Friday, October 13, 2006

Pennsylvania

There are more than 1,800 historical markers in Pennsylvania. Surely they will be able to spare one for the New, First Ever Poet Laureate of Pennsylvania.

5 comments:

  1. Don't Go

    Don't go
    Please
    My heart is screaming
    Pleading in agony
    My brain tells me
    You want this
    My heart agrees
    Wanting you to be happy
    But I'm selfish
    All I can think of
    Is my life
    Without you
    How can I stand this?
    A week not seeing you
    Brings tears to my eyes
    How will my soul
    Bear months of this?
    Time with friends loses sparkle
    No watching the door for you
    No elation the moment
    You walk in

    This appears
    An endless desert
    A hole in my life
    That will only fill
    With your return
    How will I breathe
    Without your smile?
    My memory fades
    I try to grasp fragments
    Video clips of you
    This dreaded amputation
    I hear them sharpen the saw
    No!
    I cannot take this
    How can I let you leave?
    If your presence
    Brings me to life
    What does your absence do?
    This killing blow
    How can I avoid it?
    I don't want to be
    Dead without you

    My heart sends up
    A keeling wail
    Make this pain stop
    Heal my soul
    All I see before me
    Endless stretch of nights
    Crying myself to sleep
    Racked with sobs
    Empty, lonely
    Don't go
    Please


    Copyright 2005 Katie Hart.
    Originally published at Infuze Magazine.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Pebbles


    Life starts out
    as a pebble in the street,
    Casually kicked along
    by careless childrens feet.

    Then time goes on,
    children grow.
    That pebble one day
    becomes a boulder in the road.

    A man who can push boulders
    is a man who is strong.
    That is, until the man sees
    that the road is so long.

    An old man looks foolish
    pulling along a pile of rocks.
    He has more stones
    than minuets left on his clock.

    But from the sky,
    there will fall more stones.
    Your only hope is in the road,
    that it "might" lead you home.


    Dan Scouten 2002

    ReplyDelete
  3. jill james9:19 PM

    Young Love=Dead Duck:

    In that house in PA
    the pretzels and prayers
    and non-alcoholic beer
    left a stench of burning rubber.
    I was a lambchop dummy
    on the red leather chiropractor's table
    my neck a drugged prisoner
    in the breathing neckhole
    getting footrubs (grease and white hair),
    eating soap, drinking scotch,
    masturbating behind the dry cleaning,
    massaging the loins of the old crippled nun
    under the rotting sweetmeats
    of Buddha, Krishna, Christ
    and the Silent Master,
    their licenses and medals vibrating on the wall
    then coming crashing down in punishment
    cutting up the deaf silence.

    I'm making records
    of all this
    to toast the doctors,
    the old men
    and me.

    ReplyDelete
  4. CinnamonGhoul7:47 AM

    California, Part 1

    God, what happened?
    We all thought things would happen
    In a certain way.
    With a boom boom boom
    Of a nuclear blast
    And the rice crispie crackle of an unknown fault,
    San Andreas’ sister.
    And then it happened,
    But with no warning
    No boom boom boom
    On day came and Oregon and Nevada and Mexico just looked…
    And it was gone.
    Gone?
    “Goddammit, it didn’t just sprout legs and walk away!”
    Well what if I told you it did?

    CinnamonGhoul
    j_gulbranson@Hotmail.com

    ReplyDelete
  5. adam struble6:47 PM

    what crazed eyes have already seen
    the end of things
    wet green eyed forest,
    the blood of birth and death
    and the ever present possibility of dying alone
    and in these last hours
    the rite of passage
    dancing on the edge of oblivion
    kiss the rain and taste continuity
    feeling flooding over us like dying

    adam struble
    lysergicadam@hotmail.com

    ReplyDelete