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 Jul 2012 Kenna
genevieve moncada
I don my pale green hoodie,
blending into the seafoam crowd
Unsmiling eyes and unlaughing lips
united in a tightly held breath

Silent metal walls
curve over our pale heads
Cold, dull and smeared
with printless finger marks

White floors and white faces
waver under the ripples
of quiet breath
Tension strangling whatever
might have been left over
 Jul 2012 Kenna
dj
the world is not enough, the world is not enough
says a dull woman
throwing to the wind
her plastic stuff.

I cringe to think
that my kids won't know
of the Rhino's
it'll be in the textbooks near the Dino's

and Mermaids.
jotted this down real quick a few weeks ago.
 Jul 2012 Kenna
Terry Collett
She plunges into the hot water
and begins to scrub. Brush and
soap on skin. She wants him off
and out of her. Undo him from her.

Unkiss his kisses, untouch his touches.
She breathes in. She reeks, stinks
of him. He seems to have penetrated
every orifice on her body. She pushes

herself under the water, holds herself
there, opens her eyes even the sting
brings no purification. She sits up and
holds the sides of the bath. Calm down

she tells her shaking hands and legs
but they disobey and carry on like
disobedient children in play. She tries
to think of other things. Think of

somewhere nice, some time once
enjoyed, some pleasure once had,
sipping of the best wine, greedy
eating of caviar or grape. But no.

Everything is focused on him and
the ****. She rubs and scrubs until
she’s red and raw. Stop stop her
inner voice screams. Nothing is

what it seems. He pushes his way
even into her every thought now.
He seeps into every pore. The water
fails to clean. She sits there naked,

undone, brush in hand, hair in a mess.
This is not real she says, but knows
it is, she in the bath, wet, raw, sore
and sullied. Yes that’s a word mother

would have used: sullied. Tainted,
tarnished, degraded or as Mother
would have said: dishonoured. She
focuses on each aspect of her flesh

as if seen for the first time. What
you focus on is your reality. Who said
that? Does it matter now? Dostoevsky?
The Idiot, that book. Who cares who

said what. The water is no longer hot.
He is still on skin and in orifice in spite
of the rubs and scrubs and tears and curses.
No longer the innocent, no more the

sipping of wine or eating of grape.
Just him and memory of the ****.
 Jul 2012 Kenna
Andie C
Freedom
 Jul 2012 Kenna
Andie C
Freedom.
A simple word
But means a lot.
Free to run in a field of flowers
Free to be whoever you want to
Free to say what you want to say
Free to sing
Free to laugh
Free to be
Me.
 Jul 2012 Kenna
martin
victoria
 Jul 2012 Kenna
martin
She has a clever way with words
Says it how she feels
What you see is what you get
No messing that's the deal

A poet's eye for observation
Always taking stock
Toast not buttered to perfection
Jellyfish in the dock

She carries us along with her
We share her swings and dives
And see ourselves reflected
In this woman's eyes

Her feistiness, her generosity
Is often what I see
Perhaps one day I'll say hi
Milk, no sugar in my tea!

And she's funny too!
 Jul 2012 Kenna
Megan H
Butterfly
 Jul 2012 Kenna
Megan H
I saw the butterfly,
Fluttering in the wind.
I wanted to know its story,
So I followed nature's gift.

I knew it intended for me to follow,
And I did.
Into the sun's bright rays, I did.
It went almost no where, that spirit.

But then I knew it.
It was my butterfly.
My angel.
There to make my day better,
And it did.
 Jul 2012 Kenna
claire
the Girl walked
just walked

                  wishing
                                     wishing
wishing

that someone might put out their hand to a lost child
 Jul 2012 Kenna
claire
Inside this beautiful covering I am trapped
The only place to show my true beauty is through words
It’s the only opening through which I can escape
Though my mind does enjoy getting in the way
These passionate feelings have their own power
they envelop me
Not allowing me to express my important opinion,
my heart controls them
they change my judgment when I do not put them in shackles
my mind is like a busy child
trying to deal with the most important things,
not solving anything
running away or hiding when it gets tired
leaving me to start over
 Jul 2012 Kenna
claire
strange wood
 Jul 2012 Kenna
claire
the fingers pop
they move, sometimes thinking sometimes
but the men grab them and twist them
all control now
just the right time
always the right place
and the stupid piece of wood has a nice sound but has ruined her love.
Think clarinet... and how controlling teachers can be...
 Jul 2012 Kenna
Kakio Tomizawa
Cage of a leopard.
Not a water drop
Remain in the sky.
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