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bigjosh84.bsky.social
Joshua Walker
@bigjosh84.bsky.social
160K followers 150K following 920 posts
I take up space, even when the world says I shouldn’t.
Poet. Observer. Rebel of thought.
Every heartbeat a manifesto. Resisting always. 💙
2025 Pushcart & Best Microfiction Nominee
Posts Replies Media Videos
Reposted by Joshua Walker
victordavid.com
Oh, we have a lovely piece from @bigjosh84.bsky.social - zowza..
dogthroat.com Dog Throat Journal (Subs Open) @dogthroat.com · 1d
@bigjosh84.bsky.social has a beautiful new piece up at DTJ today, a lovely melding of divine and grit, populated by angels and whiskey. Thank you Joshua!

"We drank to the lost, the half-believed, the saints whose miracles gnawed like maggots on the bones of the world."
Basking in the Glory of Self-Defeat by Joshua Walker
Outside Murphy’s on a night that refused to end... Basking in the Glory of Self-Defeat by Joshua Walker
dogthroat.com
January 6, 2026 at 9:10 PM
bigjosh84.bsky.social
Friends, it’s been a long year for all of us — but keep the faith. Keep resisting. Keep speaking your truth. Believe in your voice, and never let the world silence it! 💙💙💙

#poetry #blueskypoets #writingcommunity #poems
A poem about resilience and collective strength. It emphasizes rising from hardship, carrying the inner fire, and reclaiming power together. The Ashes We Carry We rise from ruins no one sees, our hands scorched, but still unbowed. Every failure becomes a spark, every scar a map of how we survived. The wind may howl, the night may bite, but together we carry the flames. Through ash and smoke, our steps are sure, each breath a promise, each heartbeat a drum. No shadow lasts where we ignite, no fear can chain what is reborn. The world will feel our heat again, and from the embers, we claim the dawn. Explores speaking truth and standing resilient in darkness. It’s about lifting others, carrying hope, and refusing to be silenced. Voices in the Dark We whisper truths the silence fears, our hearts a drum in the empty night. Every shadow we face becomes light, every tremble a step toward defiance. The forgotten hear our footfalls, the unseen see our sparks. Through hollow streets, we carry our fire, turning despair into the song of the brave. Even when the world forgets our names, our echoes refuse to fade. We speak for the ones silenced too long, and our voices linger in every heart. Celebrates unity, resilience, and courage in the face of adversity. Emphasizes holding together and enduring through trials. Unbroken Threads Our spirits weave through storm and fire, each moment binding us tighter than fear. No chain can hold what refuses to break, no lie can sever what is true. We walk together on shattered glass, hands clasped, hearts beating in defiance. Every fall a lesson, every scar a bridge, every whisper a vow we won’t forget. Through fury, frost, and unrelenting night, we endure, relentless, unbowed, alive. In unity, we shake the world awake, and let the tremor of our courage resound. A reflective poem about hope, perseverance, and shared light. Imagines a sacred space beyond darkness where resilience and connection thrive. A Place Between Stars There is a space beyond despair, where we gather the fragments of hope. Each heartbeat a lantern, each step a vow, every gaze a reminder we endure. Between galaxies of doubt and night, we build a sky of our own making. The quiet hum of resilience guides us, the glow of persistence marks our path. We are not lost; we are luminous, we are eternal in the space between stars. No darkness can claim the fire we carry, and nothing dims the light of who we are.
December 30, 2025 at 9:30 PM
bigjosh84.bsky.social
252 years ago today. men in Boston had enough and poured that tea into the ocean. This year has drained many of us, but we still resist, and the cracks in their empire of lies are starting to show. Keep telling truth to power! 💙💙💙 Here’s some poems.

#poetry #poet #poem #poetrycommunity #poems
A poem about collective defiance and unyielding fire. It captures how we rise together, resist oppression, and transform fear into strength. The Blaze That Burnt the Stars We lit a fire where the heavens dared to watch, a blaze that burnt the stars and scarred the night. No chain could hold us, no shadow could bind us, we roared against the silence that sought to drown us. They whispered caution, called it madness, but our heartbeat was thunder, our voice a comet. Every fear we faced became a spark, every spark a storm that could not be tamed. Through shattered nights we carried each other, each ember a promise, each flame a vow. We burned in unison, defying their walls, igniting the world with what they could not kill. Together we rose, untouchable, alive, leaving a sky rewritten in fire and light. A meditation on shared endurance through pain and darkness, finding rhythm, strength, and light in collective struggle. The Lullaby of Screams Night draped heavy hands across our chests, and we listened to the lullaby of screams. Each echo was a story we thought we’d lost, a song of pain cradled close to our ribs. In trembling, we found rhythm, in fracture, we found our breath. The dark taught us to sing together, without needing anyone else to hear. We carried one another through hollowed hours, lifting hearts that almost broke, naming every shadow that tried to claim us, and reclaiming our own voices back. Through quiet and chaos alike, we learned to cradle light from darkness. Celebrates resilience, shared survival, and quiet victories. Focuses on how connection and courage help us endure and rise. Ways We Didn’t Break We walked through fire and lived, not unscathed, but unbowed. Every fall became a lesson, every scar a map of survival we shared. We did not bend when the winds tried, we did not fade when night pressed. These are the ways we didn’t break, the quiet victories that built our strength. Hands clasped in darkness, we rose, finding courage in one another’s breath. Every whispered truth became a bridge, every heartbeat a drum of defiance. Together we endure, we rise, we hold, woven by fire into something untouchable. Explores a sacred, shared inner space of memory, love, and resilience. A reflective, mythic meditation on carrying light beyond darkness. The Place Beyond Your Heart There is a place beyond your heart, and we walk there together, silently, where echoes of what we loved drift like ghosts on a windless night. Step lightly, for it is sacred, a realm of fire and silence, of endings that are beginnings in disguise. We wander it, learning its language, carrying its light back into the world. Each step is a vow, each breath a promise, that what we cherish will outlast the darkness. In that place, we are more than flesh, we are the pulse of every memory, the light that refuses to be forgotten.
