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 Mar 2014 Christina
st64
This morning, between two branches of a tree  
Beside the door, epeira once again
Has spun and signed his tapestry and trap.  

I test his early-warning system and
It works, he scrambles forth in sable with  
The yellow hieroglyph that no one knows  
The meaning of. And I remember now
How yesterday at dusk the nighthawks came  
Back as they do about this time each year,
Grey squadrons with the slashes white on wings  
Cruising for bugs beneath the bellied cloud.  

Now soon the monarchs will be drifting south,  
And then the geese will go, and then one day  
The little garden birds will not be here.  

See how many leaves already have
Withered and turned; a few have fallen, too.  

Change is continuous on the seamless web,  
Yet moments come like this one, when you feel  
Upon your heart a signal to attend
The definite announcement of an end
Where one thing ceases and another starts;  
When like the spider waiting on the web  

You know the intricate dependencies  
Spreading in secret through the fabric vast  
Of heaven and earth, sending their messages  
Ciphered in chemistry to all the kinds,
The whisper down the bloodstream: it is time.
Howard Nemerov
1920–1991



Howard Nemerov was a highly acclaimed poet often cited for the range of his capabilities and subject matter, "from the profound to the poignant to the comic," James Billington remarked in his frequently quoted announcement of Nemerov's appointment to the post of United States poet laureate.
A distinguished professor at Washington University in St. Louis from 1969 to 1990, Nemerov wrote poetry and fiction that managed to engage the reader's mind without becoming academic, many reviewers reported. Though his works showed a consistent emphasis on thought—the process of thinking and ideas themselves—his poems related a broad spectrum of emotion and a variety of concerns.

As Joyce Carol Oates remarked in the New Republic, "Romantic, realist, comedian, satirist, relentless and indefatigable brooder upon the most ancient mysteries—Nemerov is not to be classified."
Writing in the study Howard Nemerov, Peter Meinke stated that these contrasting qualities are due to Nemerov's "deeply divided personality."
 Mar 2014 Christina
Theia Gwen
You are a star
Shining in the night sky
There's a burning in your chest
A supernova bursting behind your eyes
Full of life, full of love
I can't help but stop and stare
You help me find my way home
By just being there
You're the kind of beautiful
That makes me want to cry
All of the stars could make constellations
And you'd be brighter than them all combined
I am but a speck
Staring at you from below
But I feel a sense of hope
When I see you glow
You'll look down from up above
The whole earth as your view
You'll never know a tiny speck cries
Because I know I'll never be good enough for you
 Mar 2014 Christina
VioletFlames
When you're upset
So upet that it hurts

Just tell yourself
That
Well, life is short

And that this is just temporary
It'll get better

And even though today you're under the weather

Tomorrow is a new day
I promise it will be ok
Trying to encourage myself a bit......
 Mar 2014 Christina
megan
I’m uncomfortable with a crowded room
partly because there’re so many personalities mashing into one
and too many conversations being held out of spite
i’m restless to the idea of meaningful small talk
because I truly do not believe in it’s existence
no one is happy to be here
and we’re all drowning our sadness
in different ways that no one would ever know
we're forcing ourselves to become one
and I will never understand
 Mar 2014 Christina
SM
A Remedy
 Mar 2014 Christina
SM
If I were air, I’d be the wind on your face as you try to get away on your bike.
Caressing the curvature from your cheekbones to your chin.

If I were brightness, I’d be the flame from your lighter.
Here to light your cigarettes and candles.

If I were clothing, I’d be your t-shirt.
Listening to you inhale defeat and exhale content.

If I were the darkness, I’d be your shadow.
Ever present during the day and holding you at night.

If I were a mystery, I’d be the ocean
You could discover my depth.

If I were a beat, I’d be the ticking of your wristwatch.
A reminder each second that time progresses.

If I were words, I’d arrange myself into a book.
A story to keep you company in the winter.

If I were a spirit, I’d be a ghost.
Silently witnessing how you live.

If I were an addiction, I’d be your last cigarette.
You’d desire to get more of my flavor.

If I were hopefulness, I’d be your ambitions.
In hope that you’d find me buried somewhere in your dreams.

If I were a body part, I’d be your fingernails.
Close to your lips when you become anxious.

If I were a color, I’d be red.
Living within your veins.

But I am not.
You put your hand up to block the wind.
You only strike my flame for a moment, and then put me out.
All I hear are empty sighs
And you’ve become afraid of what is in the darkness.
You’ve learned swim to shore, to escape my vastness
And my loud ticking at night drives you insane.
You’ve read me to boredom.
I feel your presence, but you feel none of mine.
You’ve smoked too much and can’t feel the high anymore,
And you do not dream any more. You only have nightmares.
Your nails are now bitten to the bone.
And you’ve bled yourself dry.
 Mar 2014 Christina
Connor Reid
I lay alone in a hotel room, 7:14

I sung no forgotten sonnet. Honestly

Picked up the phone and screamed

Threw a bundle of papers against the wall

Killed my sleep and murdered my intuition

Pushed my bed into the ocean. Just listened

Young. 21. Hands on heart. Outspoken truth

+ 2, 23. That's me. No use scratching an itch

I wander 4 corners. Sunken refuse extends

Curtain covered window life from the outside in

Kept it clotted. Your advances were knotted in rope

But I slowed down. Peeled back and removed the wound

Took a tumble inside. Let the dream die

Wilted in agony. Placed my feet onto the cold stone floor

I'm not me anymore. I payed for this, yes?

It was then I took a life, an idea. Just like I haven't said...
2011
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