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 May 2019 Hannah Marr
shamamama
She painted peace over the wounded mouths twisted with lies, truths unspoken, love never claimed,
She brushed them with the pink of a newborn baby's lips

She painted peace over the hands that held weapons, fingers that had pulled triggers to **** or maul,
She scraped them green as the new shoots from blades of grass reborn in the Spring

She painted peace in the hearts of those women and men who held broken pieces filled with sadness, scarred with inner rage
She colored them red of the rose in full scent and full bloom

She painted peace on the eyes and bodies of children stripped away from their life force, their source of mother
She traced them the purest blue found in the color of water at dawn's first light

She painted peace in families torn and broken
She swept them with all the colors of the rainbow appearing just after the rain, when the light shines through with hope

She painted peace in the indigenous souls torn from their culture and land
She circled them the color of the green flash-
the flicker of pure green born after the sunsets, existing only for a second

She painted peace in the unborn and the born whose differences bring challenges to them and their families
She skimmed them with lavender fields blooming in the swirling winds, with the sounds of the bees buzzing in joy and abundance

She painted peace over the wounds, the carcasses of animals fallen in a frenzy of human greed and misunderstanding
She whisked them golden as the sun rising in its glory to begin a new day

She painted peace over the ghosts of the forests and their inhabitants
She rolled them the brightest yellow of the night sky--the first star rising-guiding us though the whispers of time steering us in the darkness

She painted peace in the waters, the rivers and oceans who were littered with the makings of man 
She glided them silver to reflect the light that is always around

She painted peace on the earth and women--places torn open and stripped, laying barren, vulnerable.  
She covered them the rich colors of terra cotta- freshly made pottery from hands who love creation

She painted the air, the unfiltered air, clogged, imbalanced
She flowed it clear, the color of innocence - when we look into the eyes of the newborn, and those just about to pass.

She painted it all,

And when the summer sun melted the colors and subjects, she molded the forms, colors, scent, textures and sounds into the shape of love as eternity.
She sang the sweetest birdsongs into the new day bringing in renewal  

She painted peace into all of life.
Sometimes I cannot fix, forgive or forget, and so I can make art and learn to how to accept and evolve. I listened to the song Imagine by John Lennon, and this song, inspired me.
 May 2019 Hannah Marr
feather
Lilo
 May 2019 Hannah Marr
feather
a little homesick
every day I open my eyes
looking up
these are unknown walls

I miss my favorite mug
the loud music next door
small birds coming into my room
pigeons running on the roof

somewhere
nothing is wrong

when I go back
feel so sleepy
so quiet

don't let me stay for long
 Apr 2019 Hannah Marr
Jason James
I sleep as long as I can,
I drink poison
And breathe carbon,
I eat processed garbage
And I hope for rain everyday.
I am just still sitting
Sitting still
Going nowhere but down
Waiting on the world to end.
 Nov 2018 Hannah Marr
SomeOneElse
Would you miss me would you cry
If suddenly I were to die
How would you remember me
And would you write me poetry
Would you miss our daily chats
And all the fun that we begat
Would you have any regrets
Would you wish that we had met
Would you keep me in your heart
Remembering my works of art
Would you mourn your special friend
If suddenly my life would end
Contemplating my life and mortality with regards to my friends
Fifty-percent illusion at any given time.
Your unintended muse will plead 'not guilty' to the crime
Of snatching back the quill and reshaping every line
into the role she wished to play
-- it seems the choice was never mine --

but the boy with the weighted wedding ring,
the self-appointed jury of the south;
him sheepish at the door with roses,
and the brute who owns this house.

Was it feminine mystique or was I crystal clear
while you blocked your ears and pretended not to hear?

A three-act structured tragedy.
All archetypes assigned.
"We've had this date since the beginning" --
if the part must be mine to play,
it is in my hands to manipulate.
Direct your blame to those who cast the roles.

Torn petticoat, blue piano;
flattered by the dimming glow --
oh, to be glossy pink and gold!
A trophy bride. A victor's prize.
(I snap awake and still see his eyes --
that ego swells him thrice my size --
with bruising force, he parts my thighs.)

Was it hysteria - madness? - or was I crystal clear
while you blocked your ears and pretended not to hear?

My fate was written for me,
in the frontal lobes of those who came before me:
down that narrative route, all bumps and troughs -- desire!
Fragments of an old Rossetti poem... o, vanity of vanities... the streetcar rattles and groans.
self-indulgent b-side to the prior poem 'i, ophelia'; honing in on blanche dubois (a streetcar named desire). excuse the rhymes, it's been a while.
 Oct 2018 Hannah Marr
Wyatt
Demon.
 Oct 2018 Hannah Marr
Wyatt
A demon bathing in flames,
his horns are ever-evident.
Hear him roar, hear him howl
as he terrorizes the residents.
The giant was feared
across the countryside.
Out of control, out of mind.
The war generals march on
and prepare to tranquilize,
yet they cannot succeed.
In search of tranquility
the demon destroys again,
looking for kindness
but he’s misunderstood.
It’s a cycle repeating again,
he’s forced to retreat
as the people overwhelm him.
In a darkened cave,
his visual grimace
draws the attention of a
beautiful girl draped in white,
with a smile so kind
she comforts a demon
who’s ran out of flames.
He pleads with the girl
to leave him as he is,
for he knows that
he will destroy her.
As he finishes sobbing
and he’s brought to a calm,
the girl reveals
what’s under her hood.
There sits two small horns
perched on top of her head.
She, as well
was avoided like the plague.
She hummed a song
that was hauntingly familiar,
it’s the same song
the demon used to
lull himself to sleep
in the cold nights.
She was an angel
who was cursed
just as he was.
He always angrily searched
for his tranquility, yet he
never knew what to do
once he had found her.

She was Tranquility
and he was Demon,
together they
soared new skies.
 Sep 2018 Hannah Marr
feather
I see things from the corner of my eye
I've never told anyone that

shadows
walk
back and forth
on my front porch

a man
a lost woman

the monster under my bed
now lies beside me

when you asked me an important question
I lied to you

be happy
it wasn't to your face

camouflaged in the dark
If I see things
I should be their friend

Your God blessed me with no sound

I'll never hear the shadows
walk around me
 Sep 2018 Hannah Marr
feather
The sound of rain
falling on
the ceiling
/ \ \

My ears are hurting
from my recent piercing

I've been ignoring someone
that I know I'll talk to in a few days

The street outside
is flooded

everyone has gone to sleep
and have nothing to dream of

I can hear the rain fall
the puddles with rain drops

There is no storm

no lightning

Just me
and the heavy clouds

Let me sleep now

in a dream full of rain
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