February 25, 2017 § Leave a comment
with me (response to XV)
by Donna Kwon
I’ve dreamt a world of glass and swears and whispers of I will and always, beside your smiles of glass and flint, eyes of ashes and embers. Your breaths come in pairs—in fours, in eights—and more smoke than any fire has the right to exhume. Mouthed words are swallowed up in flickers of burning. I don’t understand any of it.
These stoked kindles are as much mine as they are your, wisps of want you to see and want to see and tomorrow will not evoke the remembrance of humanity, all yours with little to show but sluggish fantasy and desire. I am the same as you, and yet we cannot match, our mingled sighs igniting and tasting of dying. Brittle wings of bone and thimbles crackle, wrap around svelte contours of your ribcage and press too deeply. Breathe and repeat. Ferocity lent for a single minute, and air blisters down a throat, escapes through shivers and winter flakes. The last snow lingers over my head
with you. It might as well be buried.
this is not my signed confession
because I am not in love with you.
June 10, 2016 § 1 Comment
nothing is Anything
by Melissa Mabasa
Bright lights, casting shadows
nothing is highlighted
The middle is empty
My focus goes there
nothing can be anything
To be whatever I choose
In five minutes, I became a professor, chef, and a ballerina
I walk away from that corner
I am Me again
I step back into who I have been for the past 22 years
Except in those few minutes,
I could be Anything
(Poem and photograph by Melissa Mabasa.)
June 9, 2016 § Leave a comment
From I’m thinking there
by Michelle Baumval
i’m thinking there and back again, weary eyed due to my lack of sleep
with the sweet taste of that mango juice i had for breakfast lingering in my mouth,
it’s so annoying i just want to get it out and i could really use more sleep because
what else is there to do if she’s not around oh god i think, and i think i think
too much and if only she was here she’d fill the silence then say you’re not even listening
is she still there you can make it on your own i think i held my breath for too long
you look like someone else please save my soul i don’t know what i’m doing anymore
in the cabinets of grandma’s kitchen sit firmly ceramic presidents
i think i’ll dig my silver into them
out she goes and that was the last i heard.
i remember when she gave me a handful
told me to bury them in the garden
that the gnome will watch them grow.
living on your own is not the same when you’re alone
bring my body home
and bury it in the ground.
i was outside in her front yard and i waited for her call but i don’t think she’ll
ever come around it’s like that song “if you love someone let them go” you know,
i suck at letting her go i told her how i felt i should’ve kissed her when i had the chance
i’m her worst nightmare and i don’t sleep anymore i never want to sleep again
because i see her in my dreams
I’m thinking there is a blended genre series based on photographs and found text.
June 5, 2016 § Leave a comment
Grace Osterdale used a black-out/cross-out style with “Every Day She Shrank in Size,” by Barbara Nishimoto, as her source text. Nishimoto’s story was originally published in Drexel’s Painted Bride Quarterly.
by Grace Osterdale
I think that night
I was stupid
About how I was preoccupied
My memory couldn’t participate
I was lucky
Was on the steps
Just like I suspected
And I felt guilt
I complain a certain way
It’s not all I think about
Here are some more details and black-out pages from Grace’s project.
Black-out Poetry by Grace Osterdale (Excerpt)
March 21, 2016 § Leave a comment
“Goodbye to the Day”
by Bonnie Athouriste
An impressive unveiled house
Six doors glassed-in
Evening ribbon first flight before the switch
The old agreed to the new…more than new.
The transition…scattered art portraying resilience
Value the day’s last departure
Grab the gift!
Limited previously, now available to many.
[Note: This poem based on blackout/erasure writing using newspaper article]
March 10, 2016 § Leave a comment
by Meghan Fowler and Maxx Suchowicki
There she is. Right on time.
Five o’clock. On the dot.
Folding laundry while watching TV.
It’s like she plans this every Tuesday.
Five o’clock. Not a minute late.
God, she’s breathtaking.
How did a woman that beautiful
End up living across from me?
I wish I could talk to her,
See what eye color matches that
Silky golden hair.
It feels so wrong to stare at her
Like this. But I can’t help it.
She’s looking back at me!
She probably thinks I’m a creep!
– – – – – – – – – – – – –
Five o’clock. Finally home.
I wonder if he’s home too.
He is. I see him.
I’ll just act like I don’t see him.
I’ll just keep folding towels
And watch some Dr. Phil.
I wonder if we’ll ever meet.
There is only one street
Keeping us apart.
Does he think I’m pretty?
I want him to find my door.
I don’t mind it.
He thinks I don’t know.
But I can feel those brown
Eyes on me.
Oh! I can see them now.
He seems so frightened
that I noticed him.
Don’t be afraid…
Come talk to me.
March 3, 2016 § Leave a comment
–by Samantha Harris
A touch lighter than that of a robin’s egg,
Covered by beautifully long lashes as she yawns and closes her eyes.
One quick glance her way, and her personality is shone through them.
Ones like hers run in the family-
Incredible blue eyes.