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Found 8 results

  1. Angel 1

    With bloodless hands and breathless sigh The silent shadow flies. Under dreamless vaults and starless skies The Angel of Death is nigh. Bright, black angel: Turn the soul to spirits of the past! Keep immortal dread fixed fast and think upon thy goal. Only man looks on to what may and what must Only man bears his deity’s trust. The Angel comes after to gather the travelers and turn what remains into dust.
  2. the moments between the thunderclaps

    Authors note: My poetry is slightly awful, I apologize. i. what if we just felt for the moments between the thunderclaps instead of waiting for the lightning to strike? ii. she believed that there was such thing as poetry and you found it lying just past the dust of the everyday because, after all, the clouds still have their silver linings and hummingbirds still fly iii. sunshine lights up the leaves on trees but people just hurry past iv. she doesn’t. there is always that one person who noticed they are the ones who lurk in the background and smile v. smiles are beautiful, that’s for one. and so are cups of tea full to the brim and staying up till almost first light vi. the sun rises every morning just for us just for her did you ever think of that? vii. isn’t that something to smile about? viii. she smiles. every morning. ix. she also cries, you know? we all do x. rain, you see, is just as beautiful as sunshine xi. beauty is where you least expect it the quiet moments and the hidden stories xi. she noticed and she still remembers and still smiles in some foreign bed far away at one in the morning xiii. one of those moments between the thunderclaps that shook her heart beyond return xiv. on her tongue, the taste of true happiness bitter tea they shared on that crisp saturday morning rain-soaked air salty seas and bittersweet goodbyes… xv. i know you taste it too
  3. Long ago, in the days of yore, the Slam published work selectively. Having your work chosen was a competitive honor. Since then, the Slam has evolved into a thriving community in which work is shared for editing and critique. I love this new incarnation of the Slam, but I sometimes miss having a place to share my final drafts and compete for publication. Thus, a wild idea: I want to start a mag/zine (not quite a magazine, but not exactly a zine, either) where Slammers (and possibly others) can publish their best works and read those of others. As the idea currently stands, there would be an issue every two months or so containing works selected by an editorial board. Issues would be formated as a print-your-own (or possibly actually print, if people are willing to fund this experiment) with back issues posted online. Who’s interested? Feel free to comment and ask questions!
  4. on an empty stomach

    i. some days i feel like i'm drinking in the silence or more like it's being poured down my throat; sitting in empty cars, empty rooms all gray matter and cold air ii. other days it's breathing in noise like catching raindrops on your tongue-- only these droplets have a sort of bitter aftertaste that you'll forget maybe some day iii. but i'm running miles on an empty stomach till my legs give out and i fall iv. because pretty hollow things break every time
  5. tired girl howls, act three

    every day my understudy sits up in my bed and walks across the carpet, rehearsing her lines. she slips into green jeans and walks across the hall looking for something to live for. some days it takes twenty minutes to stand up, and on those days, my understudy makes up her face. she outlines her eyes in black, pretty girl war paint. my understudy walks across college campuses and listens to the songs that direct the dances she will do that day. she’ll smile at professors, because she knows that somewhere deep inside, we truly love this moment, these books and words that we try to read, that my understudy pretends to have studied. my understudy smiles at my rapist when he sits next to me and rubs my knee, telling me it’s my fault we aren’t happy, that we are so very hipster beautiful together, that they could make movies about the barista poet and the librarian poet, opening a bookstore and cuddling cats in dim bed, kissing. soft. ladybugs and summer parks and backpacking through europe. open windows. that’s who we are. my understudy nods, says silently, we are open windows to jump from? my understudy nods when he says that i should be happy that i am alive. my understudy stays inside my body, while i float away. i climb among the rafters, closer against the sky. my knees covered in cloudy dust. the wood sends slivers down my fingertips, and through my mind, and i climb across the roof and i look towards the sky. my understudy, she holds me like a balloon. she carries me with her, always. my understudy holds me down every time i curl up around my migraine mind, when i wish i had more bottles than i have. more alcohol, more pills, more anything. she looks at orion and sees more than his bow and arrows. she sees personal mythology. and somedays well, the first poem in my capstone chapbook. critiques welcome, as always,
  6. flashbulb

    i. once upon a sunset, long summer days; i was there you were two ii. seconds caught in f/5.6 aperture frames blending together until iii. reality is distorted by filters because we can’t let our true colors show iv. turning us to faded moments caught in polaroid flash, memories diluted by v. plastic film freezing forever smiles into vi. place and time
  7. heart strings pluched

    some days we are the musicians playing the cellos as the ship goes down. there is no quiet way to end this. in an alternate universe, love is a flat rock that never sinks no matter how often we skip the stones across lake reflected skies. so let us stay strangers. let us breathe right here still and empty handed.
  8. Silent Dance

    Dance to the silence. You gotta dance to the silence }x2 Learn Train Condition yourself. To move. Without. Sound. Without. Telling yourself to move. Bow* your body break your heart break your mind. Bow your body. }x2 Bow** and bake the times. Break your mind Dance to the silence. Thank the thought. And Let it be. Appreciate the way you think. And bee. Break your heart. Sew your soul. Save solitude. Bake the times. Thank. Dance to the silence. The way it sounds. Soul silnece. Sole silence. Dance to silent sounds and sew solitude. Dance to soulful saves. Dance. Sole sew to save the dance. Soul dance to save the silence. Dance to the silence. Dance to silence the sew. Dance to silence the soul. Silence the save sole. Silence the sole save. Dance to silence the sounds that sew sole souls to save the dance to the silence. Soul silence. Solitude dance. Solitude dance. Dance to safety save the silence. Dance to save. Sew the soul. Sew the dance. Sole dance. Dance to the silence. Dance to the silence. Quiet. Bend both bosoms. Bake the times. Bow.** Bow* the body. Break your heart. Bow and bake the times. Break your mind. Bow and bake the times. Break your. Bow your body break your heart. I said dance. I said break. I said silence. _ Footnote: }x2 previous two lines are repeated *bow | bō | **bow | bou | Author note: This is better performed, but I wanted to share.
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