when you emerge from the bedroom
in a clean cotton shirt, sleeves pushed back
over forearms, scented with cologne
from an amber bottle—I want to open
my heart, the brightest aching slit
of my soul, receive your pearl.
I watch your hands, wait for the sign
that means you’ll touch me,
open me, fill me; wait for that moment
when your desire leaps inside me.

_feral
Fire of Insight
United Kingdom 12awards
Joined 23rd Jan 2021
Forum Posts: 865

On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous
by Ocean Vuong



Tell me it was for the hunger
& nothing less. For hunger is to give
the body what it knows

it cannot keep. That this amber light
whittled down by another war
is all that pins my hand

to your chest.


You, drowning
between my arms —
stay.


You, pushing your body
into the river
only to be left
with yourself —
stay.

I’ll tell you how we’re wrong enough to be forgiven. How one night, after
backhanding
mother, then taking a chainsaw to the kitchen table, my father went to kneel
in the bathroom until we heard his muffled cries through the walls.
And so I learned that a man, in climax, was the closest thing
to surrender.

Say surrender. Say alabaster. Switchblade.
Honeysuckle. Goldenrod. Say autumn.
Say autumn despite the green
in your eyes. Beauty despite
daylight. Say you’d kill for it. Unbreakable dawn
mounting in your throat.
My thrashing beneath you
like a sparrow stunned
with falling.


Dusk: a blade of honey between our shadows, draining.

I wanted to disappear — so I opened the door to a stranger’s car. He was divorced. He was still alive. He was sobbing into his hands (hands that tasted like rust). The pink breast cancer ribbon on his keychain swayed in the ignition. Don’t we touch each other just to prove we are still here? I was still here once. The moon, distant & flickering, trapped itself in beads of sweat on my neck. I let the fog spill through the cracked window & cover my fangs. When I left, the Buick kept sitting there, a dumb bull in pasture, its eyes searing my shadow onto the side of suburban houses. At home, I threw myself on the bed like a torch & watched the flames gnaw through my mother’s house until the sky appeared, bloodshot & massive. How I wanted to be that sky — to hold every flying & falling at once.

Say amen. Say amend.

Say yes. Say yes

anyway.


In the shower, sweating under cold water, I scrubbed & scrubbed.


In the life before this one, you could tell
two people were in love
because when they drove the pickup
over the bridge, their wings
would grow back just in time.

Some days I am still inside the pickup.
Some days I keep waiting.


It’s not too late. Our heads haloed
with gnats & summer too early
to leave any marks.
Your hand under my shirt as static
intensifies on the radio.
Your other hand pointing
your daddy’s revolver
to the sky. Stars falling one
by one in the cross hairs.
This means I won’t be
afraid if we’re already
here. Already more
than skin can hold. That a body
beside a body
must make a field
full of ticking. That your name
is only the sound of clocks
being set back another hour
& morning
finds our clothes
on your mother’s front porch, shed
like week-old lilies.

Northern_Soul
-Missy-
Tyrant of Words
England 33awards
Joined 10th Jan 2021
Forum Posts: 5781

“I’ll tell you how we’re wrong enough to be forgiven”

… I mean, that line alone. 👌🏻

_feral
Fire of Insight
United Kingdom 12awards
Joined 23rd Jan 2021
Forum Posts: 865

Northern_Soul said:“I’ll tell you how we’re wrong enough to be forgiven”

… I mean, that line alone. 👌🏻


I mean, I know it's considered a epistolary novel but I can't deny the poetic language Ocean uses, his way of obliterating not being heard is extraordinary especially belonging to the queer community as well as his exploration of race, class and masculinity too, I absolutely love this book

.... I guess it's safe to say i'm a fan. 🤣

Northern_Soul
-Missy-
Tyrant of Words
England 33awards
Joined 10th Jan 2021
Forum Posts: 5781

_feral said:

.... safe to say i'm a fan. 🤣


No…. Really?!… *shocked hissing* 🤣

I was reading a bit more into this poem and saw the description “ this poem is as much about the power of telling one's own story as it is about the obliterating silence of not being heard.” and that’s the most validating shit I’ve read all week.

drone
Tyrant of Words
Greece 10awards
Joined 3rd Sep 2011
Forum Posts: 2255

TO BE QUEER
IS TO BE
HOMOSEXUAL
NOTHING TO DO
WITH THE ALPHABET SOUP PEOPLE
COZ QUEER COMMUNITIES
AND THE LESBIAN COMMUNITIES
SAY SO

WHEN YOU ARE WITH
SOME ONE
THAT YOU CARE FOR
DOES REALLY MATTER
WHAT HANGS
ABOVE
OR BELOW

Northern_Soul
-Missy-
Tyrant of Words
England 33awards
Joined 10th Jan 2021
Forum Posts: 5781

Queer is an umbrella term for people who are not heterosexual or are not cisgender. Just incase you were unsure, hun. 😘

drone
Tyrant of Words
Greece 10awards
Joined 3rd Sep 2011
Forum Posts: 2255

Er NO IM NOT
UNSURE
QUEER MENT YOUR GAY
BECAUSE THE WORD HAS BEEN
ER OFFICELLY CHANGED
AND LUMPED TOGETHER
WITH THE ALPHABET SOUP PEOPLE
DOESN'T MEAN IT'S CORRECT


Northern_Soul
-Missy-
Tyrant of Words
England 33awards
Joined 10th Jan 2021
Forum Posts: 5781

… not today, Satan. Not today.


Anyway, back on track.

i love you to the moon & (by Chen Chen)

not back, let’s not come back, let’s go by the speed of
queer zest & stay up
there & get ourselves a little
moon cottage (so pretty), then start a moon garden

with lots of moon veggies (so healthy), i mean
i was already moonlighting
as an online moonologist
most weekends, so this is the immensely

logical next step, are you
packing your bags yet, don’t forget your
sailor moon jean jacket, let’s wear
our sailor moon jean jackets while twirling in that lighter,

queerer moon gravity, let’s love each other
(so good) on the moon, let’s love
the moon        
on the moon

Casted_Runes
Mr Karswell
Fire of Insight
England 5awards
Joined 4th Oct 2021
Forum Posts: 401

The Hug by Thom Gunn (1929 to 2004)

It was your birthday, we had drunk and dined
   Half of the night with our old friend
       Who'd showed us in the end
   To a bed I reached in one drunk stride.
       Already I lay snug,
And drowsy with the wine dozed on one side.

I dozed, I slept. My sleep broke on a hug,
       Suddenly, from behind,
In which the full lengths of our bodies pressed:
        Your instep to my heel,
    My shoulder-blades against your chest.
    It was not sex, but I could feel
    The whole strength of your body set,
            Or braced, to mine,
        And locking me to you
    As if we were still twenty-two
    When our grand passion had not yet
        Become familial.
    My quick sleep had deleted all
    Of intervening time and place.
        I only knew
The stay of your secure firm dry embrace.

Northern_Soul
-Missy-
Tyrant of Words
England 33awards
Joined 10th Jan 2021
Forum Posts: 5781

☝️ that is so razor sharp. You almost don’t want to breathe in the second stanza, because the descriptions are so immediate. Not a poet I’d heard of before, so thank you.

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