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 Oct 2013 Alexis Cook
sam h
clock
 Oct 2013 Alexis Cook
sam h
there's something about how a clock-tick
of one milli-second
can send chills down my spine.
suddenly its another day lived
and how to some people this is the ultimate
blessing from the almighty
or maybe a dreadful curse sent from below.
tell me why there is this systematic
completion of 24-hours
or how no one feels older on their birthday.
no difference in time can sway me
except the darkness that begins to fill my
window as the sun goes down
ripping the light from my iris
and the good from my heart.
That feeling
It’s back
After not feeling it for a long time
After thinking I would never feel it again
I thought it was gone
Burnt out
Faded and drained
But I was wrong
It’s back!
Stupid grin
Butterflies
****, now I have to learn how to flirt again
Let me tell you about highschool
Let me tell you about the girls with hair higher then they can reach
The boys with the careless hair
The love intre-

No

Let me tell you about MY highschool
With the nerd shirts and phrases that most don’t understand
With the football games and the blue and white face paint
The girls talking to me with another pair of lips rather than the ones plastered on their face

No

Let me tell you about life
About the dew drops in the morning
The smile hidden in a stranger as he orders his double mocha triple shot dosage of love
Injected

No

Let me tell you about me
Let me tell you about my mom and her thin lips that orchestrate fat lies
Let me tell you about my dad who treats the bottle like the daughter he never wanted
Let me tell you about my school life and the way I get treated

No

Let me tell you a story
A story about ups and downs
Pills and coke and *****
With books and love interests
I cant fit my life into a poem

I can tell you my love life in a poem
My scars in a poem
My hate in a poem
My fears in a poem
I can’t tell you my life

I can tell you about my surroundings
How I always try to be strong
But you can only stick your head near ***** for so long
Before you start smelling what they're saying.

I can tell you about homophobia
About the men who flinch at the very word ******
Or the girls who are so uncomfortable with themselves they starve
I can tell you about the parents childless because of bullying

So tell me
What do you want to hear today?
 Oct 2013 Alexis Cook
Robert Bly
Do you remember the night Abraham first saw
The stars? He cried to Saturn: "You are my Lord!"
How happy he was! When he saw the Dawn Star,

He cried, ""You are my Lord!" How destroyed he was
When he watched them set. Friends, he is like us:
We take as our Lord the stars that go down.

We are faithful companions to the unfaithful stars.
We are diggers, like badgers; we love to feel
The dirt flying out from behind our back claws.

And no one can convince us that mud is not
Beautiful. It is our badger soul that thinks so.
We are ready to spend the rest of our life

Walking with muddy shoes in the wet fields.
We resemble exiles in the kingdom of the serpent.
We stand in the onion fields looking up at the night.

My heart is a calm potato by day, and a weeping
Abandoned woman by night. Friend, tell me what to do,
Since I am a man in love with the setting stars.
six a.m. her eyes popped wide open,
stretching her body, she closed her eyes for a a few minutes to
adjust her mind and prepare herself for another dreaded Wednesday working day:

"oh gosh, mid-week" she grumbled.

six thirty a.m. her kitchen was filled
with the smell of sweet honeyed french toast (with a slight smell of overcooked eggs).
she packs them nicely into her paper bag:

"hope it won't sog up fast" she thought.

six fifty-six a.m. her bus arrives promptly,
the commuters seemed oblivious to her
they start nudging and pushing their way up the bus:

"i'm in black and so i'm invisible?" she questioned.

seven o'one a.m. her seat has finally warmed up,
her hair was still damp from her morning shower,
and she looks to the front blankly:

"what's new" she mumbled.

n.y.
 Oct 2013 Alexis Cook
Max Evans
Volcanoes erupt on both sides of my skull
Simultaneously spewing out lava,
it creates permanent craters in the mountainside created by flesh and bone,
It burns like a hot fire,
But it actually has meaning this time.
A watery clear lava erupting from my eyes causes more damage to my mind than pompeii,
wiping out villages of whatever self confidence I had left,
leaving only the scraps and ashes for me to work with until the next eruption,
at this point,
I don’t even bother building the villages back up.
They create more obstacles that I don’t have the patience for,
but it’s not like they were much to begin with.

While villages are ruined an empire gains their power.
An evil kingdom of what used to be a happy go lucky teenager,
now filled with depressed thoughts and hateful words only used upon himself,
who’s only skills are to talk others out of suicide where sometimes he doesn’t know what to do with his own self.
Trapped inside of a sad kingdom lives one happy soldier who wants to break out but isn’t strong enough to break down the walls and reveal the dark secrets to the world,
I think what he is missing is someone to understand him,
Join his rebellion against the sad army,
And defeat the war on depression.
 Sep 2013 Alexis Cook
N T
With fingers holding the tail end of a cigarette (or the head end)
I wonder how my Daddy feels, when he imagines killing people who are different to him
cigarette companies make cigarettes
and he generates poison, and ejects it with his words.
His poison existed in my blood and in my soul for years
Mecca, Baghdad, colour, allah; the person, the religion.
I hated them all, with the power that Daddy hates cigarettes and of course the others
What gives him the right to hate all of those things, and tell me what I should and shouldn't hate.
I lift the cigarette up to my mouth and enjoy the thought of my bubble wrap lungs popping
I cough and it's rubbing it in my Daddy's face
While you're scheming dropping bombs, and becoming what you hate
I'm dying, slowly and laughing at the morbid thought
that while your hate won't **** anyone; your crippled manhood.
My hate for you is killing me
inhale, exhale.
 Sep 2013 Alexis Cook
Tom Orr
Steam escapes the surface
Of infant mince pies.
Spiralling upwards, it dances
Into the winter haze
Where headlights, opaquely visible,
Shine beams stopped short in the fog.

The mist flurries atop the frozen pond,
Over brittle leaves, half caught.
The deer nuzzles in frosty thickets,
Searching the winter veil
For stray nut.

Mittened song sheets conduct
a huddle of duffle coats
and frosted boots, rooted in the snow.
Sweet carols leave notes hanging
in tranquil harmony.

‘neath the tap my hands endure
The bitter cold of winter’s water;
But happily I return to my window,
And cast a gaze once more on winter Britain.
The fire leaves a smoky essence,
A homely smell.
December come.
Edit of my original 'Winter Britain' - please let me know if you feel I've ruined it, because I'm rather partial to the poem.
 May 2013 Alexis Cook
August
I like a man with fire in his bones
And where his head should be,
There is a home.

And I wax and wane like the moon
If you turn away you might miss me,
I'll be gone soon.
© Amara Pendergraft

I'm gone with the morning.
I think I saw the moon tonight
Ivory, aglow
Alive and bright, reflecting light
Shone through my open window

I think I felt the moon tonight
With my fingertips just so
I brushed against her dusty cheek
And whispered a meek “Hello”

I think I heard the moon tonight
Voice lighter than a feather
She shared the folklore of the faeries
Who danced amongst the heather

I traveled with the moon tonight
From Berkley to Milan
She showed me the most gorgeous sights
Beyond imagination

I danced around the moon tonight
To melodies of yore
I felt so happy and carefree
I hadn’t heretofore.

I slept upon the moon tonight
She lulled me to a sopor
She lay me back in my warm bed
And tucked me in the covers.
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