Marge Redelicia: Favorites

Feb 2015 Marge Redelicia

Jose Remillan

So it dawned on me. Your shadow
Is a dawn that drowns me in a
Dream of madness. Isn't it we are

Here to spend the midnight of
Summertime at the ***** of our
Nothingness? Nothing has been

Buried beneath us, has ever been
Here, beyond our heart's folly.
After all, all is a myth, making us

Believe to give what we have
Never been. Except for a piece of
Ourselves in each other's longing

For another night. I stay.

Feb 2015 Marge Redelicia

The Pedestrian

Feb 2015 Marge Redelicia

Sally A Bayan

The Pedestrian

(14 lines)

It was one afternoon in New Jersey, quite early,
We were finding a spot on a mall parking lot,
Heels were rushing, people were crossing
Mothers were hurrying...their kids following.
We still waited, yet there were no more...what for?
Our car was not moving, my sister, still was not driving.
Why was she hesitating?
Clearly, sidewalks on both ends were empty
So I raised my head, a nod or two, then lowered my view.
There were two tiny feet...walking...tiny steps were progressing
A creature, gray, brown, furry...its eyes flitting, like it was wary
Blue sky gave no flurry...pavement was crossed with no hurry...
I was wide eyed...I realized, as I admired,
<{ <{ <{ <{ <{
Upright or hunched, a squirrel is also a pedestrian...

Sally

Copyright January 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan...

***NJ... 2013***

#hunched #pedestrian

Feb 2015 Marge Redelicia

Untitled

Feb 2015 Marge Redelicia

Daniel Magner

Untitled

Maybe if all soldiers
had to look their enemy in the eye
before they killed them
they wouldn't

or maybe not,
my head's just full of thoughts
where is peace?
what does this all mean?
what does this all
mean?

Daniel Magner 2015
Based off a story my grandpa Gerry told me about the war in Korea. He had a man in his sights but they locked eyes, in that moment he saw something and missed on purpose. The man was captured and tortured for 3 days before he died. He said he never forgot the man's eyes....

Feb 2015 Marge Redelicia

There is no bullshit in the sunrise

Feb 2015 Marge Redelicia

Jedd Ong

There is no ******* in the sunrise

Five AM.

Dawn is the one remnant of the 1800s left in all of us - the weather. And even that disappears quickly. The pockets of morning stuck between you and me, between this car, and that car, and Dawn's Appalachian highway slipping itself in between the SLEX and the sky take your breath away and slip past consciousnesses like faint dreams. You snap awake. ****** reminder that it's already

Five AM.

Faint strains of rooster crow and traffic whistle keeping you up despite your desire to sleep. This bus ride is meant for sleeping, rather. Your teammates lean on pillowcases shifting hues from black to gray to light pink to faint orange. You stare quietly out the ever shifting window. Somehow your eyes keep track of the streaks of light running alongside it. Somehow you're awake even if it's just

Five AM.

The sky is the one part of our cities that isn't yet covered in *******. Outlines of shantytowns and exhaust smoke belching smokestacks and piggeries and overpriced skyscrapers provide platforms for the sun's pink rays to shine upon but still it rises above it. With it. Through it. Over and around. Sunset mornings that glow with an innocent hue. Some say Apollo preferred the form of a young boy whenever he'd come down to Earth. Makes for easier running, I guess. The roads look wider at

Five AM.

The sky is the one part of our cities that isn't yet covered in *******. The time it takes for one photon of light to hit the surface of the Earth is eight minutes. Light is far. Light is distant and twisted and radiant. Light provides surface for the sky - paints the floors of heaven by which we gaze upon with bleary eyes and pray to. God walking on our ceilings. Humans knocking on our floors. Alarm clocks reminding me it's just

Five AM.

It's just

Five AM.