Posts
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τό καλόν, τό ἀληθές, τό ἀγαθόν (Transedentals)
The woman wears her skin
like a bathrobe.
She stands in the middle
of a golden field,
weeping fresh water.
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The Storm's Eye
The sky
blows in more snow,
a breath
from frozen elsewhere.
There is a storm
raging
inside the silent rage
of the storm,
inside God’s eye,
unopened.
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Cubism
‘"With your pictures you apparently want to arouse in us a feeling of having to swallow rope or drink kerosene.”
– Braque to Picasso
Maybe it’s as simple as this:
Maybe God’s hundredth name is His face. -
At the Altar
Oh Lord of Windows,
Oh Window,
Oh Mirror with Drawn Curtains,
maybe if I keep tapping,
keep drumming my fingers on your altar,
you’ll wake up. Maybe -
The Farmer's Market
my uncle grabbed a bag
of fiddleheads,
tender beginnings,
at the farmer’s market,
said he was going
to fry them
with honey, pink-
peppercorn, and salt.
the farmers bring dirt -
Mixed Metaphors Chapter 1
A light mist was pouring in off the Caspian sea. I closed my click, sighing into the dark as I pulled on a yellow, wide-legged, vinyl jumpsuit.
Loves
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In English We Read Walt Whitman and Langston Hughes
We read poems on printed white sheets in english
Cover them with highlights
And words like freedom
Are covered in pink.
And a hundred years ago
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The History of the Entire World
From what I remember, it was born growing.
It was born hot, expanding, glowing,
and the people were made of gold
and of fire.
And it kept growing, it kept burning hot, bright,
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Zshay blue vingg (The blue river)
(This is all a fictional language I created myself called ‘Sacaretan’.
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Why I Was Late To Band Today
"So I was in English class, right," said the kid, "and the bell rang, and while I was switching classes, I got super thirsty, so I stopped at the water fountain, but then I remembered that this fountain is out of order and the only other one is in
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sensación de fin de semana / end of the week feeling
(disclaimer: i am not a fluent or native Spanish speaker, obviously. i just enjoy it and am learning it in school so i thought i'd share a short poem i wrote in class.)
jueves
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A Loss of Hope
i sit on the classroom floor.
the room is dark and cold.
i press my back against the wall.
the door is barricaded with a chair.
my teacher stands in front of it, as