Home Blog Page 28

Two Poems by Lucy Collins

The Exodus of Icarus

Standing in the candlelight
Watching the flames flicker up, and down,
Watching your eyes turn golden and fill with determination.
You say you’ll carry me, Father,
Then pull me close for the final time
In this ugly and bloody and wretched place
And we’ll take a chance and make a gamble with our lives —
You know I trust you with my life.

I’m not quite sure what to think
About these miraculous golden wings,
Each holding a thousand delicate and perfect feathers,
But I’ll follow you.
I’m holding still
As you place the wings on my back;
They feel quite heavy, quite dangerous, quite exciting —
Adrenaline appears for our escape.

Falling, falling, and then
We’re no longer falling and
The air rests beneath our beautiful wings;
They carry us through the sky —
Flying, gliding, and this
Euphoria that dances in my heart because
Suddenly, for the first time in my entire life
I’m really, truly free.

I want to explore the world —
I want to go faster, to go higher,
To go further to all the corners of this Earth.
I’m rising through the sky.
You know what happens next:
Helios and his heat tear me apart and
Then I’m falling, falling, falling, with nothing
To slow my descent.

I’m so sorry, Father,
That I got carried away by the wild wind,
And now I’m drifting, lost beneath these waves —
Just don’t think it’s your fault.
You gave me everything
A boy like me could ever dream of:
Even the impossible, even my own freedom,
Even for a little bit of time.

Remember
Do you remember how
wonderful it feels
to break something?
The strain,
The rush,
The pain,
And then it snaps and with it
a little bit of me
breaks and falls away.

Do you remember how
satisfying it is
to hit something?
With all
My strength,
My rage,
And then my knuckles
throb in a beautiful way,
and it feels almost okay.

Do you remember how
exhilarating it is
to scream your lungs out?
Howling
At the
Blue sky,
And then I feel this
divine release of everything
that I shouldn’t say.

Lucy Collins is a student from Maryland, who has always had a passion for writing growing up. She recently won third place in the Gaithersburg Book Festival’s high school poetry competition and was a published poet in her high school’s literary magazine. Lucy’s dream is to have an impact on others through her writing. When she isn’t studying or writing, she loves relaxing with friends and listening to music.

Image: Icarus by Rogério Timóteo, CC BY 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Memories by Jasmin Wu

Memories

I’ll never forget the kitchen with the drooling wafts of bashful morning sun dribbling through the yawning window.
I’ll never forget the kitchen with the tumbles of Shanghai breath painting the air awash in a dreamy technicolor perfume.
I’ll never forget the kitchen with the motley medley of crayon masterpieces, clumsy origami, and pottery mutants made with the silly giggles of childhood glee.
I’ll never forget the kitchen with the wire cage perched unassumingly in the corner, housing an unpretentious, little yellow resident.
I’ll never forget the little old lady who completed the scene, alighted on the windowsill, demonstrating to my older sister how to hang clothes onto the clothesline.
I’ll never forget her willowy fingers, carved with blueprints of age and time, as she gently guided my sister’s chubby hand over the colorful clips.
I’ll never forget her smile, a sweet, tilted curve budding on her face, with traces and dances of amusement wisping around her eyes.
I’ll never forget the candied bird song flitting around the kitchen, crystallizing the moment into pellucid forever.
I’ll never forget, as I watch Grandma slip into the painted sky, her soul fluttering among the cascades and rivulets and wings of moonlight and clouds and stars.

Jasmin Wu is currently attending Walter Johnson High School as a sophomore. She was one of the 12 finalists of the Gaithersburg Book Festival.

Image: Wok to Walk International, S.L., CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Three Poems by Serena Agusto-Cox

Marvelous Creeper

It seeps,
it creeps.
Emerging, crawling,
a marring of sky.
Amber deepens to pumpkin,
the distortion less unsettling.
Soon, a blood orange supplants everything.
We sit here, marveling. Not waiting,
not anxious. Marveling
at how the painter turns blue sky
to moonlit darkness.

Yellow Streak
across the windowpane,
a bolt of lightning
shifting left and right
pursued. A goldfinch
escaped from its cage.

Weeping Willow

I lay beneath her branch cover
wrapped in her crocheted weave,
warm and calm; I laze,
eyes closed, lightly shuttered.
Full lotus,
lily flower perched at the roots
in silence and poise.
Hair swept aside my cheek
with a feathered hand.
Silky rose petal lashes close
to gaze at me.
Soft lips brush mine
with moist peroxide wine,
cleansing my tears.
Waltz of chimes filter through,
I open my eyes to the blue sky
studded with cumulus clouds

Serena Agusto-Cox was one of the first featured poets of the DiVerse Gaithersburg reading series in Maryland and coordinates poetry programming for the Gaithersburg Book Festival. Poems are in Live Encounters, Halfway Down the Stairs, The Magnolia Review, Beltway Poetry Quarterly, Dissonance Magazine, and more. Work appears in The Great World of Days, This Is What America Looks Like, Mom Egg Review’s Pandemic Parenting, The Plague Papers, H.L. Hix’s Made Priceless, Love_Is_Love:An Anthology for LGBTQIA+ Teens, and Midge Raymond’s Everyday Book Marketing. She also runs the book review blog, Savvy Verse & Wit, and founded Poetic Book Tours to help poets market their books.

