Here we go. Let’s test this. Inspired by @camilags’s collaborative poems, a snap to concrete fresh poems. You either get a foreshadowing word, or you get the last word of the previous user. Contribute your line and share to make poetry together.

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gm with an old verse I wrote at some point like water like water, i flow with grace i move in solitude and solace belief and inspiration strikes me everyday as i step into my power and reclaim

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You know? You're like a sunrise Full of warm and beautiful colors No, maybe you're like the sky Big and bright Youre like a fish No, no You're like yourself Like a dream

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Between Rita and my eyes... A rifle And whoever knows Rita, bows and prays to a god in the honey-colored eyes! .. And I kissed Rita when she was little When she was little And I remember how she clung to me, And covered my arm with the sweetest braid And I remember Rita as a bird remembers its brood Oh.. Rita Between us a million birds And pictures and many appointments I shot at her.. A rifle Rita's name was a holiday in my mouth Rita's body was a wedding in my blood And I lost Rita... Two years. And we pledged to the most beautiful cup, And we burned in the wine of the lips And we were born twice! Oh.. Rita What turned my eyes away from your eyes Except two slumbers And honey-colored clouds Before this rifle! Once upon a time, the silence of the evening My moon migrated far in the morning In the honey-colored eyes And the city swept away all the singers, And Rita between my eyes... A rifle

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بين ريتا وعيوني... بندقيَّة والذي يعرف ريتا , ينحني ويصلي لإلهٍ في العيون العسليَّة ! ..وأنا قبَّلت ريتا عندما كانت صغيره عندما كانت صغيره وأنا أذكر كيف التصقتْ بي, وغَطَّتْ ساعدي أحلي ضفيرة وأنا أذكر ريتا مثلما يذكر عصفورٌ غديرَهْ آه.. ريتا بيننا مليون عصفور وصوره ومواعيدُ كثيرة أطلقتْ ناراً عليها.. بندقيَّة اسم ريتا كان عيداً في فمي جسم ريتا كان عرساً في دمي وأنا ضعت بريتا ... سنتَينِ. وتعاهدنا على أجمل كأس , واحترقنا في نبيذ الشفتين وولدنا مرتين ! آه.. ريتا أي شيء ردَّ عن عينيك عينيَّ سوى إغفاءتين وغيوم عسليّة قبل هذي البندقيَّة! كان يا ما كان يا صمت العشيّة قمري هاجَر في الصبح بعيداً في العيون العسلَيّة والمدينة كنست كل المغنين, وريتا بين وعيوني.. بندقيّة

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Fresh poem in your weekly poetry shot. This week we're flying over where friends live. https://paragraph.com/@trpplffct/flying-over?referrer=0xB31Faa5c1D581C70F4b6ed095c944936cBd2a357

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Every day I moved away from myself Farther and farther To the point where I became distant from my dreams A man without dreams is dead ✨ Today's Daily Spark: "Count how many different shades of green you can spot right now."

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I planted your memories in a pot, one by one, so that maybe one day your dreams will bloom like flowers in my sleep ✨ Today's Daily Spark: "Find a perfect triangle in the wild and photograph it."

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Also for the /poetry communtiy

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When I drink my coffee When I light my cigarette I talk to you in my heart I need to visualize you to talk You are evergreen Green like a tree ✨ Today's Daily Spark: "Write a love poem to your morning drink."

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بعضی صبح‌ها با همان حس قدیمی بیدار می‌شوم انگار مادرم در آشپزخانه است و بوی نیمرویی که با روغن حیوانی درست می‌کرد آرام‌آرام در خانه پیچیده… پدرم تازه از نانوایی رسیده و نان داغ را کنار سفره می‌گذارد همان‌طور که همیشه می‌گفت: «تا وقتی توی این خانه‌ای، نان باید صبح‌ها داغ باشد» و من آن روزها را نمی‌فهمیدم… نمی‌دانستم یک روز در خانه‌ای آن‌سوی دنیا بیدار می‌شوم و هیچ‌کس منتظر بیدار شدنم نیست… جز خاطره‌ی بوی نان داغ و صبح‌هایی که بی‌آنکه بدانم آخرین صبح‌های زندگیِ قبلی‌ام بودند! حالا سال‌هاست هر صبح اول دلم بیدار می‌شود بعد چشم‌هایم 🥺 Some mornings, I wake up with that same old feeling… as if my mother is in the kitchen, and the smell of eggs she used to make with animal butter is slowly filling the house… My father has just come back from the bakery placing the warm bread beside the breakfast cloth, just like he always said: “As long as you are in this home, the bread in the morning should always be warm.” And I didn’t understand those days… I didn’t know that one day I would wake up in a house on the other side of the world with no one waiting for me to open my eyes… except the memory of warm bread and mornings that without knowing it were the last mornings of my previous life. Now, for years every morning my heart wakes up first… then my eyes🥺

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Do you know these sickness bags you can find in the seat pockets of the airplane seat in front of you? I love to use them as a canvas for ephemeral poems. I write a poem on them, and then put them back. Maybe someone finds them, maybe not. Starting a new series. Collect "Below us" from the new Barfbag Files collection now: https://kismet-art.vercel.app/moment/0xc33086ffa58b3a56062f2402e8714e0fa656f774/1

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Do you remember that green dress you were wearing? The same dress you wore last time Since that day, every green thing I see reminds me of you Like this tree ✨ Today's Daily Spark: "Draw your home as if it were a character in a cartoon."

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Sit on the chair I want to paint your face But no matter what I do, I can't concentrate I light my cigarette I think about the first day we went to the cafe My face gets wet where I paint it ✨ Today's Daily Spark: "Make a tiny sculpture out of household objects and photograph it."

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I vibe coded a snap to create a collaborative poem using the Dadaist method that @camilags showed us. This is the result. You can also mint it as an NFT, splits go to all participants (9%), @kismet and the @trpplffct onchain poetry fund (both 5%) This was fun. Snapoetry #1 in a valley there was a house house is more than a roof and walls walls on the street on the empty street, the sea kept whispering stories no one dared to forget all I forget I forgive forgive me for i have wallowed what is wlowed the exact emotion felt when standing in front of what happened all of beautiful things happened after you I built my path in the aftermath Thank you @eduardmsmr @cryptonjal @onika84 @jeroenv78 @lish.eth @chriscocreated @whalesofi myself @alitiknazoglu and @victoctero for cocreating this.

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