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Kelly Mistry Sep 1
Home
Such a deceptively simple concept
When you have it
           you can’t describe it
           and take it for granted
When you don’t
           you are forever searching
           aware of the hole in your heart
           but not knowing
           how to fill it

Some say home is where the heart is
Where your people are
Wherever you lay your head at night

Comforting thought

But what if home is also a place?
On this earth
Tangible and corporeal
Rooted in the land or water
That each of us must seek
And may never find

It could be where we were born
Where we end up
Or someplace we have never been

What happens if you never find that home?
What happens if you did
And then you leave

Alaska is that home for me
Not a specific place or town
But the combination of
        mountains,
        braided rivers,
        wildlife that requires respectful distance,
        weather that demands preparation,
        tundra, bogs, and spruce

I doubt I will ever live there again
But it will always live in me
No one Apr 12
The silence engulfs me,

the quiet sound that fills the Earth,

An ambient hymn covers each inch of snow

Never noticed, but always there.

All white; devoid of color...

but maybe it's okay to not yearn for green.

The lights in the sky dancing over the sky;

so strong you hear the static crackles within the air.

The stars that go on forever

but seem like they're only yours.

The grass covered in polished quartz,

the moon illuminating it;

making it shine brighter than the stars.

A covered sky, glazing over the stars.

The clouds whisk away the light,

claiming it their own.

Only then to pour over with more soft speckles.

You look up; breathe in the frigid zephyr.

The mountains that tower over you,

threatening to consume you without effort.

They block out the light;

the monoliths create a void,

one that is darker than your mind.
Maya Mar 30
I have never met an alaskan sunrise that I did not fall in love with.
Its warmth spills over the tundra
and filters through the interstices of the bowed willows.

The rose and golden hues greet the mighty Yukon River
Where hundreds of salmon teem beneath the rising sun,
glistening all shades of pink.

The blueberries turn violet when kissed by the morning light
As do the moose as they wade through glacial lakes
Where water lilies drift around their legs.

On the coast,  
Starfish poke out from under their rocks,
And sea otters float lazily with their babies on their stomachs,
anticipating the warmth of the sun.

Every morning, I fall in love with the life and the beauty that Alaska sunrises bring.
beautiful home <3
Maya Feb 26
I miss the way that you used to fight a smile, with your eyebrows raised and mouth slightly parted--

And I miss the way the tundra crunched when I walked on it in spring, still frozen--

But that doesn't mean that I would still love you the same.

When I say that I miss you, I mean I miss being able to listen to certain songs without getting sad
being able to drive down every road without being flooded with memories
of a time we loved one another.

When I say I miss home I mean I miss the feeling of comfort the emptiness brought.  
Being able to look through childhood pictures without crying.

And my biggest fear of all is seeing you again and realizing you're not the same, and neither am I. And the love isn't there.

Or going home and knowing, it isn't how I left it and I've changed too. It doesn't bring me happiness like it used to.

When comparing things that you miss,
you start to realize:
even if you meet again, the person won't be the same one that loved you.
Just like even when you go home again, it won't be the same place you once craved.
Amanda Feb 25
Crowded bar
Drink held in hand
Music blaring loud
Pretty sure my soul is ******
After the second round

Shot of whiskey down throat
One more to follow
Sea of ***** keeping afloat
Weightless with each swallow

Dizzy head
Thick and light
Clouded
Pulsing
And hazy
Tiredness drags down my sight
Legs relaxed and lazy

Warmth spreads throughout torso
Fingertips begin to tingle
Euphoria inside my brain grows
My neurons and serotonin mingle

Air heavy
Sweat and motion
Humid heat clinging to my skin
Around me is a blurred commotion
Logic and sense wearing thin

Tummy performing cartwheels
Whole place unbalanced and dark
Stool wobbly underneath my heels
Bartender pouring from a fifth of Monarch

Saturday night in a tiny town
Where everything else is just too far
So you find yourself driving the same road down
To the local nothing-better-to-do bar
In Talkeetna that bar is called The Fairview which is where I was when I began writing this little treasure haha
ollie Feb 18
she wrote in my favorite book
with witty comments and neater handwriting
straight lines with her black pen
careful not to write over lines in ways i hadn’t been
careful not to hurt the words i’ve told her i loved
and i suppose that must say something
about how maybe she is a gemini
she certainly has a twofold relationship
with permanence
i noticed that
she underlines every capital letter indicating importance
when they aren’t at the beginning of the sentence
like Before and Investigation
she underlines what she thinks is important
and circles what she understands
she does both to me
and though i may not understand why she chose me to write on
i cannot help but smile at her annotations
kg
T J W Feb 9
My mind, my Alaska
wild and rugged
beautiful but brutal
survival first
burying my demons
is the wolf that kills just a puppy?
have I finally reached the land so untouchable and wild?
isolated and hidden waiting to be found
an eternal place
buried deep in Alaska where no one goes
protection in isolation leading only to confusion
you show yourself piece by piece
then you run back into the woods
unsettled and unpredictable
it may erupt at any time
beauty built on violence
torn apart and broken
you lay there bleeding until you're ripped apart and eaten
white powder of purity falls on you
serene in your silence
you become uninhabited
and suddenly you're back to protecting
cold to touch
but you're safe for now
hiding in the wilderness of Alaska