December 16, 2025 at 6:43 PM
bigjosh84.bsky.social
When you’re lost in winter’s grip, let your soul be the fire—
and guard that heat like your last breath.

Here’s some poems. 💙 💙 💙

#poetry #poems #writing #poem #poetrycommunity #blueskypoetts
This poem is about the hidden weight people carry—the quiet wounds, the unspoken fears, and the private battles that shape us far more than anyone realizes. The Things I Bury in Silence I keep a thousand tiny funerals tucked behind my ribs— names I never learned, wounds I never stitched, dreams I folded into smaller dreams until they disappeared. Most days I walk like nothing’s frayed, but every step remembers something I chose to swallow instead of speak. This one is about survival after devastation—how people rebuild themselves from brokenness, not by returning to who they were, but by becoming something stronger and stranger. What We Become in the Ruins When the world caves in, we don’t rise— we crawl, we bleed, we stitch ourselves from the scraps of yesterday. But there’s a power in ruins— a clarity that comes when nothing is left but the truth we feared to face. This reflects that volatile mix of hope and danger inside someone who feels too deeply—how love, anger, longing, and purpose can ignite at any moment. Lit Fuse Heart My chest is a matchbook— one strike and I’m burning, one spark and I’m gone. I love too hard, hurt too quick, rise too fast, fall too far— a walking wildfire pretending to be calm This poem is about being imperfect but trying—about stumbling toward better versions of ourselves even when we keep repeating old mistakes. Halfway to Redemption I’ve crawled through my own shadows more times than I’ll admit, tripped on the bones of who I swore I’d stop being. Still— I drag myself forward, hand over trembling hand, toward a future that forgives what the past never would.
December 2, 2025 at 7:56 PM
Reposted by Joshua Walker
dogyardmag.com
Read our new poem by Joshua Walker! Follow him over at @bigjosh84.bsky.social! We're really excited to have his work over in our yard!
New Poetry! poster with a snipper of the poem "My hands were not meant for prayer but they fold anyway not to God, but to gravity. Ash collects..."
November 25, 2025 at 5:16 PM
bigjosh84.bsky.social
Moments slip through us faster than we want to admit.
Hold onto the ones that matter—there’s no second run, no rewind.
Just now.

#poetry #writingcommunity #blueskypoets #poems
A poem about defiance, self-determination, and refusing to be constrained by fate or authority. The speaker asserts their power and identity, refusing to kneel or compromise. Claiming My Stake- I carve my name in the marrow of time, not in whispers, not in dust— but in fire that licks at the sky’s cold spine, in echoes that never rust. I take what fate would dare withhold, drag it, kicking, through the night— no man was born to beg for gold, nor dim his spark for softer light. They’ll call it madness, call it sin, but I won’t kneel, I won’t break. If destiny won’t let me in, I’ll burn the door and claim my stake. No grave nor government will set my place— I carve my name. I leave no trace. A poem about heartbreak and the struggle to let go of someone who once mattered. It explores memory, loss, and the tension between forgetting and feeling. Things I Choose to Forget- I choose to forget how your voice used to sound, A melody lost in the hush of the air. The echoes still linger, they circle around, Yet I swallow their whispers—I no longer care. I choose to forget how your hands fit in mine, The way that you mapped every fault in my skin. Your touch once felt sacred, a shimmering sign, Now faded to nothing, where warmth had been. I choose to forget all the dreams that we made, The futures we painted in colors so bright. They blacken like paper that burns as it fades, Collapsing to embers that die in the night. Yet still, when the dark presses hard on my chest, I cannot forget how you made me feel less. A modern, cinematic poem about movement, uncertainty, and chasing hope. The speaker navigates life’s chaos while holding onto the possibility of something better. Zigzagging Towards the Light- We ride the neon arteries of an endless night, headlights flickering like distant morse code— a gas gauge quivers, caught between hunger and hope. Billboards flicker their hollow prophecies, shadows stretch long over pavement’s breath, the road unraveling in whispers and wagers. Between exit signs and restless laughter, we navigate by the glow of what won’t die. A promise flickers in the void, untethered, but still burning like a slow-dying star. This is the kingdom of almost and not yet, where emptiness hums with the weight of possibility, and fullness slips through our fingers like wind. An uplifting poem about resilience, hope, and moving forward despite hardship. It emphasizes that even small, quiet perseverance can guide us through life’s storms. What Still Rises- After nights that swallow whole the breath we keep, something in us still rises—quiet, unbroken. We gather the wreckage of who we were and shape it into something we couldn’t be before. We’re not defined by the weight we carried, but by the fact we kept moving under it. Hope isn’t loud, and it isn’t pure— just a stubborn ember refusing to die. And somehow, even against the storm, that small, defiant light is enough to lead us home.
November 18, 2025 at 8:33 PM
bigjosh84.bsky.social
Forgiveness is the hardest thing we ever do.
If you can, do it—but never forget.
Hate rots the soul faster than grief.
Whatever we’ve done, I forgive you.
