sara: Favorites

May 2013 sara

Untitled

May 2013 sara

ivy jubjub

Untitled

do they sell emotions
in teapots by the street
i'll take the blue and white one
checkered like a dorothy dress-

could i buy emotions
to pour them out in porcelain
what's the cost? a penny apiece
for the teapots by the street-

drink them up, for an hour
maybe i'd feel love
recipt, madam? yes please
i'll take my penny-bought tea-

i would buy emotions
in teapots by the street
here you are, love- take it please
one less teapot by the street

May 2013 sara

you know the hero dies at the end but you keep hoping

May 2013 sara

robin

you know the hero dies at the end but you keep hoping

there is black at the end of every miracle
and the base of every rainbow where the colors drip
and mix in the sickest sort of chorus.
color and rain and atmospheric moisture,
you kneeled under a rainbow and prayed;
water in your alveoli paint in your bronchi,
you inhaled all your art
to make yourself prettier on the inside -
{but that doesn't work when everything you paint
is uglier than anything else:
broken ***** girls
and rusted knives and rotten fruit -
how can you expect to be beautiful with a rotting apple
for a heart?
you're an abandoned orchard,
falling to seed when you once fed a nation,
dry earth dead trees rotten rotten fruit
remember your glory days and cry}
you were a blackbird but time plucked all your feathers
you were a blackbird but now, oh,
with all your yellow blood,
canary in a coal mine you knew it was too late.
you were the first to be tragic.
the first to choke on coaldust -
the road to el dorado is paved in coal
and all the gold is smudged in black from the men who sought riches
but brought with them misery.
canary in a coal mine you died in el dorado,
canary in a coal mine you died in a city
of your blood.
there is black at the end of every miracle and the beginning of every tragedy
but if all goes well it'll be all
blues and reds
by the end of the story.
drowned and bled,
primary colors for your finale.
you knew these colors would be your end, blue and red blue and red
and you sought out yellow,
canary in a coal mine, ***** el dorado,
yellow hope yellow fear
primary colors like building blocks,
carbon the base of the universe
blueredyellow the base of the paintings you inhaled,
blueredyellow and carbon coal.
you were a blackbird and blueredyellow in the reflections of your wings,
oily rainbows on your back
primary colors in your lungs,
and all your gaunt thoughts envelop you you never should have tried
to be beautiful -
a tragic hero can only do so much before falling apart
a tragedy can only go so far before it becomes comedy.
you inhaled all your paintings and they live in your lungs
live and rot and cry because you never painted happiness
{it's hard to paint something that doesn't exist,
it's hard to paint something you've never known -
abandoned orchard you rot beside the highway and cry.
tell yourself happiness doesn't exist,
cause that's better than knowing
it's there
but you're just
not
worthy}
blackbird canary-blood apple-heart
do you even know who you are anymore?
all the broken ***** girls in your lungs
and the crying boys in your mind -
you never knew who you were,
fragmented as you are -
all your masks are just
sick echoes of the parts of you that wouldn't burn,
all your paintings are just sick echoes of the parts of you
scattered over el dorado.
gather yourself up,
knit yourself back together -
make your nest in a flak suit and sleep dreaming of you.
the coal burns around you and you don't stop singing
you will not be the only tragedy in this mine.

May 2013 sara

Sunset of the White World

May 2013 sara

Kathy Z

Sunset of the White World

I used to think that I didn't need anyone.
I used to think that I could be complete, alone.
Trying to shut my eyes to the frozen shards in my heart-
Will I become blind?

But-I was lonely.
I was sad.
I wanted to try, even once-
what it felt like, what love was.
I was always by myself, watching from an overreaching balcony as society passed by.
I swore that I would be complete alone,
But my body refused to accept that fact.

The sunset that I saw was stunning, that's for certain,
but to call it love,
would be a disgrace, wouldn't it?

I've always wanted to tell a special person,
who've I've been gasping for on that painfully cold winter night-
huddled up like that-
"I'll never go back to that cold world again."

And, sometimes, sitting on the window rail,
I wonder.
Is love warm?
Is love bitter?
Stunning?
Is it beautiful-
or is it different for every heart?

