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Best Poems Written by Julia Ingolfsdottir

Below are the all-time best Julia Ingolfsdottir poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Julia Ingolfsdottir Poem

Forbear

Love in a salted wound
I could wait months, or years for 
Finality
For absolute seizure, by your fingers upon my blighted heart
I speak in words like

Devotion
Desire

But its all lost in my disorganization,
Promises I can only hold above my head
Like a great weight
Supporting you and I
As long as you can hold your attention 
Without looking away from my frailties
My own erosions-  that as they fall,
Pass through you, 
Like snow between the bare branches of my heart. 

I am forever winter in the lack of 
Your presence. 
Waiting for the soft sound of your 
Footsteps in the lifeless air. 
Some sign of your journey here,
That does not echo back to me,

This is only a dream.

I wait
and wait
and wait
and there is only....

Details | Julia Ingolfsdottir Poem

Artist Manifesto

And who is artist?

I was told before, dollar for painting

(a hundred for creation)

I don't believe that anymore

(never really did)

We are the architects, playing to the open field of the underworld to realities

(an artist with an 'e')

thick conglomerates of sticky color for fingertips

assimilations of rarities in a crown of words

(and I wear it every day)

I walk with a liquid transcription in my mind, and a step before another

planned to exist.

It's the attraction to memory-movement-making

Paste against palette, mouth against ambiance

a sensuality, that goes beyond knowing

and enters the realm of divine.

We are what we are- and what we are is

liquid- little tapers of movement,

beautiful movement.

Even the naked, aspiring snakes of Adam and Eve

begins here. 

And who is artist?

I promise you this

They'll never pay you to enough to know.

Details | Julia Ingolfsdottir Poem

Pisces

I am love, 
more than lost. 
I am more artist, than living person.
I will not give you the look in my eye,
Nor the eye of the storm. 
Or any other mechanical thought 
That beams from the corners of my 
mouth.

It is the world, 
Changing like the weather
Weaving storms into words 
And my voice into clarity.
It pools just like this:
Furious and deep, 
behind the rumination of my eyes. 

I am half fish in this world, 
more lost in the sea, 
than whole in your arms. 
Your sideways glance
Into the well, 
Reminds me of distances I swim
to be heard.

Details | Julia Ingolfsdottir Poem

Kjos

The colors in your sweater
do not grow here
but bloom without regard
in the mirror of your cheeks

 
We ran with arching strides
through seas of igneous poetry
written for our electric white lashes
Our layers of sturdy bone

 
And yes, there were times
we nearly escaped the snap of the metallic sky
the same confessor
behind matronly curtained hills

 
the only words to tie me here
are the mouthful that rattle my cup
yet I can always paint myself
miles deep beneath this anchor

Details | Julia Ingolfsdottir Poem

Amputation

The door shuts lightly behind me


soft click


metallic boundaries


I turn around to see,
that you are the one that closed it. 


And I swallow


a storm.

Details | Julia Ingolfsdottir Poem

Autonomy

There is nothing here anymore, he said
As the dirty glass jars fill up with rain
Drop full by drop full
Against diluted ambivalence
turned gray
Wetting both of our tongues 
Soaking dark clothing into heavy burdens
So much like myself, I fear

I’m going to break everything open, I reply
Take these shards 
String them up into the trees
Offerings of little elements 
As they chime softly 
Deep
Deep in the evergreens

There is nothing here anymore, I say 
Nothing more, but my tangle of dreams
And the light
Which breaks open reflections
One hundred times larger
Than what I can ever be

Details | Julia Ingolfsdottir Poem

Safe Passage

There are times 
when the tips of your oars
Impede on me
In the lightless night
When even the stars 
are feeling sour and rejected. 
 
Your menacing tongue
Collects the water
and pushes past me
with wordless strokes
For I am nothing more
than the inanimate cat tail strangers
tangled on the shore. 
 
You do not love me even a little
and still
you drift through the only quiet passage in my heart.

Details | Julia Ingolfsdottir Poem

Tell Me

How should I describe this empty?
So that you may wake from this slumber
With my words, 
As some magic kiss. 
It is far more deep, and tender 
then any other wound.
You
Who had stretched tenderness,
The ability to believe,
Over my once
Inoperable fear 
Of forever.


You 
Covered me 
In a definitive reply to a puzzle 
That had never seemed to make sense.
And you
Borrowed from my well of dreams, 
In hopes to fill our bellies
With waters less dark 
And wanting.

So tell me before you go,
One last time before you go

How should I fill this empty? 
This lack of me now, 
This lack of
You?

Details | Julia Ingolfsdottir Poem

When You Are There

When you are there, 
In the mist
That salty barrier that swallows our kisses
I can only see half of your dreams
Those smiles are certainly,
memories I know I should be making
As quick as I can
Before you go. 


But like a spider, I weave only so fast… 
Only so fast before I know, 
That I have gathered all that I need, 
All I need before you go 
Back into the distant grey tides


When I am here, 
With nothing but sand to hold my weight of worries. 
Fistfuls of worry and love. 
You ought to know… 
I love you, even when you go…
Even more so when you go…

Details | Julia Ingolfsdottir Poem

Morning Commute

Today,
The beggar woman on the corner held a sign that said:
"Dance Teacher, laid off, anything helps."
And in the 60 seconds my car sputtered indignantly beside her,
I watched the feral lines in her face
I imagined her skin was soft, and unobtrusively without confession
Swaddled in a thin gray sweater,
I romanticize,
That she threw this on, as she walked into the sharp Autumn air
Veiled in a gleaming burst of creativity.
Her body warm from her feet dragging across the floor
To the songs I secretly like
I ponder shamefully
How many pliés, and twirls and graceful arches with her arms
were made before tripping onto this corner?
Gossiping mouths of freeway on-ramps
That become our living rooms, kitchens and halls.
I love her anyway
When spectators throw dollar bills instead of roses
Out of cocoons
that smell of white mochas