Poetry is generally defined as rhythmical expression. The ability of the poet to design her own course of rhythm along with the significance of the poet’s emotional revelation fuels unique verse. Every poem of merit ever written incorporates three devices that the writer is conscious of: sound, form, and figurative. These devices rarely succeed in isolation, but in unison, they work to help the poet find a path of expression.
Pane/Pain
He pricked a tack under his thick skin.
He pushed it and he held it there.
It brought him feeling where none had been.
His life was monotone: no yang, no yin.
He didn’t feel; he didn’t care.
He pricked a tack under his thick skin.
Where before it had ceased to move, his world began to spin.
He raised his eyes; he became aware.
It brought him feeling where none had been.
Across his mind began to spread a grin.
He rose up; he floated with his newly found hot air.
He pricked a tack under his thick skin.
They saw but did not see, his friends and his kin.
Why he pressed until the flesh was bare.
It brought him feeling where none had been.
To the pressures of his peers should he give in?
In this contested action does he err?|
He pricked a tack under his thick skin.
He fingered the round, red head of the pin.
He flaunted the world’s stiff glare.
He pricked a tack under his thick skin.
It brought him feeling where none had been.
Scarlett (sonnet)
Through the window filters dawn’s golden light
Her fingers play with the soft, lonely blankets
Remembering how she used to share the night
They shared secrets and kisses and tea and the comforting scent of her jacket
For hours they cuddle in her living room chair
Talking about the universe, watching as her lips move as she describes everything
And all she wants to do is run her fingers through her hair
But time is a withering string
She waits for her at the bottom of the stairs
Worrying the hem of her jacket, biting her lips
She wipes away her persistent tears
She wants to place her hands on her hips
And tell her she loves her
But everything’s gone, and life was a blur
BY: Delaney Holbrook
30 May 2018
Every night
When the demons dig their claws into my skin
When they pull their daggers down my body
Leaving behind lacerations
Blood and scars
Lace and gold
One, two, three, four
And when the ghosts emerge
From the dense morning fog
Will you pull me back
From their beckoning fingers
Their outstretched hands
Will you rescue me
From their echoing cries
Oh, bitter Scarlett nights
When the air is cold
And dense in the summertime
And I’ve locked myself in the bathroom stall
Hardly breathing
Silently screaming
Please rescue me
Oh, bitter Scarlett days
When all that’s left for me
Is the knowledge of my own existing conscience
And the knives in my lungs
And the pins in my brain
Are all that’s letting me know that I’m still alive
When feeling the shards of glass
Is better than feeling nothing at all
At least I’m alive
Through bitter, Scarlett tears
Restless (Ballade poem)
Sleeping it seemed unconcerned,
lingering breath crept over me.
The monster being had returned,
My wretched insecurity.
Disregarding my helpless plea,
It took my neck into it’s hand.
The grip was tightened, hard and beastly,
I was under its command.
Sometimes, so I came to learn,
The monster being let me be.
Not something you could really earn,
But something you just had to see.
So most nights it came to me,
It’s laughter like a sick command.
And so it became eventually,
A monster I could stand.
I felt that some things were unlearned,
I just wanted to be free.
But the monster being still returned,
My wretched insecurity.
However, as said previously,
It was a monster I could stand.
And so it ate away at me,
My purpose sitting in its hand.
One night I thought to some degree,
How was this something I could stand?
And then I realized it was me.
I was the monster in command.
BY: Violet Frizzle
22 May 2018
3-2=1
I just got two,
And now you want to leave?
You simply leave me here to grieve.
You depart, and now I am alone,
Just so you can hear professors drone?
1 + 2 is 3
But that is not true, now that you leave me,
All the way down to Tennessee?
It simply cannot be.
3 – 1 is 2
No, that’s not right.
3 – 2 equals 1,
And that is all that is left of us.
BY: Raven Mascal
May 29, 2018
She’s Right There
She is right there just out of reach
Like a flower there she sits
Tantalizing my eyes each
Tearing my poor heart to bits
While the gap may be quite little
It’s still a formidable breach
It makes my soul weak and brittle
Seeing her there just out of reach
BY: Braeden Trefethen
22 May 2018
Girl Gaze
By: Leila Bannon
My kind old friend, how I miss spending each
And every day basking in the gleaming
Sun. Oh, I mourn the never ending beach
Days. Our salty hair matched the beaming
Smiles across our youthful faces. I miss
The feeling of sweet breeze whisking past us,
As we bike through the coast, a true bliss.
These memories drift back as I discuss
Losing you with the girl gazing back at
Me through the mirror. I’m not sure its you
I miss, but our memories. Sure as that
old tree where we met I know what is true
you are the place I return to today
waiting impatiently, oh come what may.