Posts tagged as “poetry”

An Interview with the Vampire Blackout Poem by Elysian Alder | Editor-in-Chief

Excerpt from page 19 of Interview with the Vampire by Anne Rice

“I saw
Lestat again.
I saw him
as I have seen him before,
stark in the night.

I saw him,
his life and blood;
radiant, luminous.
I saw only Lestat.

It was as if I was so
enthralled with Lestat
that I looked at nothing else
for a long time.

His laughter,
his heart.
It was confusing:
soft but distinct,
increasing but discrete delight—
my Lestat.

Rid yourself, don’t fall so
madly in love that you
lose. read more

By James Pelletier | Observer Contributor

I look through
the dictionary
wondering which one
will be 
my last word
and what letter
it will begin
with 
and what letter
will it end.

By Michael R Young | Observer Contributor

I do not have a womb or breasts.

I am a man and I care.

I could not bear or nourish a child.

I am a man and I care.

I was refused to be a midwife because

I am a man, yet I care.

I was born of a woman and

I care.

I have family – 

a wife, a sister,

daughters and grand daughters –

all women and 

I care.

For those of color –

black and tan, red and white –

I care.

For those of transgender, trans sexuality,

I care.

For immigrants, Latinos, Syrian refugees,

legal and illegal aliens, read more

By Jocelyn Leger | Observer Contributor

I remember my first cigarette.

I was fourteen and my grandmother told me to hold it while she went into the store;

I remember watching the smoke dance off the tip into the air.. It had its own solo.

It pranced where it pleased and twirled into the once clean air, now poisoned. 

I wondered if it could turn my lungs into a ballroom.

So I set up the dance floor, sent out invitations and danced for the next two years.

When I couldn’t catch my breath during my routines anymore I discovered that my addiction to dancing had become detrimental to my health.  read more

By Rachel Vargeletis | Observer Contributor

“But why are we really here”
he asked her
soft in the beginning,
a harsh word plummet  
by the last word.

The ducks swam in their 
safe little lines.
And that soft lilac breeze
going by it all
somehow couldn’t cushion
the blow of what was to come.

They both walked in the park, 
as couples do.
They looked at the scenery,
talked about her new job
and his great grades.

But he could sniff out that 
melancholy undertone of 
her essence.
She had brought him here 
on a Sunday afternoon for 
more than just a view of ducks. read more

By Rebekah Chiasson | Observer Contributor

Take this you’ll feel better
Anything, whatever
Any color
Even better,
Smoke this,
Take a flame
and blaze it
Breath it in and don＊t let
Your mama see.
Wait, what are these?
Not mine but that must mean
Three for you and four for me
What was that feeling?
I can’t remember
Lost inside numb nothing
No longer able
Remember pleasure
pain, love, wrong, right
They prescribed 
And took a life.