thesocialpoet

Archive for February, 2013|Monthly archive page

Monday

In Poetry on February 28, 2013 at 12:27 pm

It’s been three days since my footsteps

have led any farther than the kitchen,

ill-stocked for times like these,

and the bathroom, where my mirror and I

play a constant game of hide-and-seek.

I am afraid to see my own face,

salt-scalded and stained with disillusionments;

frightened by my own eyes, the dull

sockets of a stranger staring through me

as though I’m nothing more than an apparition.

Tomorrow is dawning like a broken record,

skipping across the sky in shades too pale to name,

and I think briefly about escaping,

shelving my heartache for an hour, for a day,

but all I can manage is a moment’s glance

out of a window smudged with forgotten fingerprints,

before dragging myself like a too full suitcase

back to the twilight of a room

drenched in the stillness of waning memories.

 

Sarah Williams, USA

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I am a Sword

In Poetry on February 25, 2013 at 3:25 pm

I am on fire, burning from the inside out.

I feel like a brand new sword, confused

As to why it’s been beaten and burned for so long.

I have neither soft nor dull edges

And no sheath to quench my thirst for battle and blood.

I am the talisman of victory. I am the artifact of defeat.

I have no lord for whom I pledge my allegiance;

No great cause to lend my might.

I was forged by a mighty hand against an unforgiving anvil’s edge

And now I gleam in the darkness and the light.

Will they sing songs of my glory or lament the destruction and chaos I cause?

Will I find my way into a hero’s hand or satisfy a villain’s iron grasp?

Will my blade become a liberator of the innocent

Or an oppressor of the helpless and weak?

O Creator, and master of your craft, why have you made me thus…

So cold and sharp, so beautiful and dangerous.

 

Frederick S. Blackmon, USA

The Mountain Men

In Poetry on February 24, 2013 at 12:42 pm

the scene

is dominated

by tall standing

trees for buildings–

industrialized by Mother,

Her roots become

enslaved by

alpha waves.

 

hanging in triplets,

they divide the frame

into segments,

transforming peaceful

cotton balls to contorted

giants of the sky.

 

they represent

constellations

of the emotional zodiac–

these figures revolve

around the sign of

hopelessness hope-

for their formations

have several meanings

we have assigned to them.

 

the constant

motion of

unsettling equilibrium–

 

we find balance

in metal frames

that transports

currents that flow

in misguided routes

throughout the body.

 

for blood is just

the substitute

for the electricity–

before the blue

turns to red,

the voltage makes

the fluid glow

and taste

like lightning.

 

backs aligned

against chairs,

we quickly

straighten up

our spines in

adjustment to

the scoliosis

of the mind.

 

for the curvatures

in signatures leave

unimpressive impressions

upon her gentle surface.

 

we are the jekyll

to her hyde, with

no doctor needed.

 

and all we do

is leave Her

in hindsight.

 

yet we are Her

beautiful children…

 

we are parasitic

humanistic organisms.

 

E. Eliot, USA