And I hope, somewhere in the quiet, you forgive me too. Without further ado here’s some new poems. 💙 #poetry #blueskypoets #writingcommunity
A poem about fleeting love and the hollowness left behind when something burns bright but never roots itself. It’s about how intensity can’t replace depth. Quick and Easy A moment passed, and here we are— two hearts that burn, then fade too fast. We chase the thrill, we name the star, but nothing real was made to last. We speak our truths, then walk away, like promises that never stayed. The rush is sweet, but hard to say what parts of us were truly swayed. It’s easy now, but hard to see what hides beneath the hollow grin. We play the game—pretend to be unchanged by where it’s been. Quick and easy—still it stings, this fleeting love that never clings. Written for the quiet ones who endure unseen battles. It’s about the strength inside those who appear calm but are fighting to hold themselves together. A Man Who is Not A man who is not broken, but betrayed, his soul worn thin by scars unseen. He stands in silence, half-afraid— a shadow of the might he’s been. A man who is not hollow, but withered, his spirit crushed beneath its weight. He speaks no words, though every shiver’d thought defies the hand of fate. A man who is not lost, but bound, his heart a garden, overgrown. He walks where only echoes sound, and grief has made its home. A man who is not what eyes believe— a quiet truth the night won’t leave. A reminder for anyone feeling isolated or unseen. This one’s about quiet companionship, and the unseen threads that connect us through pain and healing. Remember That You Are Not Alone When shadows fall and hope feels far, remember—you’re not on your own. The world may shift, but still you are a voice that trembles, not unknown. In darkest hours when hearts despair, someone is near, though out of sight. A presence breathes within the air, whispering peace into the night. The weight you carry doesn’t bind your spirit down, though it may try. For every tear, there’s someone kind who sees your pain, who won’t deny. So when you falter, pause, and know— you’re never lost; you’ll always grow. This poem is about the erosion of love and the quiet acceptance that follows. It’s not about blame—it’s about what remains when the promises are gone. Oaths We Break We swore to stay, to never drift apart, yet here we stand—two ghosts, estranged. The vows once carved so deep in heart now splinter, cold, and rearranged. We promised trust, but trust is ghost, a shadow slipping through our hands. Each word we spoke now haunts the most, unmoored from what it understands. We swore to love through storm and trial, but storms can tear what roots can’t save. The love we held now fades to mild— a dying flame we couldn’t brave. Oaths once sacred—softly broke, like smoke that rises, lost in hope.
November 11, 2025 at 8:49 PM
Reposted by Joshua Walker
dogthroat.com
Dog Throat is pleased to announce that we've nominated The Rapture Machine by Joshua Walker for Best Micro Fiction (under 400 words) 2026. Thank you Joshua for sharing this piece with us. @bigjosh84.bsky.social

dogthroat.com/post/the-rap...
The Rapture Machine by Joshua Walker
They buried God in a vending machine behind the old roller rink... The Rapture Machine by Joshua Walker
dogthroat.com
November 6, 2025 at 5:38 PM
bigjosh84.bsky.social
They tell us we’re ugly, that we’re nothing special. Why? Because birds with broken wings can’t stand to see others soar. Never listen. Believe. Hope. Resist. 💙
#poetry #writingcommunity #blueskypoets #poems
A lone figure standing on a cliff at dawn, wind in their hair, wings made of scars and sunlight. The air hums with defiance — proof that even the broken can rise when the world expects them to crawl. How the Broken Learn to Fly They said the sky was too far, but my bones remembered the wind. They said I’d fall again, but falling taught me balance. They said I’d never heal right, but the scars became my wings. I don’t need perfect flight— I just need the will to rise. A quiet morning kitchen, coffee steam curling like ghosts of yesterday. The flame on the stove flickers — small, steady, human. The kind of light that refuses to die, even when no one is watching. Ordinary Fire I wasn’t built for glory, but I still burn steady. No banners, no crowd, just the hum of survival. The world turns cold, but I keep my own flame. Some nights, that’s all it takes to keep the dark from winning. A crowded street of blurred faces; one person stands still, eyes closed, hearing a different rhythm. The poem hums with quiet rebellion — the unseen soul who refuses to fade into the noise. Song of the Unseen They don’t see us in the crowd, but our silence is thunder. They don’t write our names down, but the earth still remembers our steps. They don’t hear us breathe, but every breath defies them. We are the miracle unseen— louder than their forgetting. A figure walking into a storm, coat whipping, unbowed. The sky breaks open, but they don’t turn back. It’s not about the victory — it’s about the refusal to stop moving forward. Against the Wind They say dreams are fragile, but so are stars before they burn. They say hope is foolish, but so is life without it. They say resistance breaks you, but it’s the only thing that builds. Every bird that soars was told it couldn’t fly.
November 4, 2025 at 11:33 PM
Reposted by Joshua Walker
rhunedhel.bsky.social
@bigjosh84.bsky.social has a short poem in the current issue of Forgotten Ground Regained: Ash of the Oathbreaker. Think of it as a quick dose of Viking/Old English spirit. It uses a Norse stanza form, ljoðaháttr (song meter), a close relative of the ballad.
alliteration.net/poetry/ash-o...
Ash of the Oathbreaker, a poem in alliterative verse by Joshua Walker
Blades brood over / the broken promise. / Steel does not sleep. / Storms find the false; / fangs find the soft: / No hall holds lies.
