Mar 22
poem 0 comments challenge: Six
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Mar 22
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Inconspicuous Conspirator

Mar 06
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Appreciate the Present

Mar 03
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The Dominican Republic

    I just returned from a week that was, as a whole, one of the happiest of my life. As a trip from the most powerful, wealthy, and privileged country in the Western Hemisphere to one of the poorest, this was not an expected outcome. But through six days of work and recreation in the Dominican Republic, and complete cultural immersion into a world I could previously only abstractly comprehend, my understanding of happiness was reshaped, and my capacity for it expanded.
Feb 19
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The Dissatisfaction of a Camera

     My job is memory. Or the artificial capturing of it. Humans can only envy my capacity, as their memories inevitably slip away, and they are forced to return to me, time and time again. So I should feel fulfilled. I do what they cannot.

     I can remember with pristine detail the two little girls on the couch with their father. One tucked under his heavy arm, the other slouched over with a tiny black and white puppy curled in her lap like a baby. The book he was reading lays abandoned by his side speckled in the mid-day light shining in the large window. The father and girl in his arms are deep in sleep, their heads both tilted to the same side with the same blond hair. But the girl with the puppy has pulled one side of her soft cheek upward in a knowing smirk, her eyes closed, but aware. I can tell she heard my shutter snap shut to steal this image of somnolent serenity.

Feb 12
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      We take our education for granted. It’s easy to forget, but what we now consider a necessary evil was once considered a privilege. So why is there so much aversion to it? My school is filled with people who would rather not be there and who view it as a waste of time. They don’t realize that while it has its flaws, our little high school could be worse. It offers rigorous courses, manages to sustain a number of clubs and teams, and, as far as high school goes, has a friendly, welcoming atmosphere. Most of the teachers are dedicated to the success of their students, and are engaged in the classroom.
Feb 05
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They cut down our tree

They cut down our tree.
I don’t know if you even remember it,
but I thought you should know.
It was a safety hazard I guess.

Funny, isn’t it?
When we were kids,
no place was safer.
Its branches were our sanctuary.
Tough yet forgiving,
they supported our inspired assent into the sky,
and when it rained their budding leaves would shelter our rapid retreat
to its knotted roots.

Our roots.
They are all that remains.
And I cling to that raw, severed stump of memories.

I guess that’s why I called.
To say I miss you.
And our tree.
It’s darker here without its shade.
Jan 27
poem 0 comments challenge: Love
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Ode To Past

To me you are the geniality of an open hearth.
The vitality of a child filled with innocent mirth.
The liberality of one untainted by this earth.

The thought of you protects me from complex reality.

Which is why they scold me with such surety that I
Must not love you.

But I do.
Because you are

Oh Past,
Loving you is a gift.
But the present is your jealous opponent.
Jan 22
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The Difference Between Your Heart and a Frog’s

Your foot comes down with a crack on cold brittle ice
breaking the thin top layer and
releasing frigid water
that leaks up from the dark
abyss below.

You watch as it spreads slowly and deliberately
over the scarred and snow dusted surface
darkening the opaque white with
its cold wet touch.

You realize with a shiver
not prompted by the temperature
that you stand
in the jaws of a
sleeping monster
that waits for the weather to
weaken its trap and for you to come crashing down
into its liquid maw.

The water is
and uninhabited
save for the paralyzed frog frozen on
its floor.

The numb creature sleeps
on thick gelatinous mud while
ice crystallizes on its heart
and its slow breath sends
tiny trembling bubbles up through the
inky blackness where they emerge
beneath your feet.
Jan 05
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We Start to Dance

The small rectangular living room is lit only by warm lamp light, a cheerful tree in the corner, and the bright eyes of smiling faces.

People sit piled on couches and sprawled on the floor - filling every crack and corner of the room so the temperature slowly rises with the heat of warm bodies.

The hum of music rolls through any space left unoccupied, and guitars, fiddles, and voices melt together in a symphony of high spirits.

As the clock ticks closer to midnight, we start to dance.

I spin

In a crowd of flailing limbs and bodies.

Faster and faster, until the christmas lights on the tree blend into soft streaks of light and engulf me in a blanket of blues, whites, reds, and greens.

My arms rise with the corners of my mouth as music and movement simultaneously crescendo.


As the world melts away and every brooding thought and haunting fear evaporates from my mind.