not our kingdom

Not Our Kingdom

written by: Jennifer Boyd

@jenniferboyd96

 

I’ve been thinking about how flora and fauna
are as distant as the heavens and together as 
landscape. There are so many lessons I’ve 
forgotten from Ecology 101 but the way you
look at me reminds me of the things that
matter. Our ecosystem—your mother’s 
Honda Accord—and my forever need for 
love stories and happy endings, the gifts 
the earth offers to us as softness bared. I 
am busy mapping the distance between 
kingdom and domain when I begin to 
understand how good it is to belong 
to someone. This is not our kingdom.You leave me in a dream I cannot keep 
but when I flower into the shape of 
your name I am so close to remembrance. 
How do we unknow? I can’t help but hope 
that the mapleswamp of my heart will 
someday bloom into meadow and delicate 
will be a language I can speak. In our kingdom 
I am less fauna and more flora and we are 
alone in our reign. In our kingdom I am less 
furious rhythm and more kind angelsong, less 
lion of prey and more bird of paradise. How 
beautiful you are when unflinching. How 
beautiful you are when rapturous. The 
textbooks forgot to give a name to how 
the fauna in me unravels when your hands 
flare like wings and I blossom in your 
palms, locked into honeysuckle sweetness 
and wondering if there is more than one 
species of familiarity, one other than the 
kind we know when the windows are down
just enough to hear God. I imagine that 
in this landscape I taste less like harvest 
moon, shadow whisper, more like morning 
dew, beads of citrus. We are alone in our 
say it somehow’s, our kingdoms and angels. 

The still in your breathing ties me in 
forget-me-knots and I realize that this 
is not ecology but a lesson on how to 
be gentle. This is not our kingdom, 
but it’s heaven or this.

LOVER'S CURSE

Gloria was a grump,
delightful Felicity a frump,
Sara a bit of a chore
Liz liked gore,
Azi cried alot
Jill cared not a jot
for anyone, I learned
Cecila's stomach churned,
Roberto enjoyed her food
In public, Edie was rude,
Faizi liked to laugh
Katie liked to barf,
Esmeralda loved to ski
until she broke her knee,
Toni drempt of fame
but ended on the game,
Jen constantly made love
worn out, she resides above,
Queenie liked her drink
spent her days throwing up in a sink,
Julie adored her kids,
both are on the skids,
Siham adored money
was always miserable, never funny,
Frankie cared for wealth
spent a fortune on her health,
Jasmine was dour
more nettle than flower,
Ruby liked to cook,
Cynthia preferred a book,
Fill wanted to marry,
she eventually met Barry,
Aysha had great beauty
and was shrewdly dotty,
Anna was a shrew
which everyone but me knew,
Kath used excessive perfume-
smoking me out of my bedroom,
Pauline constantly showered
while Jackie always glowered
at strangers in the street-
where Carol and I met
on New Years Eve 2011
and for a month I was in heaven,
until my short affair
with nimble Clair,
Toni ate sparingly
lean meat and leaner celery,
Jo ate five times a day,
No one got in her way
of food, while Chris ate 
tons of icecream, getting stuck in a gate
one day when off to work,
I took the opportunity, like a jerk,
to leave waving goodbye
from my car. Why?
Essie was beside me 
and again I needed to be free,
which a month later so did she!
Mitch bought me another
borrowing it off her brother,
who much bigger than me,
once more I was impelled to flee.
Suzanne in France
lead me a dance,
having other men every day
when I was away,
while Adalene
worked on my brain
and Genevieve broke my heart,
briefly, when apart
holidaying in the Alps with Jean
until her curiosity done
she came back and apologised,
and thereafter we thrived,
and would still be together
had not Heather
seduced me one day
when Genevieve was looking the other way
and did not see
Heather kissing me
by the pool
in Dakar, Senegal,
or making love
in rainy Vaduz,
holding hands in Bern
near a milk churn
having a bit of a lover's palava
in Bratislava.
When she found me with Ruth in Moscow
Genevieve told me sharpely to go,
I went. Ruth went off with Jean
and I took the first plane home,
meeting Jess in Heathrow
we took a taxi to Wivenhoe,
living there a year,
where fattened up with calorific beer
dressed now in grandad fashion
I started making a sullen impression
on even those who loved me,
but still, good reader, I needed to be free
so here I am now with Daphne
the final woman for me.

I met Adele in my son's first school
so, reader, I guess I'm just an unstructured fool,
for along came Celeste, Diane and Frick
making me still a colossal p......k.

deprivedkat You're pretty for a black girl

deprivedkat
You're pretty for a black girl

Now,

What is that supposed to mean?

