Poetry

Chapter 39

Poetry

By Jenae Janzen

39 and since the beginning there have been memos
                     pictures,
                                  the occasional solar autograph-signing
  cosmic drafts,
              universe-sized, half-sketched, half-created.
    then crumpled and discarded
                              in a blueprint wasteland larger than heaven
                  the angels  thrown out,
                               humans next
2 and since the first day, copy-editors and
                          assignments.
                                    trans-material architects:
                                    scheming deities
                                   and the critics of their works.
3 whose Great Voice is that?
              the sky is creasing, crinkling,
                          the bare first sign of a different timeline.

My Friend, The Tree

Poetry

By Rebecca Epp

 

Sitting by my dear old friend;

Her feet planted firm, toes reaching out

For water, burying themselves in the

Creekbed slate, crumbling beneath

Her gentle weight. She’s so strong

My friend, strong and still;

An ancient relic upon the hill.

Surrounded by others who look

At her with curious eyes; their heads

Tilted with the wind as if saying

How long has she been here?

So long she’s become one with the

Earth, one with the sky, one with

Me. Lucky I am to sit in the shade

Of her attentive gaze; like a shepherdess

Lovingly watching her sheep graze.

A rod in hand and a clear eye;

She walks with grace and purpose

In the low sunlight. Always rooted

In the same spot on the hill, yet

Travelling where her heart would will

Her to go; roaming free among

The mossy puddles, all that remain

Of the flood. I nestle into her bark

So soft and wait for her to speak

Her wisdom. But, she only sits

Basking in the sun, soaking up the

Last of the heat waves; for the frost

Will soon be on its way home.

 

Lunch Upon a Time

Poetry

By Kyle Doesken

 

This isn’t a story of heroes or fairies,

the kind that you’d find on the shelves in libraries.

You’ve heard those before, so I’ll tell you instead

of a story neglected: the heel of the bread.

 

Our story begins with an average loaf,

purchased by some unremarkable oaf.

An average loaf of whole grain wheat

for an average guy wanting something to eat.

 

This may sound bizarre, but it’s perfectly true,

that slices of bread are like people like you.

They share but one goal. They have but one dream.

They want to be eaten, as strange as that seems.

They’d find that they’d met with a wonderful fate

If they’re grabbed from the bread bag and put on a plate.

 

Continue reading →

Through Cupped Hands

Poetry

By Jacob Brubaker

Switch:  flick.

Marvel at the concept,
let normalcy impress you.
The fruit of your eyes allows a skewed
view.
Trust me, set your life upon my shoulders.
I will never betray you,
only you do that.

Gear:  click.

I fumble with a compass,
perched by my hand;
immeasurable?
Can you fathom?
But you winked at me, felt
that you understood.

Cog:  clank.

Ring around the rosey.
Flit about with me, friends.
Without fail, the circle will break.
Gone, simple whisper
lost in rushing gale.

Clock:  tick.

You tried to hold on,
tiny fingers clasped water,
and failed.
Needn’t fret,
it was inevitable.

Motion…stop

White Girl

Poetry

By Mycah Westhoff

Do I really have to show it?

I’ll speed it up then I’ll slow it.

I’ll cut it down then regrow it.

So turn your eyes and ears and watch me own it.

 

Cuz I speak it, I scat it,

I slam it, I skin it,

I splatter, I sink,

I stretch, I swim,

I spit and swallow it.

I’ve looked in, out, up, all around

Bent it up, stretched it, smelled it, inside outed it,

‘I’ve put my thang down flipped it and reversed it’,

And no matter which way that I work it—

I’m a white girl.

Continue reading →

Damn Decency

Poetry

By Jordan Esely-Kohlman

Damn Decency! I want to live as an animal, marauding the savanna.
To shade beneath the acacia and find excited peace only when and where the
shadows hide.
To feed from the tawny grasslands and rest in the hollows of concentric sienna and
obsidian.
To procure the lay of the land through deliberate exploration.
To find solace in the peach hillsides that languidly lean into vermillion valleys.
To discover that there is no edge of the world, only beautiful quirks and catenaries
where the beginning is the end.
To drink from time, the cool blue stream it is, and truly taste the flux of kinetic
molecules.
To prey on moments and capture them with a swift strike of the paw of perception.
To roam.
To be.

Protected by Copyscape DMCA Copyright Protection

The Humanities Vs the United States School System

Poetry
When we remember a book
we remember our favorite parts
we don’t remember the rest
we cut off the crust
skip the foreplay
surgically remove the soul
and burn the bridges that got us there.
 
The funny thing about fiction 
is that it is the only way
that we know we are real, right?
 
Our histories, our stories
the stories we tell ourselves
that’s the thing of it.
 
You remember Shakespeare
when the audience would know 
what a character would not?
 
That wasn’t meant
just as a cute plot device
that was meant to teach
humility by exposing
the flaws and limited nature of humanity.
 
That is why it is called the humanities
and not 
made up stories and dyes on canvas
sound waves production 
or clay construction
it is the study of us
like psychology and anatomy.
 
Without narratives 
we cannot know anything.
 
Without a fictional world
inventions cannot occur.
 
We need this
we need the lies to survive.
 
Growth by the imagination.

So Yes…

Poetry

By Justin Greger

That feeling 
only a self-medicator 
cannot feel
we all need some help
when you smoke cigarettes on purpose
when you drown your conscience 
when you get higher than your lowered expectations
Anything to press and hold down
the fast forward button of life
You can never rewind, 
only replay
you know it
will end one day
your tape will be used up
you pull it out
Exposed to the light
it burns 
letting go
of memories can be hell
but in reality the angels
are purifying you in fire
so that you can enter heaven

So yes…

Protected by Copyscape DMCA Copyright Protection

Red

Poetry

By Jerrell Williams

This world only sees people as certain colors,

But this concept has been keeping us from truly loving each other.

It’s been a never ending war color against color

God’s creation at war with itself, brother against brother

Blacks against whites….whites against blacks,

Back and forth we go in this cycle of attacks.

It doesn’t matter who wins this drawn out war,

But I guarantee both sides will leave with their hearts feeling sore.

In this world not all is good, and not all is fine,

I wish that this world would just become color blind.

Continue reading →

A Drop of Light in a Sea of Darkness

Poetry
 
The mask cracks
Tears dilute
Painted mud and ash swirl together
Red wax that stains and seals
begins to melt
extensions split
texts come undone 
what was smooth is now wrinkled
no iron can fix 
statues are pulled down
sacred stones are smashed
And there is no wonder
the angel of light can no longer masquerade 
the preacher of peace and mutual trust
the determined enemy of both
for he who wishes to deceive will never fail in finding willing dupes
And there is no wonder
for the evils of the earth are caused by 
that internal voice you hear
is not yours
it is
the only enemy that ever existed 

Protected by Copyscape DMCA Copyright Protection