Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
First you pray then you sing.



Shell ✨🐚
Render me living,
I have walked too long
With lurid eyes of sunken white.
My hollow heart, empty veins,
A shade of black, within me:
Colors dark as night.
And the flame I have been kindling,
It too, appears
To want to die
I just ate
The last
Of the
Rocky Road
Out of the carton
Eating
My feelings away...
There wasn't much left
For me
Inadvertantly Contributed
A father is the son of a mother first.
A woman is the mother of all fathers.
Women, be strong and loving
All fathers must be dads too.


Shell  ✨🐚
By CAConrad

we stopped
     studying the
         night sky for
            directions
    if someone said
      we made it up
        planet Earth
          isn’t real
           we would try
            to verify try
             to be sure
             critics
              are the
               evidence
                we do not
                 trust ourselves
                 your imagination is
           asking for parole
        what is your
verdict Warden
  try to always
    remember the
      calendar made
        of light our
          ancestors
         followed to
       pass the year
This is a poem about what the skeptic loses — imagination, along with a necessary connection to ancient practices. How are we to believe in Earth if we can’t believe in the Heavens? In the plodding directionlessness of the present, we are lost without the astral maps. I want to point out too CAConrad’s signature care for the visual impact of the poem. The disciplined shaping means that the poetic line here not only carries sound and sentiment but builds toward a striking sculptural presence. CAConrad’s is poetry that reaches for multidimensionality, and in this poem, the arc and increment of indentation is a convincer, moving with and toward the poem’s conclusion. (This poem first appeared in Copenhagen Magazine.)
The smell of your hair
Left on my hand
Colorful;
And after your soil,
I have no meaning
The long white tuberose stems...

بوی موهایت
مانده به روی دستم
...رنگی
و بعد از خاک ات
من معنا ندارم
...ساقه های سپید بلند مریم
Mrs. Reddy
Susan T.
Jeanie D.
Sister Mary Timothea
Virginia K.
Queen of Hearts
Kathy C.
Cindy I.
Betsy W.
Corpse like lover
Karen L.
Boston, MA
Georgine D.
Terry/Tara M.
Lynette K.
Jayne O.
Queen of Hearts
Little little did I know
I was caught unprepared
And I wouldn't lie, you know
It is a truth, no one can deny

That I was in a pickle,
A real pickle, you see
And I didn't know what to do
So I just stood there, like a fool
Next page