Whether it be deliberate or a slight misconception
the words sting.
They sting because they aren't just words.
They are ideals used to define me in all the wrong ways.

It's called a preconceived stereotype,
not a compliment.

 An insult to dampen my mood,
An indication that the color of my skin
factors into whether I'm deemed beautiful and
that kind of implication
can definitely rub a woman of color
the wrong way.

Since when am I only pretty in my own race and inferior to any girl who is not black?

I am beautiful period.
I am not pretty for a black girl,
nor am I exotic or an exception to your standards of beauty.

i tried to kill someone once

kas
i tried to kill someone once
this is how it happens
it's the last day the temperature will be
above thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit
until February
you're not looking at the date
it's just the end of November
the middle of the night in the middle of a road
at the end of November
the hum of this small town hurts your ears
you're stuck in a dream where everything you see
turns into a weapon
this is how it happens
you knocked back sharp, amber liquid
to make this place feel a little more okay
and it only worked halfway
no matter how soft the edges are
you bruise your hips when you
run into them in the dark
you're sucking on your fourth cigarette when
a police officer pulls over and asks
how you're doing today
in the too-bright white of the headlights
the sick taste of Red Stag sticks to
the roof of your mouth
the mouth that you're moving into a smile
the mouth exhaling plumes of smoke at the ground
you're okay
"i'm okay."
you don't tell him what you're really doing
you're really taking all of your
thoughts about stopping your pulse for a walk
you don't tell him you've been
chasing ambulances all night long
please, officer don't leave me alone, you don't say
he tells you to have a good night and drives away
and this is how it happens
the moon smiles at you with every single one
of its tiny, sharp teeth
nobody but your cat finds you in that bathtub
nobody but your cat watches you rise from red water
watches it drip drip drip
from every chasm carved in your left arm
nobody but your cat saw the soft animal of your soul
shiver from the cold that day
it's the first day the temperature
dropped below
thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit inside your chest

ORIGIN

Origin

written by: Evelyn

@sanepoet

We live in the small things;
The infinite blackness
Is more vast than the ocean.
We are naught
But a boat floating in the midst.
Not a word to be heard across the waters,
Not a hint of warmth to mask the chill
of the wind.
Riding on the waves,
Going against the flow,
Fast or slow;
No, there isn't much difference.
Everything gets back to the shore,
Dirtied by the sand, or
Fleshed out by the seagulls.
Things don't change.

Rivers to bring you home
Streams to cast you off
Cliffs to fall from
Lagoons to hide in;
They will take a bit of you
And alter your senses;
They break you into pieces,
They take your breath away
But we all go back
To where we used to be.

We have to turn still
But move a bit;
We spiral like the ripples,
We drown underneath.

At the center, we meet
The last point to seek;
The start and the finish
At the center, we meet.

animals

http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=1926184688050436448#allposts

THE MAN by monica

Monika The man There was once a man Who looked at the moon and asked "Is there anything I could ask, that you can answer?" There was no reply, as expected. The next morning, there was a dog. The man crouched down in front of the dog and asked "What are you up to today?" The dog walked past, as expected. In the afternoon, there was a girl. She was sitting on a bench in the park. The man sat beside her and asked "Are you waiting for someone?" She kept gazing at the sunset, as expected. Night falls in a pub in the city. There's a drunken man, had many bottles. The man approached him and asked "Is something the matter?" The man finally collapsed after too much drinks, as expected. Lastly, in a room there are antiques. One is a mirror in an intricate frame. The man looked at the mirror and asked "How do you feel today?" There was no reflection, as expected.

poem-unnamed

                                                                     amanda
                                                          not an emergency

(but something to consider)



everything is fine.
no.worries.
it's just that

there is a d a r k n e s s
closing in
on the edges,

and lights swirl
in the p e r i p h e r y.

learn

Susan Waigwa Oct 7

Learn

In humility learn to learn in all situations 
In tears learn servitude 
In silence learn to hear the inaudible 
In pain, learn gratitude 
When in doubt, learn to have faith

why do you call me? SUSAN WAIGWA

Why do you call me

She looked at me, tears filling her eyes
With sobs, she whispered to me with her heart breaking
He said I am not good for him
He said that I was cold, a housewife material 
But not the kind of lady he would show to his friends
My crime was from my belief, I would not expose myself 
To any man unless my own husband. 