alliteration.net
October 26, 2025 at 1:13 AM
bigjosh84.bsky.social
People ask why I always post poems on Tuesday—such a mundane day. That’s the point. We fight the good fight, speak truth to power, burn bright—but it’s who we are in the quiet, ordinary moments that defines us, that tells the story of our lives. 💙
#poems #writingcommunity #blueskypoets
A poem about the space grief leaves behind, and how silence becomes its own kind of memory. The Last Breath of Silence I waited for your voice, but it never came, The echoes of your absence call my name. The room is full of shadows, cold and wide, Where once you stood, now there’s only pride. I loved you with a depth that tore me apart, A love that bled from the cracks in my heart. But you slipped away like a whisper in the breeze, And I was left to drown in memories. Your eyes, once full, now empty and dim, The smile that was mine, now a distant hymn. You were the sun that never rose, Leaving me in a world where no light grows. Now I stand alone, with nothing to hold, A story unwritten, a love grown cold. A poem about the voices we forget, and the way the earth remembers what we try to bury. Whispers in the Dirt The earth hums softly, secrets buried deep, Whispers in the dirt, where restless shadows weep. A lover’s name etched cold in fractured stone, A promise lost, now silent and alone. Hands once clasped now vanish with the light, Fading traces swallowed by the endless night. Roots clutch tight, tangled in sorrow’s grasp, Silent words forgotten in the past. Each footstep stirs the ghosts beneath the ground, Their muffled voices, haunting without sound. Beneath the soil, their stories intertwine, A timeless chorus, both cruel and divine. We walk above, unaware of their cries— Whispers in the dirt, where memory dies. A poem about feeling out of step with the world, and the noise that follows when you just want quiet. That Song Oh, that song again—why can’t they see? It slithers and screeches through my every vein, a dirge in my skull, a maddening spree, but they dance like it’s joy, like it’s not pain. The beat’s a plague, it’s a constant invasion, each note like a wound, a dull, endless ache, and yet they all grin, with no sign of persuasion, as if I’m the crazy one, for sanity’s sake. Their voices rise, they’ve memorized every word, like this cacophony is some kind of grace, while I’m drowning in noise, my thoughts blurred, longing for silence, for any kind of space. I’m cracking, but no one hears me retreat— they think I’m the one who’s lost the beat. A poem about love that softens the edges of the world and makes even the smallest moments radiant. The Brightest of Tomorrows I wake with the sun, and it smiles for me, A promise of joy in the air, so free. The world hums a tune that only I hear, And every step forward feels light, not sheer. You’re by my side, and the whole world fades, Every color more vivid, every shade. We dance through the hours, no need to ask, Our hearts in sync, a love unclad of mask. The sky is so wide, it can’t contain, The dreams we share, the joy, the gain. Laughter spills like rivers that flow, And time stands still as our hearts glow. Today is the day we make it all real, For every moment, this love is what I feel.
October 21, 2025 at 6:58 PM
bigjosh84.bsky.social
There’s beauty in what breaks, light in what endures.
These poems come from the quiet after the storm—
where truth cuts, fire flickers, and faith rebuilds itself from ruin. 💙 💙 💙
#poetry #poetsofbluesky #writingcommunity
A poem about carrying what the rain can’t wash away—grief, memory, and the quiet resilience that keeps you standing. The Weight of Rain It falls the way old grief returns, Soft at first, then sharp and deep. The sky forgets, but the earth still learns The names of what it cannot keep. Each drop recalls a buried plea, Each echo hums through hollow bone. The ground absorbs the memory, And I walk soaked, but not alone. I used to beg the storm to end, To let me dry, to let me mend. Now I let it wash, unmake, restrain— There’s peace in being broken by the rain. Let the clouds cry what I cannot say— The flood remembers me anyway. A poem about breaking your own silence and finding truth in the shards. Glass Tongue I’ve bitten words till they bled red, Polished lies till they gleamed like grace. I learned to love the things unsaid, To hide the hurt behind my face. The truth is fragile, sharp, and small, It cuts me even when I kneel. I drink its edge, I take it all, And call that ache the way I heal. Each sentence costs a piece of skin, Each poem’s just confession’s twin. Yet still I speak, though silence pleads— To bleed with meaning is all one needs. I’d rather shatter than stay contained— Glass only shines when it’s been strained. A poem for anyone who’s held themselves together when everything else fell apart. Kingdom of Cracks I built my altar out of stone, Each prayer a scar, each vow a chain. The gods were silent, cold, alone, Their eyes unlit, their thrones insane. I begged for signs, for some return, A voice to mend my shattered creed. But all I found was what I burn— The faith that bleeds is faith I need. Through every fracture, light still came, Unasked, unholy, without name. I learned the truth the ruins lend— We break, but that’s not where we end. In the cracks, I see my reign— A crown of loss, but not of pain. A poem about losing what once defined you, yet still finding a flicker that refuses to die. The Fire That Forgot Its Name The Fire That Forgot Its Name Once it burned with holy might, A storm of gold, unbound, alive. Now it flickers in the night, Too tired to flare, too weak to thrive. I feed it words, I feed it sin, I whisper love it can’t recall. Its glow lives deep beneath my skin, A ghost that answers every call. It hums like faith turned faint with time, Like ash still dreaming of the climb. I guard it close, this nameless flame— It’s me, without the need for name. Let darkness take what it may claim— I’ll burn, if only to remain.
