Posts published in “Poetry”

By Maddie Willigar | Editor-in-Chief

Her spirit still dances

on the piano keys, like an

unfinished composition of

words only uttered under the

solitude of twilight’s breath.

She whispers stories in the

ears of a once sane

man, a reprise that leaves

notes of the woman

he remembered –

            until her figure looks a lot like

            dust in moonlight, and her

            dress looks a lot like curtains read more

By Isabelle Mascary | Assistant Editor

What was once

yours, is now

mine.

He said while

kissing his

cold lips.

Welcome to

my world!

You can watch,

you can’t run!

You can’t move,

you can’t scream,

you can’t cry

you can’t fight, but

watch what I do to your body tonight.

Wonderful

masculine frame,

every part,

still intact.

Not a bruise in sight,

such a wonderful delight.

Possible aneurysms! Can’t

wait to cut open your skull

and examine your lovely brain.

Much excitement and arousal

simultaneously. You’re my read more

By William A. Lefrancois | Observer Contributor

In a dark, dreary, deserted, desolate field

a pale, petrified pumpkin patch lies full of yield.

Many are round, robust, rigorous, righteous globes of orange;

One alone sullen, sad, sorrowful, sorry unfit for the grange.

On a nearby hill, high, hideous, hints of mortality

a graveyard yawns, yearns, yellowing, yesterday’s totality.

Underground buried, bruised, banished bones await;

Halloween night arrives, awesome, angry angst of fate.

Bones in multitudinous, murky, mire mix of shape; read more

By Rachel Geer | Observer Contributor

The pebble frog, small, round, grey

curls itself into a ball, looking,

for all the world, like

a pebble before casting itself

down the steeps of its mountain home.

It gives gravity, and vector dynamics,

control. A little

Anti-Sisyphus, the frog’s 

goal is to reach the bottom with

as little fuss as possible.

It bounces off

even sharp surfaces without injury.

When the ground levels off enough (friction

overcoming momentum),

it uncurls, unharmed,

OK with its new surroundings. read more

By Josilyn Straka | Assistant Editor

I hear the rain tapping monotonously on the

metal roof just outside my window, I

lay there trying not to hear the excruciating

thoughts of my unexpected departure

The way I interpret the gray colored

sky is unsoundly disparate, agonizing in pain

like anguish with no sympathy,

Thoughts of my unexpected departure

The empty feeling that is felt, sadness

wrapped around me like a blanket

heartache halo’s my hollow heart,

Thoughts of my unexpected departure

Thankfully, that was a lifetime ago, I read more

By Maddie Willigar | Editor-in-Chief

After Aron Wiesenfeld’s “Study for Night Reading”

These windows are a frame

to the rain that paints our city like

Van Goh: dressed in monochromatic

blues and flickering skyscrapers that

bleed and swirl on a concrete canvas.

I wonder how many nights I’ve

spent watching it streak down

my windows, water staining glass

the same way I let tears fall

down and sting my cheeks.

Or how many nights I’ve spent

sitting in the shadows, staring at

an open book of letters you wrote, read more

By Mandy Limbaugh | Observer Contributor

After Blue Horse by Franz Marc

The blue horse leaps

as the multi-colored sky

illuminates his friends.

In a sapphire glow

they run and play

with no care in the world.

Red and yellow stormy sky,

streaks of white shooting down.

Three heart-shaped indigo bodies 

nipping at each other,

bucking and kicking,

running through blades of grass.

The gentleness of these

magnificent animals,

angels sent from God. 

The beauty above us.

By David Wyman

Swirling violins viola & cello
repeating symmetries lifting, the room.
This is where hyper-quantization

comes in, a secret ideology
invading your head till
you feel hacked, everything

being on the grid. A yellow streetlight
signifying memory
opening like a mirror 

when it gives the impression
of expanding space. And the line keeps
advancing, in riot gear now

in this direction. Today, we’re moving
along an axis darkly
in ‘great broken rings,’ like swans. 

By Cami Stephens | Observer Contributor

“Cordial. Stay Cordial. Don’t lose your cool.”
I chant that to myself with utter urgency,
hoping I can believe those lucrative words,
wishing your inconsideration, inconsistency, and incompetence did not affect me.

The chant fades into the back of my ruthless mind.
A chant loses its power without repetition.
I couldn’t repeat it anymore.
Now I’m a maniac.

Everything you do, I can’t stand it.
I can’t deal with you:
Your urgency, your abruptness, your terror.
You’re inhospitable, yet you invade my warmth, desperately searching for hospitality. read more