Dreams
Sometimes, awake or asleep, I dream. This vision, this perspective of the universe lingers. It is trapped, with no escape, nowhere to go. A lost prisoner in his own prison cell; my mind. However life is like a dream, many times not in our control as to what will happen next. One can only see it, one can only hear it, feel it, touch it, smell it, in this illusion-like aura we call a dream. “Interpret a dream,” said Mr. Jean. I cannot interpret a dream Mr. Jean. Merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream. But is life but a dream? Are we all combusted in some pathological universe consistent of billions of units in never ending dreams? I see individuals involved in their own divine interventions and I cannot believe, perceive nor receive such captivity. Such sporadic occurrence. It's all a dream, an unrealistic layout, some would call it a fantasy. However, if a dream really is “a wish your heart makes,” why do nightmares exist? - Caroline Iglesias Karcrashians
Glitz and glam. Boom and bam the cameras go as the excessive amount of photos are being taken for that “million dollar shot.” Add a little more here, subtract some for over there. So that that hour glass shape is pronounced more and more each time you flip it around to keep track of time. The years go by, but time will remain the same because the tucks and pulls will work their own magic. We love them, we adore them, we admire them. Wait but, why? Same question we all ask ourselves silently as we continue obsessing. They suck the fat out of their bodies and the life out of their men. Knock knock, what was that? Divorce at the door. Knock knock, what was that? Oh, it's divorce and he brought his friend this time. Knock knock, what was that? Oh yeah, crippling depression and a weight gain of about 200+ pounds. But, happiness is here. Clothes the price of homes. A car a day keeps... well? Not the doctor, because we knock on his door every so often. Glitz and glam, I own all the jam in the land, I serve all the fitz amongst the fam. Somewhere along the way, materialism consumed us and happiness was just but an illusion. We forgot how to love for money can’t buy it, and it seems that is all we know how to do— swipe our credit cards and fling that cash. - Caroline Iglesias Nearly Indescribable
Dancing under the stars, Everything feels warm and Soft despite the familiar Cold of the winter wonderland Red noses and numb fingers Invade the moment, But nothing can stop the eager Energy surrounding the engagement Lost in the sensation Of never wanting to feel Void of the hallucination Evoked by what is hoped to be real Pulled further into this Light and joyful atmosphere Even the freezing air cannot dismiss As, in your mind, there is nowhere but here Still, the words have further meanings. Examine the beginnings. - Corrina Farnum Lip Balm
Cherry clear balm covers her lips un-cracked, Smiling at space felt in single nights, Warmed by own sure light, she is A Hestia, Daisy child of thought. Gloss - tinted pink - smeared on lips over balm Fidgeting breath and crossed finger-toes Personality cramped in A clutch, unfit Spring roses, a gift. Applying the gloss for months, a cycle To remember the first evening night. She cannot remember when She last swiped on Her comfort lip balm. One night a red is shown to glow upon Those lips. A smile of sultry intent Cannot be dismissed, undone Leaves for her date, No balm for chapped lips. Back again, she has come with corroded Red lipstick quoting action for The man she loves. Summer is Complete. Autumn Blows a chill in air. Darker falling stains on those lips decay. No reds or pinks can stay in this time. Bitter brown leaves cover the floor Of an altar To love unrestored. With her lips black, no one can see the truth. The horror her love has wrought on thee. Bruises tender, tears sting cuts. Lost self, no help. Shelved winter branches. Time passes within a depressed, cold state Her lips no longer support the weight Of colors. She cries quiet, Covers more hurt To hide his dead harm. Finally, someone sees her snowy gaze, Fighting alone in disastrous haze, Spring blooms late, chokes him away, Faded daisy Recovers in found Lip Balm. - Marina Kaye Title of a Poem
It opens, perhaps, with a simile, or a metaphor, Or some other figurative language That the reader, not entirely sure, Must trust And marvel at, led down a path In the very moment it unfolds And deep in it at last Comes to a turn Rising to a deeper meaning The veil lifted, the heart laid bare The culmination of such craft and conceit To not tell, but show Painting an impression with suggestions Making music with silent notes Making the picture all the more profound by its frame Then close, with a simple line Only as much to say: This is my truth. Discover yours. - Matthew Palacios The Watchmaker
