twenty-four hour life span.

by stephanie kate marchand

flies and circles, flies and circles.
routine of sound and conversations.
same complaints, same stories.
BREAK
in routine!
turn me on with crazy beats and crazy eights.
weave in, weave out.
the music beats and bumps
with an oddly sensical rhythm.
It’s uncomplicated and easy,
like a Venn diagram.
back to flies and circles, flies and circles.
round and round; a twenty-four hour life span,
restarting at the sound of an alarm—
mechanical roosters with controllable crows.
a twenty-four hour life span,
ending with lullabies in pill form.
a twenty-four hour life span,
starting and ending, starting and ending.
it doesn’t have to make sense, so long as it works.

Wind chimes elicit a tune...

by Jackie Jones

Wind chimes elicit a tune to rapture and remove, ricochet
the beats run like criminals- an escape most welcome
but the pattern is circular, a paradox unorthodox
rigged to erupt
arranged to disrupt
a maintained chaos
penetrating orbits round and around,
somewhere the criminals plot a shift and lull to
the clouded melody. Beckoning- a drawn out cry
to subdue the circular labor.
A growing static engulfs skin and leaks constant chimes chowing, chilling,
opening the circle, a scatter,
a dismembered drone
the criminal voices call out for home
a place to warm,
to let the dizzy dream disappear.

Sommer

by Matt Kong

Scent of a girl

Golden Brown, with my mind she runs

a gypsy, a wanderer, Penny Lane — a free spirit and the like

follows the music carefree not a thought in the world.

Like the wind blowing up dandelions, scat

-tered — unable to return to form.

Opposite Vincent Vega, hands in

sideways Peace signs batusi

-ing past visages to a bygone rhythm…

Moody/fun it’s all so confusing what to do?

ze ze ze

bloody influence on me\

middle school short and sweet week

Done and Done

goddamn head pounds, literally in a haze

stupid stupor.

muse muse muse

Shakespeare had one

None, not at all.

Not for me.

Sand Crabs

by Dorothy Skates

The fine, foamy fingers
of an amber ocean
rake the seeds of pearls,
down a sloping shore,
to scattered, shifting villas
where the sand crabs live.

"Perhaps no person can be a poet, or can even enjoy poetry,

without a certain unsoundness of mind."

~Thomas Babington Macaulay~

I have created this blog in order to bring a little attention to the very under appreciated art form of poetry. It is my belief that poetry should not just be read and very seldom analyzed. Instead, I believe poetry should be experienced. You should not just read poetry; you should feel it, wonder about it, be absolutely confused by it, etc. Whatever the experience the poem generates, it should serve as a catalyst and elicit some sort of reaction from the reader.

"Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn."

~Thomas Gray~