Jenna Vaitkunas: Favorites

Oct 2016 Jenna Vaitkunas

Stephan

I write these poems
for only one reason
I don’t care the day
or the time or the season

If flowers are blooming
or skies are bright blue
If meadowlarks sing midst
the fresh morning dew

If butterflies float
on a warm summer breeze
Or moonlight reflects
off of calm evening seas

If snow flurries fall
ever soft on the ground
Or musical whispers
are flitting around

If day turns to night
or night turns to day
If it starts to rain
washing it all away

If the sunrise is coming
or stars glow above
I write these poems
so she knows she is loved

Ok, I know this isn't one of my best but
sometimes you just need to tell her she is loved, because...she is.

May 2016 Jenna Vaitkunas

i don't know if this is how you feel, but this is how it feels

May 2016 Jenna Vaitkunas

Alvira Perdita

i don't know if this is how you feel, but this is how it feels

it hurts that you're so far away
and you don't need me
and you're so busy living
and i'm left behind,
forgotten,
something to be dealt with
on a rainy, quiet day

i'm sorry

Apr 2016 Jenna Vaitkunas

i've missed you

Apr 2016 Jenna Vaitkunas

Alvira Perdita

i've missed you

all those promises of forever,
and the words whispered.
the shared secrets, the glances,
the looks when we knew what
the other was thinking.

the days spent pretending
that the rest of the world didn't
exist and the nights of talking.
the mornings of tired silence,
the random texts that were only
half a thought, and the brokenness
that we share but refuse to acknowledge

childhood bestie.

#love #memories #friendship #stay #years #sisters #bestfriend #comeback #bestie #truefriendship

Apr 2016 Jenna Vaitkunas

Suicide Story

Apr 2016 Jenna Vaitkunas

Katie Katie

Suicide Story

He's standing on the bridge
He's been staring over the edge for an hour now
So close yet so far
Only seconds to be destined to his second biggest fear
The river it turns into currents of tears he has cried, these sorrows won't leave him alone
The wind as it howls- it turns into voices they cry, "we're here, don't you leave us alone"

He's standing on the bridge
He's been staring over the edge for two hours now
A masked man approached him, put a gun to his head, said, "give me all you got or you're gonna end up dead!"

But he begged for his life
Said, "please don't make me choose
I have a future and a family
Just too much to lose"

"Oh please" he said again
But when he turned his face
The gunman disappeared
With a wallet in his place

His body hit the water
And the man looks at the ground
The gunman was his brother
He finally cried out loud

"Oh why would you do this?"
He says with tears down his face
"There's just too much to live for!
Who's gonna take your place!?"

But it's too late, the river won't
Spit him out, it's nature,
But it whispers, "heroes save lives
What about your self?"

He takes a step away
While the sirens take his place
The sun is going down
As he makes his way home

#suicide #story

Jan 2016 Jenna Vaitkunas

this is the story of how i killed my father

Jan 2016 Jenna Vaitkunas

hkr

this is the story of how i killed my father

i go to the hospital because thats what you're supposed to do. because everyone seems to change their minds about their ******* dads when they seem them lying helplessly in a bed for invalids. but i don't. i look at him and i don't feel a **** thing. until the machines shut off, he's alive. as long as he's alive, he's the man that grabbed my wrist so hard it still doesn't bend right. a terminal diagnosis doesn't change that.

all thats left keeping him alive is that life support and all the people in this room, people he's hurt, who are crying over him like he said a kind word to them in his life. *******.

when the doctor comes in and tells us its time, my sister starts wailing. i think its a stalling tactic. so i pull it out myself.

stop crying, its over.

Jan 2016 Jenna Vaitkunas

Heavy Weight

Jan 2016 Jenna Vaitkunas

Barry Andrew Pietrantonio

Heavy Weight

Suicide in the shadows,
waiting for a poor man,
creeping over his shoulder,
a dark new day.

Wrapped around his neck,
words can't escape his dry throat,
holding him down,
more bills and car loans.

Under a microscope in the sun,
burning himself.
Holding the lighter to his palm,
burning himself.

It's something warm he says,
when the days are cold and the nights long.
The phone rings in the corner,
playing that bittersweet and intimidating song.

So he dances in the morning sun,
as it creeps through his blinds,
his legs shake and scramble.

Copyright Barry Pietrantonio

Dec 2015 Jenna Vaitkunas

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Dec 2015 Jenna Vaitkunas

Dylan Thomas

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Dec 2015 Jenna Vaitkunas

Modern poetry

Dec 2015 Jenna Vaitkunas

Katie Katie

Modern poetry

I'm a modern poet

The white paper wasn't bright enough
My favorite pencil didn't write bold enough
My black final-draft binder wasn't modern enough
My black final-draft binder might as well be waste of time
Because instead of writing by hand with love and mind
I can select, copy and paste, relax and unwind
Instead of sitting-up in my bed, copying neatly or erasing the lines
I can repeat or forget, without blinking an eye

The words are more significant than this...
Than minuscule, locking it, hiding it, pocketing it

My fingers replaced my pen
A white glow replaced the lines
Instead of writing away unrestricted, I
have-an inch above my finger- the time

Before, I would sketch the date & time at the top-right
Now it appears effortlessly, automatically, without my permission
It's not only my paper (or screen) anymore, I mean, I didn't write that

With a push of a button I can perfectly align it to the right
I can no longer be identified by unique handwriting
A "go-back button" replaced my eraser
I can no longer hold words thin in my grip

I no longer have to protect it from getting lost, crumpled, or ripped
It's as safe as everything else here;
Not any more sacred or precious
If I'm a modern poet

The ease of art is at my fingertips, literally
And it disappears when the device locks

I don't turn the page, hear the paper sound
I scroll down with one quick swipe
I may no longer write the way I have
I'll type it out on a $200 iPad
Rather than a cheap scratchpad
Is my new version of 'scrap paper' more valuable than my work?

The words will remain in my mind
I'll **** them out one at a time
Somehow demeaning them with this
Sensational technology that corrupted mankind

So, I'm sorry, poetry, my outlet, my friend
You poor, pure thing, let us pretend
I gave you more time, and effort
Just as should for everything you really care about