I comforted her and told her the Lord has a way of sorting out things

After 3 month's, he comes back, calls and writes her
She now asks, why does he call, why bother to write
He ended it all didn't he?
He failed to find that dream lady, who he can show to his friends 
He now wants me? I've moved on with my dignity intact

Girl, I told her, the good Lord has a way of sorting out things. Hang in there friend, your Prince is looking for you and he will find you, with your dignity intact

ATHEISM

Atheism I have lost faith in atheism,
that desiccated world with gone gods,
missing gods, no gods, not really

Not even an emaciated one stranded on a cliff in Croatia
stunted and silenced by howling winds of logic
Not even a god born when a star rises in the east
wise men riding refractory camels shepherds waiting in the wings
 I have lost faith in atheism, leaving me stranded desert worn, desert wasted

No Bach with stained glass windows wafts of incense stirring my soul.
Twenty one grams of stardust slowly wither in my breast
No bowing five times a day to Mecca or touching a mezuzah as I leave each morning
I have lost faith in atheism,
but my soul is stained with skepticism, shaken with disbelief

 I will fly to Croatia to find the last shriveled god in the corner of a dim cave
We will sing and pray and weep the world back into being
Then the gods, the gods will return
wending their way through rents in time
Gods of wisdom, of water, of wine.

Claire Scott

HYPATIA

HYPATIA

They attacked her in mid exploration
Cutting away her golden thoughts
As they cut away her flesh, destroying
A mind that they couldn’t destroy in
Debate, a sparkling old woman
Whose thoughts were spun from steel.

The screaming mob desecrated her tiny form
Dragging it into the dust, through the rubbish
And shit. Tearing off her clothes
The Parabalani exposed her to celestial winds crossing
The arora, rubbing 
Spoilt Alexandrian soil into her unexplored vagina.  
She did not die as a philosopher, calculating and
Learning, but, torn apart, the old woman
Screamed out for her father,
Terrified, in sacrificial pain so much worse
Than beheadings and crucifixion. Her modesty,
Kept for 60 years, mutilated by a 1000 killers in a single
Minute. 

Her head bounced in the forum,
Her arms thrown to the 4 corners,
Her soul stamped into the gutter,
As the new religion cried out for tolerance. 
In a morning thinking became forbidden
Books burnt, laughs ignored and fires built for heretics.

Hypatia was a female philosopher in Alexandria in the 4th century who was torn apart by a Christian mob, her skin scraped from her bones.

LindaAnn Lo Schiavo

Run-away Bride (or The Mermaid’s Lament)

Bree made a wish inspired by broke girls
In fairytales, not realizing then
Mist magic isn’t free. Before smoke curled
For dinnertime, she quit the sea for him.

Her human limbs are pale, not powerful
Like mermaids’ tails. They can’t kick hard enough,
Return Bree to the deep blue beautiful
Realm underwater, force that made her tough.

Their wedding lullabied anxiety
Away. Then moods wrecked her loveboat. And she’d
Draw baths, avoiding his society
To sink beneath, imagining seaweed,

That salt encrusted skin, fins, cool order
She’d dreamt of giving up. He built their pool.
The shoals and eddies of chlorined waters
Are hers to rule now, cruelly fooled.

POUNDING

Pounding

written by: Emily Vieweg

@EmilyJVieweg

so i am sitting
resting
here in my pajama top a
t-shirt i earned
at take back the night
i see across my feed
13 thousand members in this group
#MeToo
#MeToo
#MeToo
there are too many to count
but already 13k comments.
i knew i wasn't alone before
when i told my story
at take back the night
and reliving my assault
made my hands sweat
my voice crack and my thighs
squeeze together
so i wouldn't let anyone in
even though
i spoke from a podium
at age 41
again i was 18
but the words were empty
rehearsed
for 22 years these words had baked
in my stomach in my face
in my glands held in tandem with
pleasant memories but tucked
in a pocket where feelings could not
penetrate
feelings for this are frightening
they are real but i must not allow them
power, this is my choice.

my story is mine, and the details
must be repeated
over and over
so the power stays in my fist
instead of on my face

predator

Predator

written by: LadyLily

@AFairymary

Saturday night, Shelton’s Shebeen.
Stony cellar steps,
silent goat stews,
rice and peas bubble.
Red Stripe running riot,
ring pulls froth,
rum with punch.
Float on Ganja spliffs,
Silver foiled, secret parcels
Moroccan Gold, Arab Black
sparkle dark corners.
A secret society...
everyone’s called ‘Man’.

Walls throb,
vibe, echo
as Marley Shoots the Sheriff,
ears clog with dynamite,
hash heads explode
igniting mystery tours.

Head wrecked,
Home-bound cockeyed walk
through dishevelled back door.
His body behind, a shark’s shadow.
Rotten hot breath percolates my ear.
Glass fragments shatter-sting, sharp.
Jagged edges
a whisker to my throat.
I am dead...but not.

