Daily Archives: March 14, 2010

“Forward” by Alisa J. Kim

Great leaders with burning conviction
Demanded balance of all kinds
And for the countless times they spent behind bars,
We have not moved far.

Their full-fledged battles against riptides—
Are those efforts humor to be taken light?

Get up.

There is a whole world waiting behind
Specks of light locked up in a box.
There are flaws for us to scrutinize
And slabs of dust to shovel away
To reveal the middle ground.

The plague threaded through us is still there
And it will take every free hand to tear
And shred each little strand
For this disease to disappear.

“A Wisp of Smoke” by Sandra Fowler

The moon falls March white on old sycamores,
As good-bye as the glitter of a tear.
Warmth is a word too fragile to be said,
Love fey blue as a wisp of winter smoke.

The glamor is almost intangible,
Vision a whisper of its former self.
You clasp my hand to still the fleeting mood.
I promise you I will not close my eyes.

“A Lowering Day” by Sandra Fowler

Sometimes on lowering days I think of you,
And watch the clouds create your Slavic face.
True poetry is ageless I am told,
But those who pen it are as frail as smoke.

The gray sound of an Appalachian bell
Rings in the rare gift of another year.
Your work has gone beyond the calendar,
A bright thought that exceeds all imagery.

Trees weave intricate patterns upon dusk.
My fingers trace the elegance of form.
The music of your landscape plays old verse.
It lights my little corner of the world.

“I Hate Girls Too” by P. Lane

Have you ever been stuck?
You know, that place where you don't know what to do?
Don't know what's right.
Dont know what's wrong.

Typical, I know.
It's because I'm a girl.

Falling for a boy I shouldn't love.
Erasing a boy I shouldn't trust.
Did I mention they're related?

One made the dinner.
The other ate the dinner.
And now the maker wants the leftovers.

It's called girl talk.
Language is probably the more appropriate term.

I justify it by reminding myself that I was his first.
That the eater made me bleed.
He killed me.

The maker,
the maker found me.

I know, it's dramatic.
You're probably annoyed for even having to read this.
I'm hate myself, too.
At least we're in the same boat, right?

“When” by Tayo Oredein

In the event of my demise
Be it self-inflicted or otherwise
Know this-
You couldn’t help me survive
When you shudder at the sound
Of your own name
And the same
Goes for the sight of your face
When you’d rather be anyplace
Than with you
When your rainbow fades
To dull shades of grays
When your failures and flaws
Become defining traits
When the taste
Of salt colors all that you eat
from the tears stream down your cheeks
Even while you sleep
When you have no more reason to fight
When you don’t fit into anyone’s life
Least of all your own
When you’re afraid of idle hands
Because you understand
The glory of self-destruction
A welcomed reprieve from
Heart wrenching emotion
If only for a moment
When your judgment’s impaired
By pangs of despair
When your desire to disappear
Embraces the most permanent of methods
And you listen to old blues records
Searching for the strength
To end your life
But you don’t own a gun,
Too messy with a knife
And with pills, there’s a chance you won’t do it right
Besides, you’re too much of a coward
To actually commit suicide
Just as scared to die
As you are to survive
So once again you’re stuck
Shit out of luck
Not giving much of a fuck
About yourself or anything else
You find nothing matters
Because everything does
And you’re sick and tired of
The bullshit and pain that comes from within
Too powerful to be eased by vodka and Vicodin
So what do you do
When you’re sick and tired of yourself
What do you do
When no one can help

“The Block” by Lottie Corley

As I stare upon the clock.
All I hear is tick tock.
The words push hard against my brow.
But there is nothing to write of now.
I sit in silence and stare at the page.
I know they will come! I say with rage.
Oh words that lay within my head.
Jump to my paper to be read!
All I hear is tick tock.
Why is this block so hard to stop?
Take this block from in my head!
I demand you be written, and be read!

“Poet’s Pages” by Lottie Corley

Too many days of wine and worry.
I drink a glass and play back the story.
Flashes of horror arise in my brain.
It’s always so cloudy or pouring down rain.
The day seems to be getting so very boring.
Same old song, same old story.
I pick up my pen and escape’s on the rise.
No more hell or hearing lost cries.
Into the paper I lose track of time.
It’s brighter and whiter with little blue lines.
I’m floating now, on top of my page.
I’m playing a character on top of a stage.
The pen is so smooth as it glides through the pages.
I visit the decades and roam through the ages.

“A Winter Day” by Sandra Fowler

I think you know that this is winter day.
This time last year woodsmoke blew us away.
Frost wrote the poem on tall panes of gray.

That was the morning of the yellow finch,
A drop of sun upon a garden bench.
Light raised the bird's momentum inch by inch.

You held your coffee cup up to the sky,
Promised as long as yellow birds could fly,
This anniversary would never die.

I hold your words much prettier today
Though where the bird went,who could ever say?
Memory locks all emptiness away.

“Alone” by J. Tsai

The humming of the refrigerator generator
Vibrating the magnets on the front.

The whoosh of another car driving pass in the rain
Tire hitting the wet pavement.

The murmurs and voices coming from below
Downstairs family of four after dinner.

Trickling sounds of water along the kitchen pipes
Neighbors turning on their faucets.

No sounds made by me.