Tag Archives: amwriting

poem, Poetry

Wishing for Home – Elena Barrera-Waters

it’s funny, because last time i wrote,

i said i didn’t love my home.

yet here i am, writing away,

filled with the loneliness for home that i’ve

never yet felt.

maybe it’s that i know i’m gone long,

or that i won’t be able to see the things with which

i’m most familiar,

or be able to pet my dogs and take a long shower

and curl into the covers in my cold room.

but it’s hot here, in rooms without ac.

and it’s lonely. in a week, no one has hugged me.

(and you don’t think about how much you need hugs

until you haven’t had one in a while and

your body feels cold and empty and dirty

and lonelier than even your heart)

and there aren’t dogs here, no sight of my family

worrying about me, and my happiness,

from nearly 2000 miles away.

and maybe that’s not far.

and maybe 3 weeks isn’t that long.

but if i’m missing a place that i’ve talked about disliking,

then clearly something is off.

when i went shopping the other day,

i saw a book about home

and burst into tears in the middle

of the store.

and while i certainly wish that

i could enjoy myself while here,

wanting to be home is something

i wish far more.

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Flash Fiction, Prose, Prosetry

Classical Challenge – Karlee Sanders

when’s the last time you listened to classical music?

the last time you appreciated the instrumental expression of emotion composed and compiled of notes on a page?
can you remember?
so many of us have become accustomed to the droning sounds of pop/rap music that we’ve declared classical music “boring” and “stupid”.
the mind numbing sounds of songs proclaiming the greatness of sex and drugs and living for yourself because no one else matters.
how long has it been since you’ve let the sound of a piano or violin take you to somewhere inspirational and calm?
it’s amazing the power that music itself carries, and I challenge you all to take a second, turn on some Beethoven or whoever you prefer, and let the music whisk you away.
ks
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Prosetry

Air – Harika Kottakota

I am captured in limbo
This air, a cotton-ball touch,
Dabs my arid skin
This peculiar air fights back
And strums my ego
Like a decrepit bass
Whisps of voices ricochet,
Hollow my veins,
Until I am left gnawing
On icicles for warmth,
An incurable insomniac
Clutching a snuffed candle
As I dig for phoenix feathers
Amid Winter’s roars
As this clement air
Ignites me in white flames
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Poetry

How to Smile – Brooke Safferman

Sleep, or something else quite calming seeps into my veins

Soporific, exotic, quixotic –

your free spirit kindles the kindred flame within my own heart,

and you tell me that you are glad that I exist

And then you let me in on a little secret

Together we fly away, in an airplane and only the two of us can feel the air

Streamlining through an atmosphere in which only we can breathe,

the two of us

and I forget how to say your name without a gasp of air escaping through my parted lips

But yet, I never forget

How to smile.

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Poetry

Paradise – Harika Kottakota

Paradise nestles
In a canopy of
Iridescent fractals

Where you are buoyant as helium
Where you are not hunter, not prey
And burden nothing

Kneel beside pools of ambrosia
Reflecting memories
Of mortal virtues, immortal agressions

Set free your loyal muse
So she may replenish her lyric
Crossing the golden arch

Watch and listen to
All you have ever, never known

But never relive

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Poetry

Blue Sky Breaths – Karlee Sanders

summer consists of
blue sky breaths and
sunset smiles
bonfire blues and
friends for a while
as the days get longer
and nights turn wild
summer’s a time
for us not to be mild
family days spent
along with our money
the smell of the wind
is sweeter than honey
summer
a deserved break
students and adults alike
have an awesome sunny strike
it’s never wrong
to want summer to be long
it comes and it goes
and helps rid us of woes
summer
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Flash Fiction, Prose

i took a ride on the subway – Iman Messado

Pull your thoughts together
as if they were stray strings
dangling off the hem of your silk camisole
spend a lot of money on
transportation
because you have two legs
and lungs and motor skills
but you’re sitting on a tattered bus seat anyway
paranoia is a clinical illness
not the fluttering urge to
shut your journal when strangers
pile in through closing subway doors
whimsy means platinum
and milk and stars and sky
it means trees and kindness and strawberries
it means wit and welcoming
and probably feminism
always get on the metro at the first stop
so that then you can watch
pockmarked faces and pockmarked thighs
and toothless faces and gaping mouths
also,
you’ll have a seat.
maybe.
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Poetry

Dark Heart – Ugonma Ubani-Ebere

Darkness.
I can see it
My eyes are open, but I am still blind
I can feel it.
Empty, hollow, and a velvety sorrow.
I can taste it
A bittersweet fear, mixed with salty tears
I can hear it
A silent muted sound of desperation.
And my pulse racing with perspiration
I stretch out my hand to seek your solace
Nothing
I call out your name, so we can embrace
Nothing
I feel the loneliness creep up my spine
Nothing
I repeat my mantra that I am fine
Nothing
Darkness cannot exist without light
But where is the light in my time of need?
The light is the only thing my soul can heed
I press on in the pitch black despite my conscience opposition
The darkness draws me in without caution
I’m convinced that you are in the darkness waiting for me
I just can’t see
I continuously call out your name
Nothing
Hoping you will do the same
Nothing
Extending my hand for your touch
Nothing
I miss your voice so much
Nothing
No light can set apart
The darkness in my heart
I call for you once more in the absence of your presence
Nothing
I am nothing
So I welcome the darkness, not as an enemy
But an old friend.
Who my heart will cherish to the end

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Prosetry

addressed to you, not texas – Elena Barrera-Waters

every. single. time. that i talk about how much

i love the rain,

someone always says

“hey.

did you ever think that maybe it’s because you live here,

where sun and heat is all you see

and mosquitos tickle at your skin every time you go out?”

and every time someone asks me that same question

i say no, because,

maybe i love something just because i do.

and then they follow up,

“hey,

do you ever think that if you moved to somewhere

that rained all the time

you would get sick of it

just like you did here?”

and i said no because, sorry texas,

i’ve never been particularly in love with

sunshine or swimming holes or the perfect sno-cone.

some things, you just love.

some things, you just don’t.

i think i understand love.

and happiness, too.

there’s few things that bring me the same comfort

as the pitter-patter of rain against a window

or the perfect smell of rain boots

or the puddles left for us to stomp in.

one of those is you.

and maybe you’re a little bit texas,

but i like you a whole lot better than

sunshine or swimming holes or the perfect sno-cone.

some things, i just love.

and one of them is you.

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