October 14, 2025 at 11:02 PM
bigjosh84.bsky.social
There’s a hum beneath the silence, a sting beneath the calm. These poems come from that place—where faith burns, masks slip, and the heart still beats. 💙 #poetry #blueskypoets #poems#writingcommunity
A poem about the hum of anxiety—the sting that never leaves and the thoughts that won’t rest. The Bee in Your Bonnet There’s a hum that rattles beneath your skin, A restless sting that claws at your mind. It circles your thoughts, a creeping sin, A restless buzz you cannot leave behind. It thrives on the tension, feeds on your doubt, A whisper of chaos that won’t let you breathe. It claws at your sanity, turning you out, A thought that refuses to let you reprieve. It stings in silence, it stings when you scream, A constant ache, a poison in your chest. It drives you to madness, distorts every dream, Until you’re a prisoner, unable to rest. So let it settle, build its twisted nest— The bee in your bonnet will never let you forget. A dark dance between desire and destruction, where masks hide the truth of what we crave. Waltz of Ruin In shadows I move, where the light cannot find, A raven’s wing brushing close to the flame. The mask is my refuge, my peace of mind— A monster you crave, but you won’t speak my name. A twisted waltz, I lead with no shame, My hands on your throat as your breath turns to sighs. Whispers of ruin are all that I claim, Every word I speak is a thin, poisoned lie. The floor is a graveyard, each step I take, Your skin, cold beneath the weight of my touch. In the dance, I burn, but for nothing’s sake— I never wanted you—just wanted to clutch. At the ball, I laugh—but it’s death on my tongue, For the masquerade ends when your soul is wrung. A reflection on lost faith and the quiet ache of seeing your own fall in someone else’s ruin. The Pawn Shop I saw an angel pawn her halo, dim, A tarnished wreath once forged of fire and grace. She sold it cheap—her light, her seraph hymn— For silence filled devotion’s vacant place. She stood outside, her hands as bare as bone, Where once the embers of belief had burned. The sky behind her shone, but not her own— No voice from heaven called for her return. She drifted on, a shadow lost in light, A ghost of oaths too broken to defend. Her prayers fell mute, devoured by the night, No god to mourn, no faith, no soul to mend. And as she vanished, stripped of all but pain, I swore I saw myself within the stain. A poem of defiance—the will to keep going when everything else has fallen to dust. The Last Beating Heart The clocks lay shattered, hands undone, Their hollow faces lost to time. The wind that once held songs has spun To whispers drained of breath and rhyme. Yet something pounds beneath the dust, Defying rust, denying rest, A heartbeat forged in ash and crust, Still raging in a world undressed. The walls have crumbled, light has fled, Yet here it beats, untamed, unbowed, A whisper where the lost once bled, A fire no ruin’s hand has doused. Let silence drown what breaks apart— It cannot still the final heart.
October 8, 2025 at 11:56 PM
bigjosh84.bsky.social
It’s been a while. I stepped back, healed, and let silence do its work — but through it all, you stayed, and I carry that with me. Tonight I return the only way I know how: in four poems.Thank you all for your support and here’s the poems. 💙 💙 💙
#poetry#poems#blueskypoetts#writingcommunity
I wrote this during a moment when I felt emptied out by silence, like even time had turned its back. It’s about the numbness that follows despair. The Lost and the Hopeless I don’t remember when the light went out just woke up cold and didn’t ask it back. There’s no one left to comfort, curse, or doubt, just empty walls and shadows going slack. I speak, but even silence doesn’t stay; it slips like breath through holes I didn’t mend. The clocks all tick, but time won’t look my way— it’s tired of watching me pretend to bend. I used to dream of something past this pain, a softer night, a name to whisper through. But hope is cruel—it never leaves a stain, just floats above like stars I’ll never view. So here I sit, this lost and hopeless thing, too numb to break, too dead to feel the sting. This one is me poking fun at myself- a reminder not to confuse the poet with the prophecy. It’s about laughing at my own mess while still making art out of it. Don’t Take Me Too Seriously- I wore my heart like an oversized coat, Flashing my grin just to see who would blink. I told the world I was a saint, but nope I’m just a poet with too much to drink. I’ll flirt with chaos, but don’t get too near, I might trip on a metaphor and fall. But don’t mistake me for some kind of seer I’m just a mess with a pen, that’s all. I like my coffee bitter, like my jokes, And sometimes I’m the punchline in disguise. But laugh with me—let’s light up the smoke, And toast to truths wrapped in clever lies. So here’s my rhyme, don’t think too hard on it I’m just here to dance and laugh a little bit. This poem contrasts the rush of the present with the stillness of the past. It’s about longing for the quiet moments that once gave life more depth. Now and Then Now, the world pulses in a frantic hum, its thrum a rush, relentless through the air. Then, silence swept the earth, a stillened drum, time paused, suspended in a breathless prayer. Now, we chase the fleeting light of days, a blur of steps, a race we cannot win. Then, we stayed in moments, soft and dazed, where calm dissolved the chaos deep within. Now, our voices clash in wild refrain, each word a sword, unsheathed and sharp with scorn. Then, we spoke in silence, free from pain, a language warm, where hearts were softly born. Now and then, the space between persists, where fleeting peace, in shadows, still exists. Things She Don’t Understand This one speaks to the tension between being loved and being haunted. It’s about how inner battles can make connection feel impossible. Things She Don’t Understand She thinks I vanish just to cause her pain, not knowing silence is the way I scream. She chases thunder, curses at the rain— but storms don’t answer when they’re lost in dream. She says I’m distant, cold, or out of touch, as if I wanted to forget her face. But some things rot because we love too much, and wounds don’t heal just ‘cause we call it grace. She sees the ashes, asks me why I burned, like I lit matches just to watch them fall. But some men learn the fire can’t be turned— it eats you slowly, torching soul and all. She don’t see ghosts that whisper in my skin. She only asks why I won’t let her in.
September 30, 2025 at 10:38 PM
bigjosh84.bsky.social
So, friends: I was going to take a few days off to mourn my dog. But I’ve got a reputation for speaking when I must. So, I will speak—consequences be damned.

Before the poem: This poem defends free speech and criticizes mob mentality. It is not a threat to any person or group.#resist#poems#poetry
In the wake of rampant online mobbing, cancel culture, and attacks on those who speak their truth, I wrote this poem as an urgent declaration: words are not crimes, courage is not punishable, and no one has the right to silence another. This is a stand for free speech, defiance against digital fury, and a call to remain unbowed in the face of threats, shaming, or dismissal. Written now, because the attacks are happening in real time, and silence would be complicity. No They swarm in pixels, pitchforks in hand, Dragging lives through mud for a single truth spoken. No. You speak—bold, raw, human—and they descend. Fired, threatened, shamed. No. Some, they cheer in whispered mobs. Some, they roar, claws bared, But this isn’t a game of sides. No. Truth is not a crime. Courage is not a felony. Words are not weapons for the faint of heart. No. Jimmy spoke. They took his show. Others fell. And you—watching, waiting—think it’s normal? No. I see the pitch, the drag, the callous delight. I see your digital mobs gnawing at flesh and name. And I will say it: No. No one silences truth with fire and fury. No one bends courage with threat and shame. No. Speak. Speak. Speak. And if they come for you, let them meet the echo of defiance. No.
