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Oby Oct 2016
Grunting and growling,
Like a feral animal in a cage,
Her spirit lashes out,
Clawing at the bars of convention.
Copyright © 2016 Oby. All rights reserved.
Brent Kincaid Oct 2016
Rockabye baby
Up in the air.
Nobody questions
How it got there.
Who would put babies
Up high in a tree?
That sounds like
Child abusing to me!

People have sung this
For hundreds of years
Contributing little
But compounded fears.
They should rethink it
But they feel they must
Later they wonder
About lack of trust.

Like many stories
And songs sung to kids
Some scary stories
Are not so well hid
Like kid-munching witches
And following crumbs
Small wonder they fear
Wicked things come.

So don't put your babies
Up high in a tree
Not even lower
Like branch two or three.
Think up a ditty
That might help them thrive
And grow up happy
That they are alive.
Maressa Fonger Sep 2016
Find me as moon glides full
Crowning at the gateway of worlds
Eclipsed where creatures lurk.
I wade through dense thickets,
Unscathed and ethereal,
Self waxes and wanes
Until silted water
Runs clear.
Find me in a starlit riverbed,
Strewn on silent shores
Softened by darkness,
Aglow at first light where
Bright bodies camouflage
Constellations of thought and
Winking eyes.
Find me held, stocked on a shelf
In a catalogue of dreamscapes,
Snow globes, unknown worlds.
Find me in moments
Ripe with beauty,
A juicy morsel that feeds
Ancestors who linger and long for
Tastes of modern blood.
Find me traversing pages,
A neatly arranged
Expansion of a perennial
Universe within.
Racquel Tio Jun 2016
I'll write another poem about you
on the back of one more receipt
because similar to what they describe
they're art I must keep.
Brent Kincaid Mar 2016
The Easter Bunny is a friend of mine
He used to lay his eggs in my back yard
But once I moved, it got to be too hard.
We’ve been buddies a long, long time.
It’s all my fault he visits me no more
He had to make it from Kansas to Nome.
That is far too long a trip for him
But, that is where I bought my home.

He was a pretty good old boy, indeed
For all his reproductive strangeness.
He was sort of like a football player
In a long lavender red carpet dress.
Harder to me, to accept whole cloth
Was what he had to do with Jesus.
But as a magic rabbit, for sure
He could lay eggs as he pleases.

So, every year during springtime
Here came my friend the bunny.
He’d **** out colored eggs, he did,
And nobody thought it’s a bit funny.
That he’s six feet tall, like Harvey,
Cusses like a sailor makes me laugh.
But that he is a Christian symbol is
Not really reasonable by about half.

Still, who am I to quibble about tradition?
It is fun for everyone at this time of year.
Along comes this unscientific miracle
And the kids smile from ear to ear.
They run around collect these eggs
That to me often looked rather scary
And do not question the bunny tale
Like Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy.
JR Rhine Feb 2016
Take me by the hand,
see me through your placid garden.
Walk with me, St. Mary's.

March me in time to your rhythm;
let me wield the mallet that beats your drum.
Sing to me, St. Mary's.

String my sole into the primordial web
within the black walnut tree.
Lay with me, St. Mary's.

Close my eyes and tilt me back;
dip me into the murky pond.
Baptize me, St. Mary's.

Take me down to the fiery shoreline;
we'll linger beneath the countenance of the rugged cross.
Crucify me, St. Mary's.

Sit me by your mystic grave,
cast a silent earthy veil over me.
Bury me, St. Mary's.

Chip me from the rock, free me of these shackles,
rocket me into the heavens.

Liberate me, St. Mary's.
St. Mary's College of Maryland.
if mistletoe is an invitation,
than what else were you not able
to say during the rest of the year?
the end.
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