Tag Archives: write

Prose, Prosetry

Aerial Views – Matt Grydzuk

And so you were skipping stones across ponds

“Every time I walk past a balcony I think of throwing my phone over it.”

Same, but I think of throwing myself over

For just a split second, then realize it’d be too up-front

Too gaudy, and then it sort of fizzles out


And so you were skipping stones across rivers

Playing records backwards to get the real meaning

“I think maybe I should leave,” you said

But I could never understand how someone could fit

That much sadness in such a small thing


And so you were skipping stones across canals

“They’re all just intersecting lines,” you said

We’re all just intersecting lines

You followed up with

I think that maybe people don’t know you

As well as they should have


And so you were skipping stones across lakes

Hands tied behind your back, you were writhing

“I don’t want to be here!” You said, taken out of context

Were placed anywhere else

You didn’t know how to address matters outside of literal meaning

So you just stopped talking

So you just stopped addressing the bleach stains


And so you were skipping stones across deltas

Frozen over for a long while, now thawed, you turned to me and said

“I think this is where depression stops and starts”

And so I am standing at the edge of the balcony

For the first time thinking of throwing something else over

Thinking, “Maybe”

“Just maybe, one can make a monologue out of anything.”


Standard
Prosetry

Nevadian Botaty (The Ego) – Matt Grydzuk

The other day I started a small garden chiefly of plants I could use
Built from those one-dollar Target herb thingies and anyways
I thought to myself how interesting to have such a straight-forward existence
To be consumed, to only have purpose
Never filling in the blank spots never
Playing with narrative structure just
Existing in ground, as part of the earth, in part of something more amazing,
synthetically.

How interesting not to be multipurpose
And to consume chiefly; the product of progress amalgamated
To the point where it’s taboo
I think about these matters while doing simple things like watering basil
Like constructing culinary masterpieces
Perhaps wanting to exist and existing are two halves of the same maybe there is no purpose
But to be consumed by something we’d
Never see coming
And when a friend of a friend reminds me that we are all mortal
I start to think that maybe stagnating is congruent with plant life
Or plant food
I think about these things while watering basil.

Standard
Poetry

Meta-cognition explained in Lithuanian (The Head) – Matt Grydzuk

The head

Chiefly, where pre-calculus goes to die.

And truthfully I don’t know much else about it, but I do know,

Or remember, that my mother told me always to be grateful

For what you have.

And I can’t say I was

Because so many self-inflicted head traumas starts to pile up when nothing

You do is perfect and you have to blame SOMEONE and

Knowledge of chlorophyll is always dying and you’ve never had a green thumb

Next thing I know my head is a graveyard and sometimes I kick over eternal lights to watch

The information flowing out like candle wax like

This is grey matter flowing through eye sockets like this

Is the way they wanted you to be when they called you stupid

Like you can live up to one thing if you just try hard enough

And when it hardens; becomes crystalline

If you hurled it at a man how far would he go

I still haven’t forgotten Newton’s second law or anything about Schroedinger

But what does that even matter

The Head

Chiefly, a device to move the body.

To tell it what to do.

But for every move this way and that there’s an eyelid twitch or a muscle spasm

Bartering, the product of battery indentured to the head my body is never my own but

I wouldn’t know

I’m sorry.


Standard
Poetry, Prosetry

Water – Iman Messado

Here’s a thing I read in a science book once,
The world is like 70% water.
There’s lakes and oceans and ponds and bathtubs and –
Water doesn’t scare me at all,
What’s there to fear in oxygen atoms and hydrogen bonds?
I’ve always wanted to learn how to swim though,
I’ve dreamt of being at home in water,
like the stage is to a dancer.
Did you know that I’m a cancer?

Here’s a thought I had in the shower once:
Crying is a waste of time.
I mean, sure, there’s catharsis in the tears struggling their way out of the confines of your tear ducts and stubborn pride.
Catharsis that can’t be found when bottling your tears up and hoping something good can work.
But I’m not the type to wade in pools of Fear and Pity,
It’s better to patch up the dams and feign laughter at something witty.

Here’s a secret that that’s not actually a secret:
I don’t know how to swim.
I’m sure I could if only convenience granted me the opportunity.
I’m not scared, not apprehensive, there aren’t any storm clouds of doubt and derision spoiling my confidence.


I’ve asked quite a few people how they swim, people who know all about hydrogen bonds and who probably shed a few tears once in a while.
People who swim without ever having their head touch the water and others who do this strange kicking thing and still others who make exaggerated gestures and knock other people out of the way.


I’m standing on the edge of the concrete border of the community pool when i affirm a sneaking suspicion I’ve had for a while now.
There is no uniform way to swim nor is there a predestined form i’m to take so as to swim in the most efficient way possible.


All I can do is leap and splash and wait until the sun turns my skin even more brown.
So that’s what i do: i leap and splash and wonder if a day will come when i’ll drown.


