By Tatiana Suarez-Pico
Sharp minds encasing the universe's dark matter
A time bomb
That hides behind a stutter
Restless arms patting their chest, landing in pockets with aplomb
Bodies disconnected from heads
Filling seats with empty air
While their faces rest, maybe on meds
Some just look up and stare
Knowing what I must do, I reach for the matter between their eyes
A thick string of dark gold
They're suprised by how wise
Is their mold
The end is only the beginning
For them, the key, is believing.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Sonnet 3: Quiet Cold Morning
By Aurin Squire
Quiet cold morning
spin left out of bed
exhale warmth pouring
from the top of my head
creaky knees, hips sore
stuffed nose blue
reached out for the door
instead of walking, flew
offering bowls overflowing
incense tips red smolder
meditate to know where I'm going
Red Lady appears. I hold Her.
We dance on winds beginningless
Spinning, twirling, vanishing into emptiness.
Quiet cold morning
spin left out of bed
exhale warmth pouring
from the top of my head
creaky knees, hips sore
stuffed nose blue
reached out for the door
instead of walking, flew
offering bowls overflowing
incense tips red smolder
meditate to know where I'm going
Red Lady appears. I hold Her.
We dance on winds beginningless
Spinning, twirling, vanishing into emptiness.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Sonnet 2: Empty and bleak
By Tatiana Suarez-Pico
Empty and bleak
Blank stare to adjust my eyes
Feeling so weak
A light so white, it cries
Wasted afternoon
I'm levitating inside a cloud
Nothing but a monsoon
A depressing mound
I'd rather be
In a colorful world
Materials to see
Sequins hurled
Eyes closed, I breathe in
All that I feel is comin'
Empty and bleak
Blank stare to adjust my eyes
Feeling so weak
A light so white, it cries
Wasted afternoon
I'm levitating inside a cloud
Nothing but a monsoon
A depressing mound
I'd rather be
In a colorful world
Materials to see
Sequins hurled
Eyes closed, I breathe in
All that I feel is comin'
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Sonnet 1: Anniversary
By Aurin Squire
This is one of those awful poems of sobriety
We're allowed one every once and a while.
October 15th is 2 years of piety...
well, not quite. But I say so with a smile.
That's 730 days roughly, approx 16, 120 hours
Around 967,200 minutes etceteras mounting
58,032,000 seconds up on a tower
Infinite offers, flirts, suggestives declined but....who's counting?
Do I feel stronger?
Am I a genius yet?
Oct. 15th comes much longer
Each year it's easier to forget
And I guess that's progress, not perfection:
A modern man learning to control his own erection.
This is one of those awful poems of sobriety
We're allowed one every once and a while.
October 15th is 2 years of piety...
well, not quite. But I say so with a smile.
That's 730 days roughly, approx 16, 120 hours
Around 967,200 minutes etceteras mounting
58,032,000 seconds up on a tower
Infinite offers, flirts, suggestives declined but....who's counting?
Do I feel stronger?
Am I a genius yet?
Oct. 15th comes much longer
Each year it's easier to forget
And I guess that's progress, not perfection:
A modern man learning to control his own erection.
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