"And,
let's go exploring.
If it rains, let's play a game."
Such times
were meant to go on forever,
really.

But-
to be honest, I am scared of love.
That frightening concept of brutal heartbreak and
dangerous happiness,
do I deserve such things?

When my heart finally stops beating-
I want to leave,
knowing that I was truly happy.

Until the time I can no longer be myself
I wonder just how many times I can still say "I love you" and not cry.
So let me be grateful for the fact that I can be here-
Thank you, simply for the fact that I'm alive.

With no one here, will the world wither?
Who is left-
Will they say the world's final confession?

And I wonder,
when I meet the destined person, will I know?
I guess, to make sure, I won't let go of anyone.

I've always wished for spring.
Because I was so afraid of that cold world, covered in white-
I curled up in a tight ball,
huddled against the raging sleet,
I never took a good look at it.
The soft snowflakes falling silently,
The beautiful forest that was as beautiful as a white lily-
If you have a special person to share it with,
I think-
This white world can be inexpressibly beautiful.

May 2013 sara

Where a Man Goes

May 2013 sara

Jeremy R Frenette

Where a Man Goes

Where a man goes
Often in repose,
Alone in candle light.-
Right. By his own designs...

He doesn't have to answer,
Can drop the role of dancer
And take just whatever.-
Endeavours he has on his mind

As fully as the coming breeze
Breathing in how it frees
His thoughts and ambitions.-
Intuitions resparked because of this...

Where a man goes
To lay down his axe, he knows.-
That in the moment when his body quiets.-
Riots cease and he can dream.|
That no one or thing,
Regardless of the news or excitement it would bring,
Cannot shake him, wake him or.-
Roar so loud as to be noticed.

This is where a man goes in fear.
Where when poverty and idle living, and beer.-
Cloud body and mind.-
Grind hope to crumbs.|
And stand on the perch of desperation,
Alone in fear and perspiration,
Dying for something to do,
Viewing savings turn to dried flies.

Returning always to where a man goes,
Delaying what he knows
To be all too true.
Do or die, or start anew.-

I think it's been a full year since I last wrote something.
An anonymous reading: https://soundcloud.com/user608182312/where-a-man-goes

May 2013 sara

The Cat

May 2013 sara

Shelby Lydon

The Cat

Today I saw a cat.

It was a dead cat. Laying and withering on the side of the road. Struck down by wheels full force. It had no chance.

I wonder who's cat that was.

I wonder if they knew.

I pass The Cat everyday, twice a day, on the same road to and from work. I always look at it, to see how far the progression of it's complete disappearance has come along. Every time, I see less and less of The Cat. I feel bad for it's memory.

Death is a part of life, everyone knows that. I am sad that The Cat died, don't get me wrong, but I accept it's death as a necessary inevitability.

What I regret is that when the day comes that The Cat's body is gone entirely, who will remember him?

Will his memory be lost with his bones?

Is that what happens to us?

There is another cat on the road. Dead. Now 2 cats disappear together.

For their sake, and the sake of the short lives and memories they lived, I'll remember these cats. And hopefully, when the day comes that death touches on my shoulder, I won't be forgotten either.

(and maybe I'll see the cats again)

May 2013 sara

I Miss You, Pops

May 2013 sara

Ted Scheck

I Miss You, Pops

Oh God, spare me Your
Lightning
Nuts!
Bolting
Out of the blew
Sky...

As I clumsily at
Temp to
Equate unimaginably
Complex emotions
Into knock-
Knock jokes.
But here it goes.

"Who'se there?"
YOU WALRUS.
Huh?
"You walrus hurt...
The one you love."

I can't hurt my Dad
Anymore.
He's in Heaven, a
Place as real as
The soul.
I wouldn't want to
Hurt my Dad.
I MISS my Dad.
I'm crying, now.
Right now, electronic
Tears drip near my
Electric pencil
On top of the
Virtual pad
Upon which I write these
Abstractions.
(The emotions are real, though)

When my Pop was
Alive,
Toward the end of his
78 years,
I was busy with the
Family of my own.
He and Mom were
300 miles Ioway.
I took his existence
For granted,
Always, always
Believing I'd always
Always get another chance
To see him.
I wasn't hurting him
On purpose.
I was just his oldest
Son involved in his
Oldest son's life
Wife
Kids
House
You know,
Life.
Tomorrow, Pops, I
Promised
No one at all.
I'll see my Dad
Tomorrow.

