Ashley's Villanelle: Storm the Castle

Storm the Castle

This is the day that we've waited long for,

the time that we've prepared for now has come,

destiny calls and united we stand!

Too late to turn back, we will not disband!

Raise your head, match your heartbeat to the drum!

This is the day that we've waited long for!

Our courage is strong, we will hide no more,

the thick chords of discord are being strum,

destiny calls and united we stand!

Eyes on the horizon, protect our land!

All together, almighty is our sum!

This is the day that we've waited long for!

We must promptly fix what tyranny tore

and proudly create our own rule of thumb,

destiny calls and united we stand!

Trust the cause for our mission is at hand.

With loved ones in mind, sing a deadly hum,

this is the day that we've waited long for!

Destiny calls and united we stand!

Ashley Smith

Vincent's Villanelle: Depression

Cannot think with a head of clay.

Why must life always come to grief?

Is there no other better way.

To the devil must I pay

in order to find some relief.

Bargain my life into the clay

On the cold ground my corpse to lay

though it is against my belief

perhaps there is no other way.

No longer can I run or play

from here that time seems all too brief

I can no longer shape the clay.

I hear the chatter of a jay

he will not take this fog; the thief

I tell him to just go away.

My sadness he would not slay.

Joy wreaks upon my stony reef.

Beneath my feet is frozen clay,

as I trudge along the dark way

Vincent Seeger   

Cannot think with a head of clay.

Why must life always come to grief?

Is there no other better way?

To the devil must I pay

in order to find some relief.

Bargain my life into the clay,

on the cold ground my corpse to lay

though it is against my belief

perhaps there is no other way.

No longer can I run or play

from here that time seems all too brief.

I can no longer shape the clay.

I hear the chatter of a jay.

He will not steal this fog—the thief!

I tell him just to go away.

My sadness he could never slay.

Joy wreaks upon my stony reef.

Beneath my feet is frozen clay,

as I trudge along the dark way.

Anton Paszek: Grow

grow

                soak seedling spread, send roots deep and true

                                                                                             

emerge

                chirp hatchling cry, your nest protects you

                                                                 

wiggle

                splash tadpole dive, under lily pad pond

munch

                chew caterpillar climb, grow big and strong

                                                              

give                                                               

                spread branches little tree, green and thick      
take               
                your own nest to build little bird, twig, grass, and stick     
swim 
                croak little frog, find life outside the pond
beauty
                take wing little butterfly, time to go beyond

               
 
                                                    

Coleman Miller: The Price

Darkness reveals itself as the highwayman

Man and horse meld inside the blackness

Without a drip of emotion he says

Your money or your life

Without a hint of humour I reply

I have neither

Alice Flecha: Madam Death

In Brazil, Death is female.

Madam Death wears a black cloak

the hood of which she always wears (even at the beach).

Like Mr. Stork, her competitor, she is timeless

and takes well-deserved pride

in always getting her man

for no one can escape her or her List

however hard they try.

Madam Death is not unfeeling

but she must do her thankless job

day in and day out

she chases, cajoles, traps and tricks

she always gets her man

doing the job no one wants—

someone has to, after all.

Madam Death is capable of great compassion,

but dying is a side-effect of living;

some evade her for years

some meet her far too early

but sooner or later she will always get her man.

Madam Death is aware of the injustice of it all;

but her List is not hers to control,

and once in it, your future is set.

In Brazil it is understood

that it’s natural to dislike her;

she takes away our loved ones,

sends us into the unknown;

when angered, we are told, her wrath is great:

even her godson was not spared

for trying to cheat her,

or so the story goes.

Yet Madam Death is not evil,

nor does she want our fear—

all she asks for is respect.

That is why

we often give her a rarely-used honorific

usually saved for the elderly.

That is why beneath her cloak

the hood of which she always wears (even at the beach)

she is a skeleton, her face a grinning skull

eery and unnerving, 

yet oddly funny

for Madam Death without her hood  
is like a werewolf wearing a cone of shame.

Alice: ESL Pet Peeve

ESL Pet Peeve

Anglophones like to claim their language is unique;
that English "beats up other languages
and rifles through their pocket for spare vocabulary."
As if it were exclusive in its formation.
As if this language were a rarity, exceptional.
In reality, it couldn't be further from the truth.

You wanna know the truth?
English is not unique.
English is not exceptional.
English is not different from other languages.
Borrowing is the key to the formation
of any language's vocabulary.

There's no exclusivity in borrowing vocabulary.
Like it or not, that's the truth.
Borrowing is what gives a language shape,
makes its history unique.
That's the case for every language -
what makes them ordinary makes them exceptional.

