KieraYale - Hello Poetry

I stared at the desks and chairs piled topsy-turvy at the front of your classroom door. Each student was forced to slither between the small gap you had created to enter your room. A small line of foot traffic had formed. I watched as others entered, bemused at the obstacle you had created. Some hesitated, some laughed, others tossed their backpacks through the hole irritated at the inconvenience of it all. When my turn came I carefully maneuvered myself through the hole, careful to avoid the colorful splotches of Bubbalicious and Doublemint. Your walls were decorated with hundreds of pieces of printer paper adorned with the words "existentialism is a humanism". I fell in love with Sartre, Kafka, and Beckett. I fell in love with the idea of a roach smoking a cigarette on a Sunday. In a world where I had only ever known permissions, you had opened a world that didn't require any. You were not spoon feeding Hamlet, you were materializing absurdity. On the very first day you walked around the classroom holding up a body length mirror. Students blushed at the confrontation, eyes averting the figure in the reflection. "Who are you?" You asked. At 17 I did not know and even at 30 I am still not sure. I am now a lawyer cloaked in world of permissions. Every comma, every word, and every rule has its place. However, I long for the indulgence of absurdity. A cockroach smoking a cigarette on a Sunday.

0

Dec 23, 2025

Dec 23, 2025 at 10:11 PM UTC

A Cockroach Smoking a Cigarette on a Sunday

I stared at the desks and chairs piled topsy-turvy at the front of your classroom door. Each student was forced to slither between the small gap you had created to enter your room. A small line of foot traffic had formed. I watched as others entered, bemused at the obstacle you had created. Some hesitated, some laughed, others tossed their backpacks through the hole irritated at the inconvenience of it all. When my turn came I carefully maneuvered myself through the hole, careful to avoid the colorful splotches of Bubbalicious and Doublemint. Your walls were decorated with hundreds of pieces of printer paper adorned with the words "existentialism is a humanism". I fell in love with Sartre, Kafka, and Beckett. I fell in love with the idea of a roach smoking a cigarette on a Sunday. In a world where I had only ever known permissions, you had opened a world that didn't require any. You were not spoon feeding Hamlet, you were materializing absurdity. On the very first day you walked around the classroom holding up a body length mirror. Students blushed at the confrontation, eyes averting the figure in the reflection. "Who are you?" You asked. At 17 I did not know and even at 30 I am still not sure. I am now a lawyer cloaked in world of permissions. Every comma, every word, and every rule has its place. However, I long for the indulgence of absurdity. A cockroach smoking a cigarette on a Sunday.

5

Our brains are primed to think in black and white Those that project darkness, and those that see the light But our path is not a fork in the road A choice reduced to binary code Oh they say what we reap is what we sew But who are they with an axe to throw? We are vest with a neural network of choice To act, to think, to listen, to voice Let he who is without sin cast the first stone For we are all made of flesh and bone

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Sep 12, 2025

Sep 12, 2025 at 7:01 PM UTC

Let him bleed, watch him die:

Our brains are primed to think in black and white Those that project darkness, and those that see the light But our path is not a fork in the road A choice reduced to binary code Oh they say what we reap is what we sew But who are they with an axe to throw? We are vest with a neural network of choice To act, to think, to listen, to voice Let he who is without sin cast the first stone For we are all made of flesh and bone

10

They say you have seven minutes of brain activity from the moment you die until your brain shuts down Memories in pixel form flash before my eyes and disappear forever I'm running in a field trying to beat my childhood crush in a race, the summer sunlight kisses my cheek and I feel safe, warm, loved. At 16 I can see my grandmother cooking dinner as we rush to the table for a dinner with aunts and uncles that became a blurry memory in life The cruel reality of death escapes me as my husband grasps my hand in Greece with my young daughter in his arms Life is brief, but heavenly.

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Oct 6, 2024

Oct 6, 2024 at 6:05 PM UTC

Seven Minutes

They say you have seven minutes of brain activity from the moment you die until your brain shuts down Memories in pixel form flash before my eyes and disappear forever I'm running in a field trying to beat my childhood crush in a race, the summer sunlight kisses my cheek and I feel safe, warm, loved. At 16 I can see my grandmother cooking dinner as we rush to the table for a dinner with aunts and uncles that became a blurry memory in life The cruel reality of death escapes me as my husband grasps my hand in Greece with my young daughter in his arms Life is brief, but heavenly.

6

Oh my dear, I am so glad you are here With fingers so tiny, and duckling soft hair What a privilege it is to hold you so near!

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Aug 11, 2024

Aug 11, 2024 at 10:32 PM UTC

3 A.M.

Oh my dear, I am so glad you are here With fingers so tiny, and duckling soft hair What a privilege it is to hold you so near!

3

I pray that you can stand at the edge of the ocean admiring the stars above, as if God himself strung them up just for you. I pray that foreign lands and language flow through your blood so that you can feel all the pieces that you're composed of when you feel alone. I pray that you only ever look down on those you are helping up, and that you can lend light when the world only seems to offer darkness. I hope you find happiness in life's oddities. May you fill our home with jars of tadpoles, feathers filled with germs, and wet puppy paw prints from a dog we "didn't want". My little girl I pray that you never know heartache that your Daddy can't fix, but most of all I pray that you find a love like the love that made you.

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Feb 24, 2024

Feb 24, 2024 at 6:00 PM UTC

Dear Daughter:

I pray that you can stand at the edge of the ocean admiring the stars above, as if God himself strung them up just for you. I pray that foreign lands and language flow through your blood so that you can feel all the pieces that you're composed of when you feel alone. I pray that you only ever look down on those you are helping up, and that you can lend light when the world only seems to offer darkness. I hope you find happiness in life's oddities. May you fill our home with jars of tadpoles, feathers filled with germs, and wet puppy paw prints from a dog we "didn't want". My little girl I pray that you never know heartache that your Daddy can't fix, but most of all I pray that you find a love like the love that made you.

5

Veins through leaves, Through rivers, Through wrists, With so much complexity to life, I find it hard to believe death is so simple.

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Jan 29, 2024

Jan 29, 2024 at 7:05 PM UTC

The Professor

Veins through leaves, Through rivers, Through wrists, With so much complexity to life, I find it hard to believe death is so simple.

5

I wish I could set her down. For she weighs on me, and what could I be? If I ignored the talk of the town.

0

Sep 23, 2023

Sep 23, 2023 at 6:07 PM UTC

Why is guilt so heavy?

I wish I could set her down. For she weighs on me, and what could I be? If I ignored the talk of the town.

3

Sometimes writing is terrifying Words come out like long legged spiders Gross and impossible to work with But you have to push to create Face the fear of mediocrity Allow fiction to sit with reality Invite grammar for a cup of tea Criticism arrives like a knight, blood of red ink But the battle will be won

0

Aug 23, 2023

Aug 23, 2023 at 10:54 PM UTC

Writer's Block

Sometimes writing is terrifying Words come out like long legged spiders Gross and impossible to work with But you have to push to create Face the fear of mediocrity Allow fiction to sit with reality Invite grammar for a cup of tea Criticism arrives like a knight, blood of red ink But the battle will be won

9

Language drips from his tongue like honey, skin kissed by the light of God.

0

Aug 23, 2023

Aug 23, 2023 at 10:29 PM UTC

Native Island