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  May 2019 Beth Garrett
lex hughes
i quietly hope after years of despair,
that one night the moon herself will bless me,
will she come down from the celestial eternity,
and take me in her cosmic arms,
will she love me the way i love her,
or will she vanish like the night's dream?
this is about being sad and sapphic lol
  May 2019 Beth Garrett
Logan Robertson
Twas the night before
Hawaii islands on the radar
A monster opened the door
It shoulders a storied scar

Of the last time, it hit its mark
Rearing its ugly head, ahead of pace
As the eye looms '82 in the dark
Wrinkles on this  eve sit sadly in boldface

Kauai sat once in unnatured infamy
It sunny shores hit once by the beast
Clouds of villains played in that symphony
With the next generation looking to feast

As the residence brace for the worst
Of the monster stepping on its paradise
With category four winds and cloudburst
The hope is that the monster plays nice

With the Aloha Spirit preserved with leis
In place of bold headlines of strung wrath
Hawaii can pray rays of light in the coming days
Willing the monster to take a different path

Logan Robertson

8/23/2018
This honor catches me by surprise, so much that I can't wait for the next dawn, sunrise, and all the days that follow. Thank you. Thank you for all the well wishes and support. It means looking at the sunrise, a new dawn, with newfound exuberance and eagerness.

To my friends and relatives on Oahu, I pray. Update-monster played nice. Outstanding was its piano play. Storm went from a 5,4,3,2,1 ... miss. With the Aloha Spirit preserved with leis
In place of bold headlines of strung wrath. Thank you.
  May 2019 Beth Garrett
Kahli Wills
On the steps of the temple,
a worshipper is slain.

Now tell me,
who's fault is it.

The murderer?
Or the God?
Beth Garrett May 2019
I never wake up to rain.
The morning seems to slip through my curtains by whatever possible means and I am not granted hazy awakenings.
Glaring snow.
Hot sun.
Bleak white skies.
Anything but the gentle taps of rainfall on my window,
I wake up to my world on fire,
I wake up to chaos,
I spend my day,
I hush the skies back to a gentle pattering before I sleep,
To begin again the next day,
But I never wake up to rain.
A personal poem about my experience living with anxiety.
Beth Garrett May 2019
Ophelia drowned slowly, surrounded by petals, weighed down by cloth,
Ethereal, damp,
Watched but unhelped,
A sort of needless death,
Frothy, frivolous, decorated,
A pretty death.
A good woman brought to life by a man must live and die in pastels,
Slip passively away without complaint,
Go mad through a rose-tint,
Never pause and gasp unflatteringly for breath,
Even when she is drowning.
This poem was inspired by John Everett Millais’ ‘Ophelia’.

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