September 18, 2025 at 6:02 AM
bigjosh84.bsky.social
Friends, I won’t lie — I’m shattered. My dog, Sugar Ray, passed suddenly. But grief has its own strange light. In our darkest moments, something in us still burns. Believe in your light, always. Here are new poems.
#poetry#poems#blueskypoets#writingcommunity
A poem about the raw, chaotic energy of life and the small, sacred flashes of beauty within it. I wrote this to capture the way color, light, and sensation can feel alive and holy even in dark moments. It celebrates being fully present in the moment, embracing intensity without apology. “Electric Mercy” The streetlight flickers and I remember I am neon— green flame drunk on rain, pink vein pulsing against the night’s throat. Lightning writes its gospel across my back, and I shout hallelujah in ultraviolet. Colors do not explain themselves. They riot. They bless. They tear their shirts open and demand you watch as they glow themselves holy. A confessional poem exploring identity and the layers of self we wear like masks. I wrote this to examine how much of who we are is hidden beneath social expectation, survival, and the roles we are forced to play. It reflects vulnerability, isolation, and the struggle to be seen for who we truly are. “Matryoshka” They ask me who I am. I start to speak, but find the tongue belongs to someone else. The mask I wear was crafted to be meek, but underneath’s a mask that’s just as false. I’ve worn so many faces I forget if there was ever skin beneath the shell. Each smile’s a trick, each tear a silhouette— a ghost who learned the shape of how to dwell. I’ll carry masks until the final slip— the stumble into soil, dark and wide. And someone kind will paint my lips and grip my jaw shut, so the lie stays locked inside. You’ll say you knew me. Say it with a shrug. You only knew the shape that wore the plug. A manifesto-like poem about collective power, solidarity, and breaking silence. I wrote this to give voice to the ignored and oppressed, celebrating the strength that emerges when people speak and act together. It’s about transformation, rebellion, and unity in the face of neglect. “Floodgates” Raise the floodgates, let them roar— The voices of the ones ignored. They rise, like water from the deep, Unbroken, unsilenced, they will speak. Each word a wave, each breath a sea, In unity, we’re finally free. No longer drowned in apathy, We carve the path we’re meant to be. Torrents rush where silence died, We lift each other, side by side. The winds will change, the earth will quake, And history, in our hands, will break. This world is ours, and we will take The silence that they tried to make.
September 9, 2025 at 1:35 PM
Reposted by Joshua Walker
templeinacity.bsky.social
After the sweltering it’s cool and cloudy here, threatening a downpour, the hazy stickiness of summer already washed off. A perfect mood to read these three gorgeous, dripping @bigjosh84.bsky.social poems. We bet wherever you are the weather is perfect for it too. templeinacity.com/three-poems-...
Excerpt from Joshua Walker poem.
August 28, 2025 at 2:25 PM
bigjosh84.bsky.social
It’s been raining since yesterday. Water washes the past away, leaves the streets clean. But these poems are for the soul that refuses to drift, and the heart that will never be clean 💙 #poetrycommunity #blueskypoets #poems #poem
A poem about longing for a past that never existed, where love and promises were whole but always just out of reach. Fiction of Yesterday- I dream of a past I never lived, where warmth was constant, skies never gray, where promises were more than hollow words, and love stayed, never slipping away. I see a face I never held close, eyes that spoke truth without the pain, a touch untouched by all that’s broken, a bond that would not wither in the rain. I clutch this fiction, letting it burn, but it flickers out when I reach for it— like smoke on the wind, it fades and churns, leaving only ash and a bitter grit. A yesterday that never was, a dream built from the ruins of my heart. A poem about shame, survival, and addiction — the cost of living when the world has forgotten you. The Last Change in My Pocket- I wake on cracked cement, sidewalks that smell like last night’s regret, stale whiskey on my breath, a thief stealing tomorrow from today. They look at me like I’m invisible, like they can’t see the man who once held promises in his hands and let them slip between cracked fingers. A dollar pressed into my palm, a gift for the forgotten, the ones who wake in other people’s worlds, the ones who drink their yesterday and swallow it whole. I tell myself I’ll find the road home, but it’s easier to sleep under the weight of their pity and my shame. They don’t know that the price of living is wrapped in a bottle, and I’ve already paid for every drop. A poem about wearing masks of joy to conceal despair, and the emptiness beneath the painted smile. Hiding in Clown White- I wear the painted smile, an armor of white, Cracked beneath, a hollow laugh rises, strained. They don’t see the tremor—only the light, A façade so perfect, but I am unclaimed. Each joke, a jagged line, a desperate plea, For attention, for warmth, for love I can’t buy. Behind the mask, I am swallowed in sea, Silent as laughter splits open the sky. The red nose, the perfect clown in full bloom, Hides the chasm, the scars they won’t know. I dance, I twirl, in my painted costume, Numb to the sting of my insides below. I am not what you see—just a ghost in the fight, Wearing smiles that are lost in the dead of night. A poem about regret that lingers past the night, revealing the stains that can’t be washed away. Walk of Shame- The streetlights flicker like judging eyes, Each step an echo I cannot outpace. The night clings heavy, the neon lies, Masking the wreckage I dare not face. My breath is stale with the taste of regret, Hands still shaking from choices I made. A moment of hunger, a promise unmet, Now dragging me home through the mess I’ve laid. I swore I had standards, I swore I had pride, Yet here I am, soaked in last night’s sin. No one to blame, no alibi— Just me and the ghost of where I’ve been. The dawn doesn’t cleanse, it only reveals— Some stains don’t wash, and shame never heals.