There are only so many
Tomorrows.
So after Mom passed
In the Fall of 2008,
I get a call from my
Sister
That Dad's in the
Hospital with
Pneumonia.

300 miles...
ON ICE!
Not an Ice Show, but
An icy nerve-jangly
Mess.
I didn't miss my Pops
Then, on the road, when
All I could do is pray
He wouldn't die before
I got off the **** road.
I felt the opposite of
Missing someone.
I wanted to be with
Him, near him,
Holding his hand,
Looking into the eyes
Of the man with whom
I went to a picnic with
(And left with Mom,
If you get my snow)
Drift.

He's in the hospital,
And we can only see
Him for a minute.
He struggled to do the
Very thing you're
Con or Un
...ly doing right now.
Each breath, each
Ebb and flow, the
Tide of respiration
Was a struggle.

"Pop?" I said through
The salty curtain of
Rain covering the two
Windows through which
I viewed the skewed world.
"Dad? It's me. Ted."

And stricken in that stupid
Narrow inhospitable
Bed, he raised up,
His rheumy old-man
Eyes now longer in
Respiratory foggy distress,
Clear, clearly:
"Teddy."

How many words
Does a Father speak
To his son, from
Before birth, talking to that
Comical roundness in
Mama's belly?

What whisperings had
My Dad placed into
My ear, beard-stubble
Making me giggle as
My chubby little hands
Hung onto him for life
Dear?

In that moment of clarity
Between tidal volumes of
Unbearably bearable
Pain,
I loved my Pops more
Than ever before.
And though I was with him,
I missed the old
Younger Dad.

I regretted nearly all of
My college years, when
Alcohol and girls
And girls and alcohol
And my friends
Took selfish priority
Over the man who'd
Once whispered into
His baby boy's ears.

The words of wisdom
He tried to bestow
Upon me, in those
Desperately rebellious years
I didn't take the time
To count.

I miss you, Dad.
I'm doing the best
I can with my own
Two boys, the same number
You and Mom had
(Minus the 6 girls)

My oldest, Michael,
Will soon be an
Elementary Teacher
And eventually, Principal.
If you can see him,
From Heaven's Perch,
Then of course, you know
This already.
I'm not sure if you can.
And I'm not sure if it matters
If you can't.
Heaven must be
Amazing enough all by itself.

I miss you, Dad.
I didn't appreciate all you did
For me while you were
Alive.
And now that you're gone
From this earth, I think
I can hear some of the
Murmuring
Whispers and
Hums you put into
My little bald head
As you held me
In your arms.
You taught me as
Best you could.

I put those same
Murmuring Whispers
Into Michael's ear
Nearly 22 years ago,
Into Adam's
Nearly 15 years ago.
And, hopefully,
The same thing,
Repeated, in an
Unknown span of years
With my Grandchildren.

I miss you, Pops.
And I love you.
Please tell Mom
That her poem is
Next.

May 2013 sara

In The Most Platonic Sense of the Word, I Love You Too

May 2013 sara

PJ

In The Most Platonic Sense of the Word, I Love You Too

We drove around town when it was
So early in the morning the neighborhoods were still asleep
And the perfect temperature brought us chills
That ran through our t-shirts, keeping us awake
And feeling alive

The music echoed through empty streets as we sat there,
Smiling at the road ahead
I had that tremendous feeling of just being content
The feeling you get when you
Can't seem to stop smiling because everything is just
So perfect for those few minutes

And when we went back home, we never slept
Because we stayed up all night talking,
I haven't felt that innocent in a long time

I looked up at him and we both smiled
Finally, a friend I could be myself around
Someone who was more concerned about my life
Rather than how much I was willing to put out

"In the most platonic sense of the word, I really do love you"

I wrapped my arms around him after he said this and closed my eyes, because
Driving through those empty streets sharing a feeling
I haven't felt in a while, and hearing those perfect words,
Could put me right to sleep, and they did