In their own way, each language is special,
each with their distinct vocabulary
that they "mugged" from other languages.
"If everyone is special then no one is" is a lie,
because regardless of others, you're still unique
and only you have the history that has given you shape.

Absorption in language formation
isn't what makes English exceptional.
What makes English unique
is which words were absorbed into its vocabulary
and when and why; which in truth
is the ordinary uniqueness of all languages.

People add to their language
and contribute to its formation
through their individual search for truth;
When they find a word that's exceptional,
that adds another dimension to their vocabulary,
that has a meaning that is unique.

All languages
are exceptional.

Ashley Smith: Remember Her

I remember her energetic and soft graces:

She saw the world through a clear, new glass;

one without smudges or scratches to limit her view.

Through her eyes, everyone was equal, all things had value;

no matter how she looked through the glass, everything looked the same.

People were people, age and race did not make a difference,

houses were houses, size and location were not a concern,

Fun was fun, no one can live happily without it.

But each experience left a smudge on her glass or a scratch in her view;

the more aware she became of the world, the less clear it became.

Each scratch cut something from her, every smudge made her forget;

she struggled against blindness, from the black abyss pulling her down.

She battled, she looked oblivion in the eye,

until I came, and I took her place.

She disappeared, she became lost;

she did it so that I could exist but at what cost?

By Ashley Smith

Keely MacCulloch: Lunch Can be Tedious

The very idea

Of using the ink from a broken pen

To trace out the smeary duties

Of a university student

On the back of a textbook...

I see you have defiled

Yet more of the library’s property,

As we sit crammed in the staircase

One by one by one.

And you’re wearing those fake glasses

Without the glass, because it’s cool,

And telling me made-up preachings

Of how to live my life,

Take your grilled cheese please

Don’t spill on my shoes

Or my notes for this midterm paper.

Let me turn you over to my good friend R,

Who, indeed,

Will give you sage advice

That surely you need:

“Homie, bitches love a nigga

with a sensitive side”.

And, verily,

My good friend S will add

“He speaks the truth”,

For emphasis.

Tell me, where is my yogurt

I think I dropped it

And miraculously

It landed in your

...Stomach?

These stairs are too crowded

For the likes of us,

And this mess

Of ink and cheese

—And yogurt...

And awkward text messages

Leaves us with the utter inability

To properly get up

And say—finally—

goodbye.

Brittany Lehman: Hush Little Baby

hush little baby, don’t say a word

we’re gonna find you, haven’t you heard?

among the reeds where your body now dwells

beneath the ripples, hidden under the swells

a shoe, a boat, your last couple clues

we know it’s a trick, we’re gonna get you!

the cadavers fail to catch your scent

but maybe that’s good, we won’t give up yet

you’re a survivor, we know this is true

this isn’t very funny, please, where are you?

and if your smile doesn’t shore up soon

we’ll send in the divers this afternoon

speak little baby, give us some words

we wanna find you, but we haven’t heard

your voice fills our heads, we need in our ears

you’re so very young, only nineteen years

five days, seven, not a sign or a clue

stop being so mean, we wanna find you

ten days pass and something floats to the top

this can’t really be you, please make it stop!

it doesn’t seem real ‘til the coffin rolls by

we fall down little baby, we cry, cry, cry…

It’s been two years since the day that you drown.

Forever you’ll be the sweetest baby in town.

Vincent Seeger: Sonnet for a Summer's Love

Skin so smooth beneath questing fingers,

the lush grass of summer, our love nest.

There is a slow rumble to the north,

resisting our hurried breathing… yet,

somehow it all seems to be in tune.

Lightning tears across darkening skies

jagged scarring over the soft clouds.

The breeze before the oncoming storm

moves slowly over our fevered flesh.

Flesh reflects the lightning sundered clouds.

Then the rain cools our fervent passions,

our wits return slowly, our limbs shake.

I don’t let you see but I hold your face,

this moment, this love, now and forever.

Andrew Evans: Skein

skein

a wound up

tight ball of life

marred by loose strands

of fear and pity converging

like vines upon a lattice stealing

light and hoarding warmth

so that certainty is met

by blind withering

memories in

progress

Rikki Peters: A Painting for You

Proudly, I declare:

“I made this for you!”

A painting so full of color,

And bursting with energy.

A piece of my very soul.

But you steal the brush from my hands

And carefully correct the imperfect lines

extracting the life I injected lovingly into the canvas

and made something so mechanical; cold.

“There!” you say, grinning,

with such an upward tone in your voice.

Unaware of how grotesquely you corrupted

 a simple gesture of my love.