Riken: Favorites

Dec 2013 Riken

Keith Douglas

*******

Under the parabola of a ball,
a child turning into a man,
I looked into the air too long.
The ball fell in my hand, it sang
in the closed fist: Open Open
Behold a gift designed to ****.

Now in my dial of glass appears
the soldier who is going to die.
He smiles, and moves about in ways
his mother knows, habits of his.
The wires touch his face: I cry
NOW. Death, like a familiar, hears

And look, has made a man of dust
of a man of flesh. This sorcery
I do. Being ******, I am amused
to see the centre of love diffused
and the wave of love travel into vacancy.
How easy it is to make a ghost.

The weightless mosquito touches
her tiny shadow on the stone,
and with how like, how infinite
a lightness, man and shadow meet.
They fuse. A shadow is a man
when the mosquito death approaches

Dec 2013 Riken

Sinkhole.

Dec 2013 Riken

Allie C

Sinkhole.

Sometimes all I can think of is the sinkhole that I learned about in 8th grade.
It destroyed an entire lake and swallowed all of the fish, rocks and even boats on the water.
The thought of it fascinated me.
Until I realized;

There’s a sinkhole inside of me.
It ***** up everything that makes me happy, towing it into the underwater oblivion.
And soon enough, the only thing that’s will be left will mud.
And the demons that cling to my soul like an anchor.

Nov 2013 Riken

Asylum

Nov 2013 Riken

Aleska Servian

Asylum

When i first met you you were so bored
i didn't hesitate sitting next to you
you said "your lack of feelings won't be a problem"
and we found each other to share our blues
Disdain, disease, disgrace, disgusted
the first tear was a waterfall
when you realized that i couldn't be trusted
trouble on paradise
the walls started to fall
So i ran away to the east, i climbed mountains, i found a priest
the pain was howling and i was looking for sweet words
I broke a mirror, turn my dark side into fear
cause when you were near i could easily run the world

My given name is Asylum
for a long time you were my ******
you know that i'm a loaded gun
that i used to break hearts for fun
now i'm not so sure
Go ahead and pull the trigger
i'll stand still and you're eager
cuts and bruises, now i'm done
you can hurt me just for fun
you're so sure
that we are better alone

Your heart was a stone, you were a gangster
my skin was cold as an iceberg
now it looks like i was the only amateur
even knowing the right codes to whisper
Give me a cigarette or this poison in your tongue
at least we're still connected by hate
The Smiths on the jukebox, you could sing along
but i guess you no longer believe in fate
So what if i decide to stay, to believe in something, to start to pray
would you look inside my head searching for your eyes?
Can we ask the gods to forgive our misery?
we can fight for victory, and i could die
knowing you have tried to be mine

My given name is Asylum
for a long time you were my ******
you know that i'm a loaded gun
that i used to break hearts for fun
now i'm not so sure
Go ahead and pull the trigger
i'll stand still and you're eager
cuts and bruises, now i'm done
you can hurt me just for fun
you're so sure
that we are better alone

Don't be scared of what i have to offer
i punched you in the face to make you a fighter
When you decide to leave
you can be a better person without me
cause i set fire to your brain
and you didn't let me explain

Nov 2013 Riken

well dang,

Nov 2013 Riken

Alysia Michelle

well dang,

this feeling
i feel
i've never felt
why won't it go away
it bothers me day in
and day out
i don't know what to say
your smiling face is enough
to make my whole week
make my knees weak
even if you can't see
if i could only make you blush
that is my goal
because you make me light up
from my toes to my soul
you and i are quite ridiculous
if you ask me
but i know you like getting reactions out of me
you want to see how i tick
is that what it is?
you'll tease me
cause it makes me smile
play along
when I act like a child
i try and hide how i feel
but seeing you makes it infinitely more real
come december i'll give you the note
and then what?
will words catch in your throat?
will you know what to say?
will you have a clue?
or will i chicken out and miss my chance with you?

Nov 2013 Riken

Tom Cat

Nov 2013 Riken

Ruanz

Tom Cat

Old tom cat caught my sharp eye
he sits watching lady cats from high perch in tree.
He pounces on hips of lady cat with nice tail in air.
Old tom cat is sometimes like me.
Swinging tail of lady cat and soft meow
purrs as she walk close to old tom cat.
Fur brush fur and nice meow from old tom cat.
Old tom cat sit smiling on perch in tree.

Nov 2013 Riken

Night Knows

Nov 2013 Riken

-

Night Knows

The night* knows my secrets.
The night knows my past.
The night knows my memories.
The night knows my dreams.

The night* knows me too well,
almost better than I know myself.

The night has witnessed my lows,
all the tears, all my inner fears.

The night has seen me collapse,
more than a thousand times.

Relapse, smile, repeat.

That's become a routine.

Smile, cry, sleep.

It helps, but only so much.

No one sees my emotions collide,
except the oh so peaceful night.

Smiling is painful at times,
which is why I adore the night,
the cold breeze putting me at ease,
until my tears are dried up and I fall asleep.

Looking at those stars in the sky,
how they shine ever so bright,
they have become a comfort,
*along with the beautiful night.

Nov 2013 Riken

The Poem Cat

Nov 2013 Riken

Erica Jong

The Poem Cat

Sometimes the poem
doesn't want to come;
it hides from the poet
like a playful cat
who has run
under the house
& lurks among slugs,
roots, spiders' eyes,
ledge so long out of the sun
that it is dank
with the breath of the Troll King.

Sometimes the poem
darts away
like a coy lover
who is afraid of being possessed,
of feeling too much,
of losing his essential
loneliness-which he calls
freedom.

Sometimes the poem
can't requite
the poet's passion.

The poem is a dance
between poet & poem,
but sometimes the poem
just won't dance
and lurks on the sidelines
tapping its feet-
iambs, trochees-
out of step with the music
of your mariachi band.

If the poem won't come,
I say: sneak up on it.
Pretend you don't care.
Sit in your chair
reading Shakespeare, Neruda,
immortal Emily
and let yourself flow
into their music.

Go to the kitchen
and start peeling onions
for homemade sugo.

Before you know it,
the poem will be crying
as your ripe tomatoes
bubble away
with inspiration.

When the whole house is filled
with the tender tomato aroma,
start kneading the pasta.

As you rock
over the damp sensuous dough,
making it bend to your will,
as you make love to this manna
of flour and water,
the poem will get hungry
and come
just like a cat
coming home
when you least
expect her.