Conditionals
Posted by Cortney Charleston | Filed under Poetry, Print
If George Clinton had become President
And Chocolate City never melted
If the bird flipped was a peace symbol
Like its name implied
If nerd was sexy and paid as such
If homies on the corners listened to Common Sense
Before he went commercial
If money grew on trees
And didn’t leave cotton splinters
If the elector’s voted like they went to college
If college didn’t treat me
As just another commodity
If the dreams weren’t always more vivid than reality
If drinks tasted the same
In cans and bottles
If marijuana was conjoined
With every new treaty
If food was served family style every night
If rain came at uniform speed
And always with deliberate warning
If the clocks had fatter faces
Then, life would be air conditioned
That Love
Posted by Simone Stolzoff | Filed under '10 Spring: Lords of the Fly, Announcements, Print
I want to scale the summits of our silence
Trace the topography and texture of the undulating sound waves
like I used to stroke the grooves of the wind outside the passengers seat.
From the start when
I will wait to approach, my heart will thump like a sly bassline
while I picture you strumming serenades on my heartstrings,
you’ll have me syncopating syllables like chambers.
If your heart is as big as my heartbeat will suggest,
I’ll have to buy you a bigger cage before then.
From the start, you’ll just be her—
A she and an I was without a we.
Beauty will be in the arms of who can hold her.
All I want is to be the he in your heart
and when intimidation turns into infatuation and you finally can become my you,
I will hate how easily you’ll be able to make or break my day.
Your eyes will wait like Christmas eve.
Your smile will dimple rooms like stars do july.
I will put them in a glass jar—
Don’t worry I’ll poke holes in the top so they can breath.
And put that container, shining like an inside of a firework,
on the pedestal next to your face.
But truthfully, the love I want at two shades over 19 years isn’t that poetic.
Cuz I want that:
I spend a disproportionate amount of time on your facebook profile type love,
that girl I wanna take you out to commons type love,
that I will ask your name before my tongue goes down your throat type love.
But it’s also:
that I left a spot for your head carved in my shoulder type love,
that I carry your stories on the inside of my teeth so only I know why I’m smiling type love .
The truth is I’d be just fine with that “like” type love.
Cuz so far I tend to be that guy that lets go after the honeymoon,
yet to be the one to go all in with a 7 2 off suited clinging to that one heart in my hand and hoping to find a pair.
So I’ll wait for the day where I’ll realize that sometimes dancing is the storm is prettier than in the shine,
wait for that love that’s more than something a woman gives and a man takes,
wait for that love that has no regard for timing or discretion,
that love that god writes sunsets about,
that Garret writes poems about,
that wars fought, leaders shot,
that love that romantics rot for.
The closest I’ve come to crying for love was in the fourth grade when I realized Jordan Leonard was too popular for me.
And I know weeping for a girl doesn’t quite gel with this Judeo-Thug persona I’m going for,
but if that’s what it takes to get that Jenifer-Aniston-movie type love, I’ll cry and swim down my check waterfalls into the river I cry myself.
Right now love is someone that I admire, but don’t yet know like the trash man on my block or the inventor of bendy straws.
So I’m not sure if I can write a love poem while its still just a prospect pirouetting on my horizon.
But hopefully I’ll find it,
Like finding five dollar bill in folds of denim.
And when I do find that love
You’ll be the first to hear about it.
Handshake
Posted by Marion Smallwood | Filed under Poetry, Print
i’m a gentleman, you said.
a hopeful romantic, i thought.
a loose eyelash, a fleshy daydream,
a constant reminder to pray.
here’s what went unimagined:
we exchange stories and swap the endings,
hardly noticing how neatly my shoulder tucks under your arm,
or how your hand recites the poetry in my back,
skipping over the lines that are about someone else.
we forget just to practice remembering.
you tell me about my details,
about how entering my flesh is like stepping into the same river twice
about what i feel like midday in july,
you told me which of my smiles is the aftermath of a laugh,
the wreckage is sideways.
we learn each other like we’re something to pass and take again
a great class, a flying color, a love note, the salt from across a long table.
i gotta park in my skull for you to walk through,
a thought in my palm for you to hold—hold that thought,
i promise to be right back.
i promise that things won’t be like they’ve been.
let me show you how much you can carry on that back,
how well you can see in the dark,
what is possible to hear and know and write in a journal.
but the universe is a prankster and timing is everything.
let me tell you what actually happened:
our lips didn’t even touch.
you smiled and i blushed.
you told me the color was crimson
but i didn’t believe you.
you shook my hand and said you were a gentleman.
you told me your name, but i only remembered hers.
the universe has a cruel sense of humor.
it skips to the punch line, shows us the world has fists.
it gambles with a life spread across both sides of a coin.
i wanted him knowing not even the thought of him was mine.
and we all know what happens when you laugh too hard.
Inspiration
Posted by Justin Reilly | Filed under Poetry, Print
I met a Queen once
she had a smile that reeked of
“i’ve been there before”
and “it’s been awhile since we’ve met”
so lets take a moment to get re-acquainted
The last time we cuddled like this
we were merely thoughts
muddled between heavy breathing and “i love you’s”
playing hopscotch in heaven
i remember letting you win
knowing it would come in handy 22 yrs later
the funny thing is
you grinned
like you already knew how to make me feel like a king
I was shy for 9 months
i have a feeling you never were
everything about your breath
reminds me of the bright side of my heart
that I always tend to forget too easily
like some drunken bartender who misplaces his keys
there’s a North Star in your fingertips
I was in a hole once
more like a crater
The deepest crevice this side of heartbreak
and you candle-wax blew me a safety net
even before you knew i was drowning
there’s something epic
in that lifeguard red soul of yours
something that deserves more than words
you deserve a sonnet
spit over a shooting star
a song so beautiful
only Queens were afforded the chance to listen
but we both know
you would find someway
to let everyone in on the secret
you are everything subtle
and everything grand
a bright light under bushel basket
who waits patiently
knowing one day the world will be ready enough to see her shine
there is more than just wonder in your spine
more than just swagger in your hips
there’s a universe in your ribcage
that I’m just learning exists
a world of relief under your skin
and
the
jukebox in my chest
playing songs i’ve never heard before
and making me feel nostalgic about places
I’ve never been
A few months ago
i would have never dreamt of being
in a Greek god fairytale
A Promethean fire of a cipher
an adoration battle
between your eyes and my soul
The way you always seem to win
there something to be said for the way you glow
and the transparency of my skin
when you smile
even remotely in my direction
i light up
like red white and blue
rocket pops
in the middle of july
God has blessed me with a modern day miracle
in the sanctity of your eyes
The Mount Olympus in your voice
reminds me of everything coveted
and everything beautiful about “free will” and choice
You are the woman i’ve written about for almost a decade
a sat-fire in the dusk
a prayer that i have been blessed enough to touch
Your a soft whisper in a mother’s bedtime story
the footnote to my heart beat, the breath on my breast
a queen in waiting
a temple surrounded by holy water in your chest
you are everything i have prayed for
and everything I didn’t know i could have
you are the punchline
the climax
in every poem
I have ever written
And I am forever grateful
that God blessed me with the chance
to meet
My inspiration