I look ahead...
into dissembled reality,
a caricature world.
Black brick road,
a terrified Dorothy
click-clack stilettos
down Bindweed Street
sucking me under.
Dare not run,
as red ribbons will shred
over silver necklace.
Churned insides,
fear heart clings.
Thousand light bulbs...
Blow!
Shock robs my speech,
grip handbag like a saviour.

Grey mists eat me all around.
Charcoal hues leak from underground pits.
Ominous black clouds suffocate stars...
Crush! Crack! Grate!
Bare sky admits my defeat.

Victorian terraced prison door slam-locks.
Snap-happy photos cling
on carnation posy wallpaper.
Framed tapestry announces
‘Home Sweet Home.’...above
swarthy brown sofa,
signature burnt pock marks.
Solid wood sideboard
still despises the axeman.
Mantelpiece audience of
Royal Doulton ladies have the
best seats in the house.

Slave to a dishevelled brute,
bony hands claw over me,
his every breath a predator.
Legs violently jerk.
Monster’s gangrene poisoned fluid
pollutes my dead half.
The silence screams,
Tomcats rampant,
unleashed trashy tigers,
she-cats squeal and shriek.

Megan Sherman/love and lyric

Megan Sherman 5d

Untitled

i was haunted and stalked by a stare
looked up your email and it wasn't there
stone in my stomach as i think what you'd say
of my faith and ideas, want me away

and even though that reflex is so hard to break
at least your smile persuaded me of a mistake
did you see an angel cry with a heart pure?
sobbing silent as you swung open the door

my style is distance, running away
but that's not a problem when you want to play
with your ocean eyes, in your hideaway
we'll vanquish hell and seize the day