August 26, 2025 at 4:34 PM
Reposted by Joshua Walker
ringtales.bsky.social
poetry from @bigjosh84.bsky.social and Aleena Muzafar open @thearsonista.bsky.social 's BETTER THAN IT LOOKS August Guest Editor issue. #poetry #BurningHousePress #LitMag #prosepoem burninghousepress.com/2025/08/26/t...
“The Call” by Joshua Walker
Visit the post for more.
burninghousepress.com
August 26, 2025 at 3:22 PM
Reposted by Joshua Walker
ringtales.bsky.social
poetry from @bigjosh84.bsky.social @thearsonista.bsky.social 's BETTER THAN IT LOOKS August Guest Editor issue. #poetry #BurningHousePress #LitMag burninghousepress.com/2025/08/26/a...
“Ashes Between Us” by Joshua Walker
Visit the post for more.
burninghousepress.com
August 26, 2025 at 3:24 PM
Reposted by Joshua Walker
templeinacity.bsky.social
These three Joshua Walker poems. Tender, aching, gorgeous. We can’t get enough of them. templeinacity.com/three-poems-...
Temple in City
Temple in City literary journal
templeinacity.com
August 26, 2025 at 3:29 PM
bigjosh84.bsky.social
Honored that Dog Throat Issue 7 takes its title from my poem The Rapture Machine. Between Sin and Signal is live—highly recommend giving this one a read.
dogthroat.com Dog Throat Journal (Subs Open) @dogthroat.com · Aug 25
Our latest issue is now live. And I want to share this piece by @bigjosh84.bsky.social because I really love it.

Our new web site is operational, and I'll be checking that things are working right, and posting more about the latest stories very soon. #fiction #poetry

dogthroat.com/post/the-rap...
The Rapture Machine by Joshua Walker
They buried God in a vending machine behind the old roller rink... The Rapture Machine by Joshua Walker
dogthroat.com
August 25, 2025 at 6:21 PM
bigjosh84.bsky.social
For anyone who’s been left in the dark, circled the same ache, or sat in a room full of silence—these poems are for you. Not every ending makes sense. Some endings just spiral.

#poetry #poetsofbluesky #poems #writingcommunity
“And You Know” A reflection on hidden truths, unspoken pain, and the masks we all wear. Confronting someone — or ourselves — we see what we cannot say aloud. And You Know- And you know what you are, behind the mask, A story etched in shadows you won’t speak. The truth rests there, in every unasked task, In silence you leave, and I’m left to seek. And you know what you are, though you pretend, A fading light that flickers out too soon. You wear your wounds like badges that won’t mend, And every step you take feels out of tune. And you know what you are, but never show, A heart that’s bruised, concealed beneath your pride. You build your walls, but wonder if they know The darkness you still carry deep inside. And you know what you are, but still you roam— A ghost of who you were, yet never home. “The Heartache Roundabout”: About cycles we cannot escape, the roads of memory and longing, and the repetition of loss. The heart keeps turning even when we cannot. The Heartache Roundabout- We circle back, chasing what we cannot find, A road that twists, but offers no release. Each turn we take weighs heavy on the mind, As answers fade, the pain will never cease. Cracked pavement speaks of all we’ve left behind, The exits call, but none will lead to peace. We linger here, in love that’s redefined, A tethered soul, still bound by memories. The heartache gnaws, like winter’s bitter bite, A shackle worn despite our desperate plea. Each loop we make pulls further from the light, A broken vow lost in eternity. Round we go, each turn a fleeting fight, The heartache roundabout devours the night. “The Same Room”: The quiet tension of intimacy, unshared thoughts, and the spaces between people we care about. Moments where presence does not equal connection. The Same Room- In the same room, where silence bends the air, We sit, our thoughts like ghosts that never speak. The weight we carry hums between us, there, A quiet storm that leaves us cold and weak. In the same room, we speak but never share The truths that linger just beyond our reach. Our eyes meet only to be pulled elsewhere, As if to say too much would breach the breach. In the same room, we fight but never win, We chase relief, but it slips through our hands. The walls hold nothing but the dark within, Time moves, yet still it understands. In the same room, we break and heal and stay— Each day we fall, but still we find our way. “Glamour Mugshots” Some endings are messy, some are absurd — and some are both. Glamour Mugshots- Glamour mugshots, smiles that lie too bright, Chasing the glow, hiding what’s inside. I wear my sins like diamonds in the night, A polished mask where truth is left to hide. Caught in a flash, more than just a face, I paint my pain with pigments thick and bold. They call it fame, I call it falling grace, As cameras flash, I slip into the cold. I twirl in chaos, my secrets kept away, Wrapped in gold that shatters, fades to gray. A diamond lost, but not one they could sway— I crave the light, though in the shadows stay. Glamour mugshots, where I pretend to shine— A king of dust, but the crown’s never mine.