Editor’s Note: Two of these  poems appeared in the show “Photopoetry,” alongside photographs by Gordana Gerskovic, at the Foundry Gallery, April 2022.

Image by Chris Light, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Three Poems by Fran Abrams

Trees Know

Bare branches of winter trees
sway in wind, like animals
bobbing their heads,
listening to music of breezes,
telling stories to their neighbors.

Trees know who tilled the soil
before this house was built.
Trees know earth is warming
from human pursuits.

How long have they
been trying to tell us?

Sudden Downpour

Temperature and winds rise,
trees shake their branches,
leaves turn undersides up against the wind.
Thunder reverberates for sound effects.

Rain comes straight down,
then caught by winds, comes at angles
like sheets whipped in frenzy.
A spark of lightning, more thunder,
the storm now directly overhead.

Leaves dance in the rain as if trying
to rinse off dust from every surface.
A few more blasts of wind, a bit more rain.
Earth shudders, stills, gathers
fallen rain to become greener yet.

Last Seen Wearing

a full coat of pink blossoms
wrapped around every limb.
Below that only rough bark
exposed to spring gusts.

If you search for her now,
be sure the artist offers you
an updated sketch, an image
of bare limbs that chill you
just to look at them.

If you want
to see her as she was last seen,
wait until next spring when
you will once again find her wearing
a full coat of pink blossoms.

Fran Abrams turned to writing poetry after retiring, having spent 40 years writing legislation, regulations, memos and reports in government and nonprofit organizations. Her poems have been published online and in print in Cathexis-Northwest Press, The American Journal of Poetry, MacQueen’s Quinterly Literary Magazine, The Raven’s Perch, Gargoyle 74, and others. In 2019, she was a juried poet at Houston (TX) Poetry Fest and a featured reader at DiVerse Gaithersburg (MD) Poetry Reading. Her poems appear in eleven anthologies, including the 2021 collection titled This is What America Looks Like from Washington Writers Publishing House (WWPH). In December 2021, she won the WWPH Winter Poetry Prize for her poem titled “Waiting for Snow.” Her chapbook, titled The Poet Who Loves Pythagoras, is forthcoming from Finishing Line Press. Please visit franabramspoetry.com.

Editor’s Note: These poems appeared in the show “Photopoetry,” alongside photographs by Gordana Gerskovic, at the Foundry Gallery, April 2022.

Image by W.carter, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons

Two Poems by W. Luther Jett

0

DARK SURGE

This broad valley between two
ridges holds green
even when snow crusts crests
where rocks break
open — What dark surge
shakes loose eagles
from their nests, undermines
foundation-stones,
drains seas? Isn’t it the same
pulse that raises
tides and mountains, guides
the stormlost petrel
home and home and home again?
Sickness pulls us
ever-widening, only to clasp
us in its grip —
Yet, we must go on, breathe
crisp air, and mark
the wend-way under one lone
star, stumble foot
and mumble song until we reach
shadows. Even then.
Until the hills descend and sea
takes all.

HOW MANY FINGERS?

”And if the party says that it is not four but five — then how many?”
• George Orwell, 1984

They would close the stars
in boxes, nail them shut.
Let no-one see what was
nor what might be.

Time will come when you
will pay to paint your own
coffin — pay with a smile.

Tug down the windowshade.
Stuff rags around your doorsill.

Don’t mind the din —
the hammer and throb.
It’s nothing, and that smell?
Why it’s not gas, only
old flowers. Yes, they’re wilted.

A drop or two of ether
should revive them.

W. Luther Jett is a native of Montgomery County, Maryland and a retired special educator. His poetry has been published in numerous journals as well as several anthologies. His poetry performance piece, Flying to America, debuted at the 2009 Capital Fringe Festival in Washington D.C. He is the author of four poetry chapbooks: Not Quite: Poems Written in Search of My Father” (Finishing Line Press, 2015), Our Situation (Prolific Press, 2018), Everyone Disappears (Finishing Line Press, 2020), and, Little Wars (Kelsay Books, 2021). Luther is also the facilitator of a monthly virtual open mike sponsored by the Hyattstown Mill Arts Project in Hyattstown, Maryland.


Image by Rosendahl, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons