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O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
 Feb 2014 Dorothy Quinn
wounded
you open your eyes and the next twenty-four hours
are building into a cluster of storm clouds above your head
and all day you are convinced tiny pellets of the coldest rain
are falling from the ceiling, the sky, from anywhere really
but the weather forecast proves you wrong
still, you know it is coming, looming in the distance
and you would sooner believe your heart as a mechanical machine
than deny the inevitable onslaught of the malevolent future.
the mirror is chanting of your insanity,
your eyes of your deterioration
and you aren’t blind, you know what they’re seeing
and you aren’t deaf, you hear what they’re saying
but you swear the world is melting all around you,
colors drooling and dissipating in a matter of seconds
and each inhale is a pinprick and with each exhale you are deflating
but nothing is noticeably different, not really, at least,
except today, all of your ghosts left their graves
and are standing on your doorstep, ringing the doorbell, incessantly,
and today, you are expected to spend quality time with them, face to face.
I have always contemplated the purposes
of Mother Nature during nights
I couldn’t sleep due to her tears and screams
escaping the blooming clouds. I cannot grasp
how such a series of complex events could be summed up
all under a single name
and a single purpose,
but I have never had much faith in anything extraterrestrial.
I don’t mean to be cruel or depressing,
but truth is, I have always wanted to understand
how anything could have color when it was destined
to decay into the gray ground
with the unrealized hope of benefiting
future generations. Evolution is such an amazing thing,
but I believe Mother has
made mistakes in the goal towards an everlasting planet,
one that could or could not be alone
in its livelihood among the ever expanding space
of filling emptiness. Simple animalistic characteristics
could have been enough for the world to sustain itself,
and she could have flourished beyond every imaginable garden,
meadow, and dune we dream about, but as we know well,
sustaining only satisfies sadness. I think, for the first time in the universes,
this unattainable event under a single existing name
craved for something more than the “same thing”.
Somehow, and in some crippling way,
she changed the predictable process of change
to create something that would demonize the
innocence of this planet. Scientists always electrify the fact that
Darwin said natural selection is supposed to
allow beneficial characteristics in a species
to take precedent over others,
but has anyone considered the
evolution of self-awareness? I contemplate
this question often long into the nights and
sometimes until the weary sun cleans the black sky of its worries.
I try to ask the monsters under my bed,
the insecurities biting at the edges of my head,
the anxieties pounding at my torso,
and the disorders plaguing my lungs into peril for
suggestive phrases and clicks,
but I cannot get a straight answer because they themselves are
creations of this awareness. I wonder about this
evolutionary characteristic, and I wonder if maybe someday the future generations
will ever be able to escape the horrific results of this
survival technique. I pray that the planet turns in our favor
and allows Mother to be happy again.
I’m not sure this will ever happen, however,
because maybe even the single
most powerful existence we will ever be able to prove is real,
has its demons too.
 Feb 2014 Dorothy Quinn
auburnfox
I am tired of seeing your face
Splattered against the wall of my brain
My cigarette stained hands yearn for your touch
As I pray that I will not see another sunrise
-daisy
 Feb 2014 Dorothy Quinn
August
When I was not so old, yelling from light poles.
On the corner streets, steaming sidewalks gleaming.
I was screaming, serenading myself into wishful thinking.

Humming songs sent from the sun, I was blissfully young.
My naivety was a yellow narcissus flower behind my ear.
I was eagerly waiting with the world for it's wonders.

Now, I'm hidden halfway behind shadows and secrets.
Sitting on benches built of bones and burnt out cigarettes.
Smearing the skin around my eyes because it hangs so heavily.

Managing, the only major motion I move, aside from breathing.
My chest a cavernous cornucopia for cannibalistic feelings.
I'm alone even when I'm surrounded by so many souls.

I falter as I find myself daydreaming about old days and their details.
Realizing, reluctantly, that days of delightful delusions didn't really occur.
I'm just a mixed mirage of mindless hopes and hollow wishes.

Weaved a tender web of wanting, at least I had been mortal for a moment.
I tried to believe I didn't think I was always so desperately discontinuous.
But that's a lie, I'm a lie, and I'll always be an allusion of an actual human.
Amara Pendergraft 2014


“And then something invisible snapped insider her, and that which had come together commenced to fall apart."

From the moment my heart started beating.
 Nov 2013 Dorothy Quinn
September
-
-
*My eyes love you so much—
I only wanted to see two of you.
I only wanted to see two of you.
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