He thought he had already moved the cup To safety, away from the table’s edge Before, by chance, his elbow’s careless bump Could catch it and tip it over the ledge. And with force shatter into jagged bits The glass, once delicate, pristine, and whole, Now naught but pieces coming then to sit Like scattered stars upon the wooden floor He quit his bench and rose to sweep the mess All the while knowing he had got caught up In the thrill of his work and thus, careless, Had become the end of his treasured cup. With a sigh, his heart knew (regretting, though) That there comes a time when all things must go. - Matthew Palacios |
He
When he was borned, He was a lucky child. He was surrounded with those whom he loved Handled with care, blessings, and smiles When he was three, He was very kind. He shared his toys with all his friends in class. He helped the poor, he aided the blind. When he was six, He was intelligent. He could name all the English letters, Count backward, play and instrument. When he was ten, He was called "weird," Because he can’t eat bread crust nor sign his name. Because of what he wear and how he appeared. When he was twelve, He was a butterball. At least that’s what they call him following their laughs, Regardless of how he feel small. When he was fifteen, He was stupid and dumb. Not because he can’t solve a calculus problem, But because he came from a slum. When he was eighteen, He was lonely and empty inside. He tried to go with the flow and commit to the norm. He speaks of others’ words, while his thoughts he hides. When he is ending this poem, He shall forever have peace. For there is no longer sufferings and deceptions where he is about to go. And so he looks up to the night sky. And so his life he ceases. - Minh Le The Crayon Box
First grade kids were taught color And how they fit each other. As roses are bright red And clouds are white, and breads are brown. The teacher, before school ends, Assign homework for weekend. “Draw and color,” she said. “The highest grade, the best will get.” Homework he did, got right on, Even brought out his crayons. Sun and mountain and trees, Houses and fields, and seas and bees. Following week he awaits. Rushed from his car to the gate. Every student was there, He was the first to share his work. “Wow, so nice!” the students cried His art sure did caught their eyes. But then there were questions, To the distinctions, they point. “Why is your tree bright yellow?” “Why is there black on meadow?” “Shouldn’t mountain be gray?” “And houses are red, and bay cyan?” “My crayon box have no green, A blue mountain, I have seen! Purple house, orange grass Fishes be purple, and bass be pink” The kids started mocking the fool, For all they were taught are rules. As roses are bright red As clouds are white, as breads are brown. They all looked at their drawings, and their crayons box, checking If they have all their tints So that to him, they aren’t kin. People are full of judgement To those who are too different. Degrade, humiliate, Demean, discriminate, disgrace. Until the end of that day To home they were on their way. Remember, the essence Of this color lesson he will. - Minh Le My Fantasy
As a child I always found wonder In the mighty mordant bird’s thunder, The scaly dragon’s flamboyant fire And the slim figure that appears when the time is dire. Creatures of fantasy, While I knew of their farce Fueled my vivacious phantasy So like fish in the sea, they were never sparse. But as the years went by My cesspool of wonder began to die. Dragons ceased to fly over the skies While at night, I could no longer hear the banshee’s cries. What happened? Where did my imagination run off to? My mind, which was to my creativity, its captain Bit off more than it could chew. But when I have time And my mind’s in its prime I can still see the faint image of a dragon, Travelling back to its den of rock and bracken. - Kamille Roese The Great Divide
Every four years, when the time is near Politics’s bloody hands appear To divide the country once more Until bipartisanship becomes a bore. But this year, Our election has left us with a smear. This country, once united Is now left divided. Republicans and Democrats are now at war Over things as trivial as a grocery store. The big game, a family barbeque Now painted in red and blue. But this mess which was so uninvited Will soon, if we follow this guidance, be righted. As we could once see It is healthy to disagree But if we try to curb opposing views In the end, everyone will lose. So put your arrogance back on the shelf And with the knowledge of others, enlighten yourself. Yes, create your own opinions, But don’t try to trap others with your mental dominion. - Kamille Roese |