Tag Archives: poem

Raised by a Stork, by Matthew Harris

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Raised by a Stork

Beak cause of being taken under wing by the kindness of this U crane relative, I pay
written homage to my ability to fend for myself and fly in the face of adversity!

Left abandoned under the shade of a sequoia tree when just born, my birth parents
never known to me!

Pink flamingoes and pelicans essentially constitute social structure, thus helping to
explain erratic flapping motions and diving head first into billions of waterways in search
of prey!

Heights of Ash and berries (such as those found in Acapulco and/or Baja, California)
give me a rush, especially when catching the atmospheric headwinds and soaring like
Icarus!

Although just a clumsy, fledgling gangly mass of skinny legs and feathers, a push from
me famous mother worm monger (the superb flier Harriet) found immediate fear when
warmly booted from out the nest!

Rather than be a bird din, this automatic instinct in the aviary species witnesses little
tufts of soft downy pirouetting in a downward spiral when just before making contact
with land, the natural reflexive welcome visits!

Fortunate for yours truly that an exceptional ability to escape an untimely close call
with terrestrial firmament witnessed an amazing power (e quill to pluribus Unum) to jet
far into the stratosphere where eagles soar!

Although bequeathed with such exemplary powers to wrench away from the tug of
gravity, I downplayed this skill and feigned being brought into this world (in the hands
of some unknown person) an ordinary set of claws with an atypical noteworthy tail
comprising prismatic colors when fanned out!

Always one to maintain modesty, the extraordinary ability to display awesome aerial
stunts fueled rumors within all four corners of the globe!

All the major squawk show hosts such as osprey winfrey, morey egret, springer falcon,
et cetera scrambled to enlist such feats of lighter than air ballet escapades!

Like the taste of fresh fish on salmon enchanted evening, I savored the adulation, yet
also felt obliged to provide for the surviving parents no matter that she hen pecked his
only male heir to the architectural splendor of his domain!

This equates to this wordy tweet!

The Great Indigo Squid

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The Great Indigo Squid

By Kris Levin

The great indigo squid residing

A goodish amount of leagues

Under the sea, latches onto me,

Pulls me down into its murky depths.

Unsettled dirt clog a formerly beautiful

Tranquil aquatic atmosphere as

Immense appendages pin my struggling form

Like a dragonfly caught in a spider’s web.

Stunted electric blue tentacles emerge

From out the mammoth beast’s beak.

Hanging sublimely suspended

Like a dancing lightning storm

Caught in time before my very eyes.

Entranced as I watched these electrical,

Fairy-like projections,

The creature let me go,

But leave I did not.

The bolts extended serenely towards

My person as I looked past its spectacle

Into this demon’s glowing bloodshot orbs.

Transfixed, I tried to scream, but alas,

I surrendered that privilege once I left the air above.

Unable to move as they jutted towards me,

Heart thumping madly to the point of combustion,

Filling with fears, pressures and anxieties,

Terror grabbing a-hold of me like a live wire,

Latching onto my chest like a parasitic infection,

Lungs constricted under its all-powerful grip;

Absorbing the very life-force and energy from my body.

Mind faint, world spinning, the monster set me free.

Floating to the surface, coughing and sputtering,

I feebly begin to swim back to the shore.

Always will I remember the tremendous journey.

Always will I bear its weight and scars.

Always in the watchful eye

Of the great indigo squid.

Matches

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The scent of sulfur is consuming me

As I open my mouth and try to breathe

Matches lie all over the floor

As I’m watching blue flames engulf the door.

 

A trail of red gasoline lines all of our things

We are finally victorious in this smoke

Silhouettes dancing along the walls

Soon to become ash

Bursts of orange highlight our past.

 

I wrap myself in blankets to remember the heat

As beams fall and everyone stares from the street

I close my eyes and can feel your heartbeat.

 

Shadows walk the ceilings

Take it slow, what are we afraid of feeling?

Yellow outlines the paint that’s peeling

Skin from bone

Take my hand darling, let’s go home.

 

-Rachel Allen

Buzz, by Rachel Allen

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There was a bee
That nestled in my hair
I had no idea that this little bee
Was there.

And I heard the buzzing
Which became home to me
We built our lives together
This little bee and me.

The comfort of the sound
Blocked everything else around
The buzz, buzz, buzz,
Everything lost, now found.

I’d sit and tell stories
Talking to this voice that sang in my ear
Little bee told me there was nothing
In this world to fear but me.

Then one morning as I awoke
I asked little bee a question
And he never spoke
The buzzing in my ear
Was no longer there.

I felt a pain in my neck
And as I moved my hair to see
Swollen marks, 1, 2, 3,
Little bee had bitten me.

Wondering what I had done wrong
I looked for where little bee
Could have gone.

There, little bee lied
On the windowsill
Next to my bedside
Little bee was gasping for air
With some white liquid
Pooling around him there.

I scooped up little bee
Hoping he’d now speak to me
“Please, I need your buzzing to keep me sane,”
I plea.

Little bee looked up at me
His little eyes crying “I’m sorry”
Pulling back my hair once more
At these marks that should hurt
I see the same white liquid leaking from my pores.

As the buzz, buzz, buzz slowly ceased
I wiped the liquid from my face
Sending it to a lab
To see why it caused little bee to now be dead.

The results came back within a week
From my pores, it was poison that leaked.

-Rachel Allen

untitled poem by Eric H LeGrow

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Lest charity cry from the fearful angel,
quell not the urges of want and remorse.
The avid quill and tearful song
are but instruments to our quiet musician.
He sits in darkness to compose our dreams and fantasies,
seeking naught but contentment with us as his muse.
So then it is also true to consider him a fool,
for his joy is sought also from the foul of our brood,
who seek not the melody
but burning of his toil.
Shall our dreams and woes be logs for the blaze?
If so,
such will be the demise of our race
amidst the inferno of wretched agony.

Art, by Rachel Allen

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I scribble down words with my ballpoint pen
Thinking every word I write is a scar I’ll mend
You take your paintbrush covered in red
Making love to the canvas,
Covering up this beautiful mess
As both our hearts are bleeding from our chests.

You tell me to keep writing
As I work my fingers down the bone
With each stroke you uncover something unknown
I peek at the easel and see you drawing our home.

Our color palettes fail to match
As your sky is painted a magnificent blue
And I’m writing that there’s a storm
Illustrating mine as the blackest of black.

I keep turning pages as I fill in the spaces
You keep moving easels to find the right angle
And as you keep mixing colors to find the right shade
I jot down lines of our song that’s never been played.

You begin to outline a white picket fence
My sentences start to blend together, out of sequence
You move your brush and we’re walking on cobblestones
My pen hits the paper and our whole life is postponed.

I look at you and you look at me
It seems now there’s miles between us no one can see
My pen is running out of ink
And you start to wash your brushes in the sink.

-Rachel Allen

untitled poem, by Gary Waseh

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Imagination and a vision of a
bright future is what I see
A sucess is all I wanted to be
Ever since I was a young soul
I have been chasing a dream
that I hope would one day turn into reality
Time is our most precious commodity
and one that is limited
Persevering and hoping to make a change
becuase the future looks dim
only following the voice inside me
striving to be the best that I can be