August 19, 2025 at 2:16 PM
bigjosh84.bsky.social
The world keeps turning while we hold on—between pain and hope. These poems are for the worn and the alive, for the raw edges and quiet strength. You’re not alone. Let’s sit with this together. 💙

#blueskypoets #poetry #hope #writingcommunity
“Trembling Spark” is about finding fragile hope amid deep pain and struggle. It’s for anyone feeling broken but still fighting to rise. A reminder that even in weakness, a fierce fire can burn within. Trembling Spark- A tremble threads through quiet bones unseen, An echo of a voice that fades to air. No hands to catch the fall, no light between The narrow walls where shadows lay their snare. Each step, a burden steeped in brittle glass, Each breath, a wager placed against the end. The weight of every promise left to pass, The pull of every wound that will not mend. Yet in the hollow ache, a spark remains, A whisper clawing up from dust and stone. Though brittle sinews strain beneath the chains, It murmurs, “Rise, you will not stand alone.” For in the weakness dwells the fiercest fire, A broken heart that never lost desire. “Out Here” explores the solitude and freedom found away from the city’s confines. It’s for anyone seeking space to breathe, to run from their past, yet facing the harsh truths that follow. Out Here- Out here, the sky stretches wider than sin, The wind whispers truths the city won’t dare, Fields roll like secrets tucked under my skin, No walls to confine me, no judgment to bear. Out here, the roads fade to dust and to doubt, Each mile a memory I’m trying to lose, The stars watch in silence, their light bleeding out, They’ve seen all the lies a man learns to use. Out here, I’m untethered, unbound, and alone, The echoes of footsteps too distant to blame, But freedom’s a ghost with a heart made of stone, A mirror that whispers my cowardice name. Out here, I keep running, the air thin and clear, As if I can outrun what’s already here. Years Ago” reflects on a past love that once burned bright but faded with time. It’s for anyone carrying the bittersweet ache of memories that no longer sustain but still linger. Years Ago- Years ago, we were us, a flame alight, Burning through nights that never seemed to end. Your laughter was a song, pure and bright, Each moment felt like we could always bend The world to match the dreams we held so close, Two hearts that burned with nothing left to lose. We danced beneath the stars, defying ghosts, As if our love could chase away the blues. But time is cruel, it turns the heart to stone, The years have stolen what we once had pure. Now shadows stretch where light was once our own, And empty streets recall a love unsure. Years ago, we were us, now dust remains— A fleeting dream, a love that couldn’t sustain. This Was My Last One” captures the struggle between giving up and finding renewed strength. It’s for anyone who’s felt at the edge but discovered a reason to keep going despite the weight they carry. This Was My Last One- This was my last one, or so I thought, The final breath that left me cold. I gave my all, but what I sought Slipped through my fingers, hard to hold. The end seemed near, a quiet call, But something stirred deep in my chest. A spark, a flicker, not gone at all, A reason to stay, a place to rest. I left my past in shadows’ grasp, But still, the echoes chase me down. The weight I carry, all I clasp, Tells me I’m not yet to drown. So here I stand, though it’s enough— This was my last one… but not enough.
August 12, 2025 at 2:47 PM
bigjosh84.bsky.social
For anyone who’s ever loved too hard, stayed too long, or lost themselves trying to feel whole- these poems are for you. Regret, beauty, and survival all tangled in the same breath. Let me know if one hits. #poetry #poems #blueskypoets
The Price of Her is about the kind of love that feels mythic- intoxicating, dangerous, unforgettable. It’s about giving everything for someone who consumes you like fire and leaves you with nothing but ash. I wrote it to explore what we willingly destroy when we want to be loved at any cost. The Price of Her She touched my wrist and kingdoms turned to smoke, A whisper draped in lace that knew my name. I cracked my spine to make her cruelest joke— Let friendships rot and set my house to flame. She bled perfume, a siren stitched in skin, A promise made of velvet, teeth, and wine. I burned the map to let her fire in, And learned too late the pyre was never mine. They warned me once. They watched me slit the thread. I chose the kiss and drowned the chorus out. She left me bare, unspoken, half-ahead— A throne of ash, a feast of doubt. Now silence feeds where laughter used to dwell. She taught me love. She left me in its hell. Ballad of the Burnout Romeo is a fast-crash love story- about mistaking chaos for connection, and the slow realization that you gave up too much for something that was never real. It’s part self-roast, part survival anthem for anyone who’s ever lost themselves chasing someone cooler, louder, or more dangerous than they knew what to do with. Ballad of the Burnout Romeo She winked once- yep, that’s all it really took. I dropped my friends like classes I don’t need. Sold half my stuff, rewrote my Facebook look, Got high, got dumb, and called that love indeed. She smelled like peach vape, ruin, cherry gloss, Said “You’re deep,” then laughed when I said “thanks.” I paid in Uber rides and moral loss Crashed every couch and overdrew my thanks. We watched cartoons and talked like we were stoned On fate, or stars, or some dumb indie band. I swore she changed me (yeah, she mostly loaned Regret, plus debt, and some illegal sand). She ghosted fast. My group chat’s still in grief. Turns out the price of cool was self-belief. This poem is a guide through the slow burn of hope fading into loss and the painful cycle of trusting, being hurt, and starting over again. It’s about the quiet heartbreak in learning that pain and disappointment are part of the human experience- and the courage it takes to keep going anyway. Discontent, Disappointment, and Disillusion for Beginners Start with a dream- make sure it burns just right, not bright enough to catch the world on fire, but soft, subdued, a candle in the night, a thing that warms, then melts into the mire. Next, place your trust in something built to break: a vow, a hope, a hand that feels like stone. Watch how it bends before it snaps in place, then wonder why you thought you weren’t alone. Now paint the sky with all the shades of loss, let every color fade before it dries. Name every wound, but never count the cost, pretend that truth is sweeter wrapped in lies. And when you’ve learned the lesson pain imparts, just start again- the hardest part is heart. Fading Fog captures the feeling of wandering through memories and pain, where the past and present blur like a city lost in mist. It’s about youth, loss, and the fragile hope that even in darkness, something can be reborn. This poem is a quiet meditation on holding on when everything feels like it’s slipping away. Fading Fog Beneath the fog, the city holds its breath, A whispered hymn of shadows and regret. The youth that dances close to edge of death, With hearts too wild for silence to forget. Your voice, a ghost that lingers in the haze, A broken star against the waning light. We chase the echoes of forgotten days, And drown beneath the weight of endless night. The world outside, a distant, hollow drum, While secrets pulse beneath our fragile skin. In whispered storms, our fractured souls become A myth reborn where darkness once had been. So hold me close beneath the fading sky, Where silence speaks and time itself runs dry.
August 5, 2025 at 2:06 PM