On the first day... Juniper’s in blossom. Tears of dew unbutton branches, trace gnarled fingers on the glass. Perfume rides in on bittered breeze, But no one dares to close the window. We shrink at strangers’ eyes we find, caught in the reflection. On the saddest day… Bittersweets are blooming. Seems their scents ensconce us all, drip bruises on our ribs. Every breath swells sore. Exhales leave us hollow. I hear another’s sigh, then quickly turn away. In this silence I have learned how much emptiness can fill. On the lost day... Orchids soon are wilting. We snip each other’s wings, too angry to ask names. Long ago we lost our reasons. Yet as I hold a hand of feathers, the same chipped nails Belong to eyes of blue and green and grey. We have forgotten in our lust, Fear prefers no color. On the best day... Poppies lose their petals. To my surprise, a mother nursed her babe. Sorrow never told us children bide here too. A dark man with lonely skin broke his lips in smile. He called the child beautiful and never asked If she held a daughter or a son. On the last day... Something is succulent today. Though when I open my eyes, I find I see no flowers in the dark. I wonder for how long I have been blind. Soft fingers grasp my wrist, press my palm against the glass. A woman whispers a lovely word in my ear. Strange I never knew the color of her hand. So fortunate to learn this piece awarded me third place as one of the 2016 INTERNATIONAL POETRY AND STORYTELLING CONTEST WINNERS!
The World Affairs Council of Harrisburg does a smashing job of connecting local students to the world. From climate change resources to internship programs, they offer excellent resources at absolutely no cost. Check out their site for information on cash prizes for high school students writing within the theme of peacekeeping!
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Oh, we your loving children Suckled oil from your breast Drained you from your crust And burned the crumbs we left We gouged out your body You, a gaping fish to gut Drilled machines like butcher’s blade As bony trees fell cut We dipped our metal claws Deep in your leafy skin Tearing chunks of boulder flesh With greed our pleasured sin We rigged and fracked and stripped you Straight down to your core Then stamped our cement feet and Demanding you give more Oh, mother you are hurting Your pain and rage are wild If only I could heal you I, your loving child Delighted that my poetry collection with this piece won a Scholastic Silver Key! Check out their site for more information on guidelines and deadlines. Excellent opportunities for aspiring artists and authors alike!
When you were a child You tried to eat the sky You swore that you could even Poke out your shadow’s eyes If someone let you down You climbed the old oak tree You climbed too high for sorrow To catch and set you free And when you were a girl You swore you were a bird You flew straight through the leaves On wings of naïve words When your hips grew wider To hold your child-mind You sang among the branches Silly empty rhymes When you carved initials You swore that you were grown Birds were children’s stories And long ago they’d flown When you scratched them out You wept into your tree You climbed until you scraped the sky And waited to be free When your womb grew full You lay in speckled shade You whispered silly empty rhymes Though they didn’t sound the same And when you were empty You tried to climb again But it seemed you had forgotten And lost your oldest friend When your hair grew grey You swore you were a bird You flew straight through the leaves On wings of jaded words Delighted that my poetry collection with this piece won a Scholastic Silver Key! Check out their site for more information on guidelines and deadlines. Excellent opportunities for aspiring artists and authors alike!
Life drips from your inky tongue Or perhaps just silly words Things of feathers and old fears Things you scream from trembling hand A trail of murky ink as Your sweat, blood, and tears In the light you weep aloud Crawling through trenchant margins To the issue of a page Inching on ballpoint belly Perhaps towards the Nobel Prize Or a crumpled ball your grave You, the gun of fighting words The distant lovers’ kiss, such Love and hate have held you in You, the voice of the mute and Sword for broken hands You cannot comprehend The life your tongue has trapped Delighted that my poetry collection with this piece won a Scholastic Silver Key! Check out their site for more information on guidelines and deadlines. Excellent opportunities for aspiring artists and authors alike!
Her eyes were once this ocean, Pale sickly, stormy moor. Now weary heels strike empty sand As sorrow haunts this shore. Flesh entangled o’re these shells. Words captured on these crests. As murky tides sink ever low, She wails for my caress. I see her in still waters. Hear her crash against sunk stones. I turn to meet her whispered gusts, To find I am alone. Yet still I linger on here, Begging, cursing ebbing foam. Oh, lost girl, how can I call This ghastly coast my home? For years ago I loved this sea, I swore to never leave her side. Lost love, break upon my shore That I may drown her haunted eyes. Delighted that my poetry collection with this piece won a Scholastic Silver Key! Check out their site for more information on guidelines and deadlines. Excellent opportunities for aspiring artists and authors alike!
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AuthorWith ink dripping in my veins & stories dancing in my head, I spend my time untangling poetry & getting perfectly lost Archives
April 2017
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