POEM: 'Eight Letters' by Trinity

It’s amazing to me how far along we’ve come

Though four months may not seem long enough,

it is to me because I’ve never let anybody in so quickly.

Some may call it infatuation, but I say

eight letters.

 

Let me explain…

the only reason why I stress

you so much is because I’m panicking.

I just want you to be perfect

because being hurt by you

seems to be the worst thing

that can happen after I say

eight letters.

 

Overcomplicated is an understatement

as to how I’ve tried

 to justify you’re takeover of my nightly dreams.

It hurts to know

that you don’t know

 how much you mean to me.

I tell you that I won’t

because I’m trying to convince myself

that I don’t but…

I do

seven letters.

 

Voicing my opinion is one thing,

 but to vocalize my affection

towards you

 is so difficult

 that sometimes it makes me cry.

 I know I don’t make sense

 but I want you to know what I’m thinking

 without me telling you.

I want you to

six letters

first

without you knowing

that eight letters.

 

Excuse my idiosyncrasies, please.

I just don’t want to open myself completely

if you are not ready

to receive what I have to offer.

As much as I’m trying to find some kind of balance

on the tough interior

of my heart’s foundation

I still find myself falling…

falling in

four letters.

 

You make my heart smile.

But how can the same man

that makes me so mad

turn right around and kiss me so soft?

I’ve been able to overcome

some of my insecurities,

and though I may backslide,

no one has helped me

get this far except

three letters.

 

Offering you all I have to give

seems as hard as giving you all I have,

but what else can I do

to express

what you have built inside of me?

I’ve tried singing songs

and looking to other authors

for inspiration to write my poems,

only to realize

that I’ve written my own

eight letters.

 

Understand that the simplest things

are the hardest to say.

But maybe one day

I’ll be able to confess

that you are my biggest fear.

Even if we don’t last

I know that there’s a blessing

 in every lesson.

And the point of it all

is eight letters…

three words.

 

Dedicated to: C.A. Roberts

 

 

 

 

 

POETRY: 'The Creative Are Kept Caged' by Jazelle Handoush

The Creative Are Kept Caged
By Jazelle Handoush

We were convinced
The bars, frigid to clasping fingertips,
Were to keep out the monsters
And dispel the darkness
Like a shadowcatcher, screaming at the scary.
We were unaware
That cages contain the most dangerous masterpieces,
Kept from marring minds with the bold pigments
Of paint and ink spilled to let others in
On hope's secrets.
The metal makes us numb,
Dumb to the damage that could be done
If we rightly wielded pens and page
And drew shadows, stealing into the back of the mind
To whisper the way out:
The key is in the creation.
The artistic, creative cognizant, are told to stay away
As not to share the secrets of the world
And instead
They're caged.

Copyright 2013 | Jazelle Handoush

POETRY: 'Dreams of My Father' by Kabriel Moorehead

Dreams of My Father

By Kabriel Moorehead

The stars that glimmer in my eyes at night

Are not the same ones witnessed by my father hundreds of miles away,

And many years ago on an island

Where prosperity is not found by the many

But a hunger is discovered by all.

Whether it be the pangs of a stomach,

Growling, churning, begging for answers

Or the raging flames kindled in our hearts by a desire,

A dream of something greater still,

That left unchecked sweeps through generations like a storm,

Gaining strength

That is equally beautiful and catastrophic to behold.

I may never know the serenity of crystalline seas,

Serene breezes, and silky white sand.

These natural aspects seemed to calm my Father,

Without ever dampening his passion for excellence.

A similar passion warms my soul,

Stoked by my parent's as a youth,

I yearn to do the things no one has.

The sky is only a mile marker, not a destination for me.

I desire something more,

To somehow rearrange the cosmos,

Into the constellations he saw as a child.

The dreams of my father fulfilled at last,

As we look onto the night sky

Realizing though we never witnessed the same picture,

We always drew the same meaning.

Copyright 2013| Kabriel Moorehead

POEM: "Questions Dreamed" By Larry Knight

"Questions Dreamed"
By Larry Knight

She dreamed a question.

Within her mind’s lexis a rare
curiosity; it was strange and alive.

She sought meaning in definitions;
wanted to know if complex things
exist within fine, thinly veiled
strata of contemplation.
She didn't know. She couldn't grasp
the simple expression
unconcealed
on this boy's face;
couldn't recognize.

She dreamed a question.

Invisible letters formed.
Words etched; sentences
shaped. A question mark
punctuated.

Her hand, skyward.
Her eyes, wide with hunger...
knowledge.
Her lips, part to impart
a query.

I wait.
She....asks.

(c) 2013 | Larry Knight

POEM: "Through Her Eyes" By Larry Knight

“Through Her Eyes”
By Larry Knight

-for the children of conflict

She never knew the reason.

Never knew the cause,
the source of conflagration;
never knew the purpose,
or the cost, or the sacrifice --

she only knew the fear.

She only knew her mother’s warmth,
how her heart raced --

She knew the feel of water,
how sand swirls in the mud,
the scratch of palm fronds against skin,
the burn of the sun on a face.

She knew the sound
of metal slicing through open air,
and branch, and flesh;
the muffled noise of death,
the explosions, the screaming,
the last gasps of life.

Her eyes, too young to focus,
too young to process,
record the violence;
her delicate gaze
encodes the anguish,
captures the misery
until it is part of her,
until it is part of her
memory of a day,
a morning, a year.

She is too young,
too unversed
too infantile to fathom death,
too innocent to grasp man’s need for conquest,
his thirst for sanguinary solutions --

So she stares at a bird in the sky
and marvels at its flight.

(c) 2013 | Larry Knight

Written Feb. 19, 2013