The Invaders Halloween 1967

The Invaders

Halloween 1967

written by: TM Arko

@terry.arko

Aliens inhabited human bodies and snuck around the world causing havoc and fear in 1967. There were a few humans who knew the secret and frantically tried to convince the yet to be inhabited ones. No one believed it until a seemingly human body became an ashy silhouette on the cold ground. If you shot, stabbed or even choked an invaded human body then poof ashes to ashes dust to dust right there before your eyes. This was the premise of a 1967 television show called ‘The Invaders’ and it scared the hell out of every red-blooded kid in America.  Everyone was suspect. That mean 5th grade teacher or the kid who never talked but always stared even your parents. It was a freaky time and every one was on edge. Who knows maybe aliens in human bodies were responsible for shooting JFK.
To make matters worse they showed War of The Worlds in the gymnasium of Annunciation Catholic School for the Saturday monthly movie. The reel to reel clicked and clacked while projecting creepy alien hands with suction cups to suck out your soul. Then those terrifying death rays that burnt everybody and left the same ashy figures like the dead Invaders. I choked on my red vine licorice whip. Not more than a week later, I had a nightmare about aliens coming for me. I was out on my street at night. The full harvest moon was like a giant glowing Sunkist orange with a face. It was shining behind the huge dark walnut tree at the end of the street. The dark walnut tree had dropped all of its nuts and leaves. Now it looked like a headless giant with a bunch of wicked arms and a ghoulish face in the middle of the trunk. That tree scared me on many occasions in reality when I would be riding my bike home at dusk. It would call my name in the darkness and threaten to swallow me into its massive dark roots. I could never peddle fast enough to get by it and I would sing Beatle songs as I went by to calm my fright.
“Good day sunshine, good day sunshine”…
In my nightmare, I saw something round with glowing lights flying across the moon and over the scary walnut tree. I immediately knew it was the Invaders and they were coming for me. I yelled for my dad and my mom, my brothers and my sisters. They all were gone. The neighbors were gone, the dogs and cats were gone. It was just the ghostly spaceship and me.  In the midnight hour, it buzzed and whined as it came towards me.  I tried to run with all of my might but my legs felt like mountains of lead. I tried to scream but it was silent like someone under water. I broke loose from the mountain legs and started moving.  Running with all of my might through backyards and vacant lots. Looking for bushes to hide in, but there were none. I ran down Peck Road all the way to the Mayflower Market. Everything was dark, everything closed and everything was dead. Then came the whining and flashing of the space ship above me. Then it released a War of The Worlds death ray right over me. Just before I was about to disintegrate I woke sitting up.  I was covered in sweat and panting as if I had just run a marathon. I wet my bed that night because I was too scared to get up and go to the bathroom.
Wax teeth dreams and candy laced visions of Halloween started to snap me out of my Invader paranoia. Soon, there was nothing but thoughts of trick or treat and a loaded giant grocery bag of goodies. The old widow around the corner would be giving out popcorn balls. The egg man would give out quarters and the nuns at the convent gave out little fruit pies.  Costumes were easy back then. I would be the Wolf man. I went to the variety store and I bought a plastic mask with a rubber band to hold it on. Then, I just took old clothes and put red food coloring all over them for blood. Cool, creepy and yeah I was going to score lots of candy.
The night was finally here. Halloween night. Dark and dry the winds blew softly as leaves and candy wrappers scuttled through the feet of kids in search of the treasures. Treasures behind suburban doorways. The air was singing with the sounds of doorbells and loud knocks and shouts of “Trick or Treat”. The cardinal rule of my parents, I had to stay within sight of my older sister and whatever she said was law. My older sister Linda was cool. She would let us run out of her sight as long as we met up with her at the corner to check in.
It was my best friend David and me running the streets for sugared loot. My plastic mask was wet on the inside from my hot young breath. The impervious plastic sent toxic chemical smells up my nose. We knocked, rang and yelled at every house in the area. It was time to check in at the corner.
As I ran back to the corner, I saw that orange moon rising against the darkness of the trees. My nightmare briefly flashed in my head. I squinted my eyes behind the two holes punched in my ninety-nine cent mask. There was Linda at the corner with her best friend Chris. They were boringly dressed as ghost in sheets. David and I sat on the corner and began to look over the riches in our paper bags. We sprawled out on the grass like a couple of pirates from the days of old.  I looked up across the street and there was the big old walnut tree creaking in the wind.
Then a glass breaking scream from Chris. My sister grabbed my hand and pulled me up. Someone’s bag of candy hit the street and chocolates and Jujubes scattered to the ends of the earth. I pulled my hand away and looked at my sister’s face. Horror! Her trembling hand pointed towards Mount Wilson. It looked like a giant shadow puppet against the moonlit sky. Something was rising from behind the mountain. Something with flashing lights that were spinning at the speed of light. It hovered and moved closer to our little valley. It was a flying saucer and it was coming for us.  I knew for sure it was the Invaders. My nightmare had been a prophecy and this was going to be the end of the world right here, right now.
My hand yanked and I ran to keep up with my sister. David was long gone, probably already abducted by the Invaders.  We were moving past that old nasty walnut tree. For once, I was not scared of it. There was something bigger to scare me. It was an alien ship with the soul sucking hands that could send a death ray to kill us all. Across our front lawn like the Flash. Crash. I burst through our front door like a human earthquake. My dad jumped from the easy chair. “What the hell”, was all he said.
I just kept saying, “They’re coming for us, they’re coming for us.” Bang through the house and under my bed. It was dark and I was covered. I was safe. Even from my safe spot, I could feel the house vibrating and wind swirl around. They are taking the house up into their ship. I could hear chopping noises and my dad shouting. Then two rough hands grabbed me and pulled me out from under my safe spot. It was my dad.
Oh no! They’ve already invaded his body. No dad, no please.
He carried me through the house quickly and out to the front lawn. The blare of lights pierced my eyes the chopping swirling sound was deafening.
“Look up Mike, look up.” My dad took my chin gently and pushed my head upward.
The flying saucer was right above us. Only it was not a flying saucer at all.
Now the sound became more familiar. It was the sound of a helicopter.
There were lights spinning around the helicopter. The lights were words.
My dad put his hand on my shoulder. “You see son, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
I looked at the helicopter hovering above and read the words.
The words spinning around the helicopter read Eat at Joe’s.

BY GARPAL STREAM

By Garpal stream the young men came
Decades before the flood
On Garpal field they started the game
Quenching the grass with blood.
Down by the hill, near the copse, they lie,
The first to score was the first to die.

Every year the young men came
Where the roses and dandelions bud
Eager to play the game
Decades before the flood.
Beyond the hedge these young men lie,
The last to score was the last to die.

It rained before Advent, it rained after Lent
The rain fell on pasture and town,
The interminable water did not relent
But poured remorselessly down
By the end of the year, under the thundering light,
The world was a place of night.

A sodden land bereft of men
Garpal field was covered with weeds
As the women waited for the sun again
Spreading a blanket of seeds.
They waited as glorious golden rays
Fell during everlasting unending days.

The sprouting seeds grew tall and thin
Turning slowly into beautiful men
In a country filled to the brim
With cattle, wheat and fruit again. 
Beyond Garpal stream where the rushes grew
The youths strolled over the grey diaphanous dew.

By Garpal stream the young men came,
Decades before the flood,
On Garpal field they started the game
Quenching the grass with blood.
Down by the hill, near the copse, they lie,
The first to score was the first to die.