In honor of April, National Poetry Month!
Thank you to everyone who submitted!
Living in the World Today
By Patrick Cao
The year is 2020, and my vision ain’t clear
No prescription can be prescribed as I describe
How it is here in the current age
Of when the world couldn’t turn the page
In the world, you need money
To get honey and sweeten the fact
That your dreams have been beaten back
Into seams that no stitch can hold up
But try to cry into your gold cup
And you’ll flood the floor
Until the air is no more.
And for what reason?
Whatever you do is treason
It’s a fall, no matter the season
And you can’t even spring up
Unless you bring up
The climate but not global
That makes things too mobile
Instead, you argue “who knew?”
Team red or team blue?
And that’s their cue
You don’t realize that the red from black and white fights
Turns their green into delight but despite
That you still follow the news
Where affirmation killed information and made its dues
The fear, the terror, the virus
Doesn’t let you tear the mirror and see the hi-res
But by my guess, the media can hide this
Since people don’t want the high stress
They want a screen for entertainment
And to never ask where their brain went
Fiction will be their new addiction
In addition to valediction
Of virtual appreciation
From across a severed nation
That was once united
Until division was invited
By the few that annihilate
Those who can’t detonate
What It Means to Die
By Patrick Cao
I walk this Earth like everyone else
I am no different
I will fight for my name
I will suffer for my love
I will starve for my hunger
I will dance for my song
I will live for my life
None of that will change
My body will clench
My mind will question
My heart will beat
My eyes will fail
My soul will ache
None of that will change
But as much as I value the steps I’ve taken
They mean nothing if there is no grass following them
Odyssey of the Mind
By Curtis Gaines III
Let’s take a voyage to the odyssey of the mind
A place free of judgement
Where souls reconnect to the source
Tapping into existential gains
That mankind inhibited
Maybe I won’t find the answer
I might be a fool for even trying
But there’s an untapped realm that’s out there
Perhaps the destination is the journey
Maybe the path is set and I’m just blinded by my own insecurities
But one thing is certain
For every step I take
The fog starts to fade
If no one else can relate,
I have faith that I’m not crazy
That when it’s all said and done
I’ll find that peace and clarity that I strive for
Your time will come king
Keep your eyes open
Until the clock stops timing
The smallest hint of a smile tends to creep up on your face as you make glances over your shoulder.
Where did your auburn locks go? The small ringlets that adorned your crown have been snatched away, stripping you of your youthful essence.
How is loss so hard? What makes us be so fully and entirely effected by the thought of loss. When people lose touch with someone, why do some continue to be affected by them?
When someone is so far from us physically, why do they continue to feel as though we are an inch apart, words missing (at an absence in the presence if my bleeding heart.) Your words are sacrificed for the comfortability of your unwavering silence. If only you had words for me as you do for your daily annoyances.
Some days, I wish to be one of your annoyances. Then maybe through your bickering, I would find the closure I’ve been refused to be granted from the beginning.
Sands of the Land
by Ignacio Leon
Shoved forward to see
Light that fills the sea
Along the ridge exists a bridge
Where many save for a few
Are able yet incapable to cross
On the other, expect to gain a loss
Born from the sands of the land
Are the bones of mammals dearly departed
Those who attempted to cross but ended up lost
Scared to press forward, worried that she could
She knew it was needed, to be done
For it to finally be over
Black and burned, she slowly crossed over
She thought of all the broken …
Those jabbed with the pitchforks
And slowly rolled over
To be had by the hand with the pentagram
She thought herself a Mary Magdalene
Gentle and kind, that now she could
Slowly coming close, almost…
…there we go!
Now came into question of what she should —
Panicked and afraid, the months went on
On and on the cement crept in
The weight of the world could be felt upon
Her shoulders could no longer
Those odds, that one in five
“Oh, why, oh, why?”
She wished she could die
Returning to the bridge
She reflected on what had past and on what could have been
Bubbling anger brewed in her head
Him and that bed
She waited to see, to see what could happen
If only changing digits could get her laughing
That–no one should feel, let alone imagine
The horrors of the night…of that night
Before she knew it, she took flight
Her only bed now were
The sands of the land
by Ignacio Leon
The prophet lay displaced
With disturbances of deep space
Collected are his memories
From which he makes decent living
Guessing which is his
From this he states:
“Bathe in oil, I am the perpetrator
That moistens my gears
‘Lather and repeat’, says my creator
This cycle is my hell
Endless, I fear”
Unable to shake the feeling that all has been made
The prophet panicked
Finicky yet picky
“Imagine shining fractured whispers
Processions they guide!
Without nature, I grew finer treasures
Chambered through an exit
I’d studied while the hour disguises itself”
Unable to grasp the reality
The stage began to shatter
Alone and unafraid
He clung desperately to his reality
Of death and transcendence
“When a storm blows over
The more they show
When the tide rises
The less I know”
His last thoughts preceded his last words
Words that have sent shivers down the spines
Of his enemies
As the curtain call fades
“Saying less is more”
By Lela Davis
The world that we once knew has shifted.
No longer do the labels matter and the status quo no longer defines us.
There’s no amount of money that can save the soul.
No amount of money can bring back the memories of what once was.
We are now forced to look inward.
Into the reflection that stares back at us.
So what does your mirror say?
Look closely…you know they say the eyes are the windows to the soul.
While the world is full of grief and fear there is still a light that flickers within all of us.
Within each breath we take, speak life.
In the end, when your book is written, what will your story say?
This is not the end, but only the beginning for many.
Hustle & Align
By Lela Davis
Early mornings and late nights. No one can ever see the tiredness in your eyes.
You make it look so good. How do you always shine?
Pushing others while staying on your grind but no one ever said it’s normal to be overworked.
Oh I forgot this is really misunderstood.
See when you have a vision, the tiredness turns into motivation.
Your plate is full but the goal is to eat right?
Although I will always respect the hustle let’s never forget to nurture the soul
because when the nights are long and your eyes are tired the soul will be what it speaks
And that is what we call motivation.
Hustle & Align.