Standard
Poetry

One On My Mind – Brooke Safferman

 

Dancing into the twilight,

Stars ablaze, much like your wide-open heart

Twirling into oblivion, you are the only

One on my mind

 

Gold and red and silver and bronze

Fistfuls of thick hair that I’m always so honored to

Touch

In the morning light, By the fireside, with the hot chocolate and the blueberry pancakes

We’re all slightly overcooked but without a flaw, all the same, you are the only

One on my mind

 

Curled up in Paradise on a couch,

books are the only sand and sun we need

we pay no matter to the clocks on the wall

the only ticking is the sound of our heart beating

one heart, we are two of the same and you are the only

One on my mind

 

And the bliss is never-ending.

You respect me on the days when I don’t even want to look at myself, and

You know about things I never would have dreamed of:

Palindromes and the perfect angel food cake; crossword puzzles and blanket forts

But even with all of this newfound knowledge, well, you are the only

One on my mind.

Standard
Poetry

Search for Equilibrium – Haley Ingram

Keep calm.

Remain vigilant.
The throbbing in your lungs means nothing
To the gasping breath
Of your heart.
Each cracked burn on your
undead fingertips
Kiss the surface of heated glass
Inflaming your throat
Neck bent at exactly 45 degrees
You cringe and smile.
Your teeth eroded from the love I thought you carried in every undefined
Empty space in your body.
The acid creeping up the outside of your veins.
Vexation and tribulation scratching, crying, screaming, kicking.
Providing you with enough fluidity to drown,
But they are just holding hands.
Just as we used to when we were content with confinement.
When we were young. Foolish. We grew like the grass we whispered our dreams into and the dandelions I caressed against my cheeks to show you how gentle life can be.
And the kisses we’d exchanged like a currency of requited endearment meant nothing by the time I was meant to be maintained while you,
You just never grew.
You haven’t grown anything since the day I gave you the seed
I planted it in your heart,
See, its just for you please let my
Blooms nip at the disease you clog
Their stems with.
You hopeless tyrant.
You water them with the distaste of alcohol.
Keep calm.
Remain vigilant.
Our hands may have branched off
But my lungs never stopped beating for you
And every exhale my heart takes
Prepares me for an inhale of you captivation.
Petals may shatter like the shards of glass
You insist on gardening with
But you’ve never had the greenest thumbs
In fact you’re irately purple
Go outside
Take a moment
Breathe.
Lift your hands to the clouds reach for the time escaping us at every given second-
I can’t comprehend never being there on time
To hold you.
Pill popping may be just as sweet as the innocence you once had or the sanity I protected but that was stolen from us
And you’ve never felt more violated
From me grabbing your hips,
Or Tasting your body.
Because I don’t even have a tongue to say the words I’ve never thought.
Mouth sewn shut
Remain vexed
Calm keepings
You molested my smile and gave it a new name
You called it beauty.
You dismantled the arbitrary seclusion
Of my sanity
Your cold lifeless hands
Choking me
Oxygen is a privilege
To my skin
And you try to hold my hand
But I just can’t give this trepidation
A fair shot.
I kiss my own hands better than anyone
Who has ever held them
I’m rotting at your touch
The abyss of your fingerprints
You burn my flesh
You stunt my growth
I drown in ignorance
So blissful
I tend to my flowers with broken glass
Cut the stems
Force the alcohol into their system
The bitter taste on my lips are not the words I’ve never said
Rather than the words I regret to have ever spoken
Pills sprout a new flower they help me
I am slitting my airways and drowning my veins.
Keep calm.
Remain vigilant.
Standard
Poetry, Prosetry

dynamics – Karlee Sanders

a fortissimo recollection of memories floods my mind with thoughts

I remember your forte screams that directed everything I did

your mezzo forte demands at home for me to grab you a beer or to come to bed
my mezzo piano answers that you’d never hear because you were too busy thinking about the next move you’d make on me to make your wish my command
my piano voice under my breath uttering my hate for you
your pianissimo voice now over the phone from your jail cell
begging me for forgiveness and bail money
only to get a dial tone in return
k.s. 3:15 pm 12/7/14
Standard
Poetry

Out of Control Like This. – Brooke Safferman

Sinking into darkness,

How did we spiral out of control like this?

We were the best of friends

How did we get so damn out of control like this?

 

All priorities go out the window

You are the only to-do on my checklist

Smoke screen blinding our eyes from the truth

Whoever said ignorance is bliss never tried the alternative.

 

Except when the alternative is the thing that gains power

It overcomes;

It overwhelms;

It makes you lose yourself.

 

I’ve lost myself, for sure,

But far more importantly –

I’ve lost you,

Now that we’ve become

Out of control like this.

Standard
Poetry

Dancing by The Moon – Serene Jansen

As expected, you died.

No mysterious tragedy.

I promised I wouldn’t cry.

Vivaciously intertwined with

the untamed, the souls who are alive;

body carried out

with the songs of your life, leaving doubt.

They expected you would die

But you showed me the Moon when I was three.

And you told me to dance for her

because she often felt lonely.

You revealed other things—

how to make mud pies

and why some creatures have wings.

You own some too, they tell me.

They kept saying it was expected.

Even if I can’t accept it,

you died.

Standard