who are you?
T J W Feb 9
I sit and stare at the fragments of myself around me
utter demise of the mask I've worn for so long
long past helplessness and crying
numb in the detachment of who I thought I am
no appetite for life
lost in a haze of dissociation
disconnection in the prison of my mind
the world goes by in an unfamiliar pace
I'm finely broken
I can no longer hold myself together
exhausted with trying
intrusive thoughts dragging my weak body down
time to face what I've hidden from
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2019
Alaska:
“though the whole world should be mad at once
though the elements should be changed, though the angels should rebel: yet verity (irrefutable truth) cannot lie.”  
                                                         ­                  Erasmus of Rotterdam

<> <>

for BJ Donovan, a fine, fine poet
<><><>

verity, irrefutable truth, cannot lie,
or belie it’s non-contradictory nature,
even, in a small airport, a one runway affair,
somewhere in Alaska
ribboned tween icy crags and dagger-ous peaks,
low cloud coverings of sub-zero visibility,
that inquire, in an indigenous tongue
of the flying fool pilots,

“really?”

if I or you ask me why I’m here,
Alaska,
the answers come in only three Heinz varieties,
true or false positive, no differentiation needed,
the other, is called
“one who doesn’t know how to ask”

you know him,
the simpleton, the simple one, me,
who can’t frame the question without

risking that he frame himself

betraying and displaying his woeful ignorance,
a veneered confidence of knowing so little about much

in the shed, a/k/a
‘the terminal,’ we wait,
me and an ex-Buddhist priest,
head stubble shaved, of course, round horn rimmed glasses wearing,
stone washed jeans blue, the color of his eyes,
reflecting mine as well as the blue glacier ice
surrounding us both, we,
the extraneous human eagle interlopers

showed him the Erasmus quote, provoking one of them,
thin lined, whimsical, eye-glinting smiles of those
who know the answer
to the knotty ones, or,
know better, that knotty questions one asks himself
when high up in the mountainous glacier ranges,
get answered just by silent patience

he smiled for an eternity of
at least five minutes,
my heart pulsating big time,
this modern man anticipating, in his calm, dulcet two tones,
his understanding of another ancient translating another,
even more ancient, speaking:

”the world is indeed mad,
through neglect letting the elements warp, glaciers melt;
the angels have indeed rebelled at the
foreseen fated falsehoods perpetrated,
verity,
torn asunder,
and the line between balance and imbalance,
so jaggedly ripped in too many places that verity a victim
so badly assaulted, its face is no longer identifiable by AI, worse,
so covered, dying, undiscoverable.

but you ask!
ask of yourself, asking of others, and tolerating
uncurled, uncut uncertainty, you retreat and reconsider,
this then is your answer!
it is the
ASKING,
that is verity, itself! there can be no lying thing in the
quest of questioning
that accepts, rejects, and unceasingly asks again^

this is a the only irrefutable truth and what it asks of you:

never accept the illogic of belief, let your own eyes be the best judge;
ask and ask thrice, be satisfied that being disastrously dissatisfied
is the norm, the mean,
the line toward a perfection that may not ever exist(ed)
for our flaws define us, thus so much greater is our truths when we
we reshape them, ourselves, for verity itself is not so hard to find,
but the finding of one self is too difficult for most


for asking is too painful,
too primordial, and why I am no longer a priest nor teacher,
but a simple observer of the answers that can be found in the
silences of places,
the Alaska’s inside of us,
where nature’s sets
an open table for anyone
wiling to just ask...”
8/18/19
S.I., N.Y.

^”It is not in the asking, but in the searching and wrestling that we gain clarity.”
hannah Jul 2019
black,
crested with water
beneath my sinking feet,
the sky is a shaking grey
filled with
fumes
from a saltwater tide;
while the sun lays a hollow,
swollen bleed
above my shut eyes.

i can taste the ocean,
i can hear the rising breaths
before they flow from up her lungs.
and in that moment,
the briefest, most fragile moment,
before her hands touch my skin,
I think i feel your ghost,
creeping up and soaking in.

her body wraps around my toes,
as the silence brings your voice.
harsh, in the wind,
i realize that you aren't gone,
you've embedded your soul into the
crisp blackness of her.
and so I breathe.
I swallow the air.
because no one really dies,
they just find something else to live
through.
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