Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

Goddess – An Abecedarian


25 Apr

By: Jordan Noyes

Asterism bright in glimpsing eye,
bear not the suffering which can apply, for
cacodaemoniacal beast there does lie,
distant no longer—our beautiful whore.
Engulfed in fire and swinging round,
fabulous mass with flesh like wine,
gibbous eyes with our stars, Her crown,
highness, our love, descending in shine.
Idle no longer in the month of May,
juxtaposed against sea of jet,
kaleidoscopic, a cosmic bouquet,
light her guise, as arrival is set.

Marveling minds in gazing throes,
nebulous thing from the Galactic North,
our galaxy a compass, we Her only rose,
people will bow to her worth.
Quibble some may, from delirium voiced in the occiput,
replete a sight of majesty, verily, Her rightward
supernal blight tears the mind to gut,
though trouble not, for She comes in the hour.

Uncoil your fears for all to see,
veering cars along the streets, souls
whimpering beneath rotten trees.

Xenial light of the progenitor,
you will yield for the coming,
zodiacal spawn, our God’s competitor.
 

Biography:

Higher beings are far less prosaic than I am.

The Cautionary (Fairy) Tale


25 Apr

 

By: Sydney Haines

 

She smiles,
Plays peek-a-boo with bone crushing metal
Or, it’s the invisible Hansel:
“Tag, you’re it!”
Says Gretel
And he lures her to crawled space
A cylinder
Then, they find her
Ice and snow; unearthed
She’s submerged,
Among mountains,
frozen bloodstream,
Stilled lungs
Where this occurs
All reasoning,
Vocalized; in tongues
“Gretel went with them-
The lost winter souls.”
But these are just thoughts,
The collective
Scary stories now,
To tell around the fire
Burning bright in autumn nights

 

Biography:

 I’m a 24 year old female student at SCF. I am studying for a degree in English and Library Sciences; I plan on studying many more topics and may work on getting other degrees. I currently work as a Student Assistant at the SCF library, and in my free time I enjoy writing, drawing, jewelry making and crochet, playing guitar, and reading.

 

 

Little Bird


25 Apr

By: Ryley Grail

 

Inspired by Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven” and “Bittersweet Symphony” by the Verve

 

It started with her beauty

she was divine, and her

perfume stayed lingering

with me.

Her love was my bittersweet

catastrophe, and it devoured

me whole.

When she spoke, the chorus of

a symphony played.

The serendipity of meeting her

acquaintance that first night

soon turned into a morose

relationship.

Death was not the reason

why she had left, it was

her narcissistic and flippant

behavior.

Even though her hellish grin

had me wrapped around her

finger, our relationship became,

and I “quoth the raven,

“nevermore”.”

She became the epitome of

perplexity and conundrums.

Although I shall miss when

she would ravish me

with her voluptuous body,

she is but a fiend,

and a malevolent one at that.

 

Biography:

My name is Ryley Kvamme, and I am the sole owner/operator of Ryley Grail Photography. I’m the momma of two cats, Maggie and Roman, I’m a full-time waitress, and I’m also a signed model. I plan on finishing my AA here at SCF and then transferring to Daytona soon after. If that plan doesn’t fall through, Colorado is Plan B.

I Look at the Sky


25 Apr

 

By: Jesse Leisch

 

“I Look at the Sky”

Every time I drive

I imagine

Pirate ships or prize winning fish

In those cloudy day sky’s

Those colors mix and match

With different variations of this and that

I imagine

We are under the sea

So deep we couldn’t begin to believe

Remembering the good and bad times

I’ve ever had

But honestly

I look at the sky because it’s beautiful

When seen by me

 

 

Geniuses


25 Apr

By: Megan Finsel

 

When we’re five they tell us we can be anything.

When we’re eight they tell us we can do anything.

When we’re ten we start exploring our interests, and then they tell us to start being more realistic.

“You’ll never make money like that,” they say with the same lips that encouraged us to try new things.

“Artists starve for a reason.”

“Don’t be like those people.”

“Think logical; pick something that will help you get ahead in life.”

So we study while we doodle in the margins of our textbooks; writing poetry and sketching the Eiffel Tower. “That’s cute,” they say, “now get back to work.”

When we’re eighteen we’re supposed to know what we want out of life, even though we don’t have a clue what we’re doing.

“Don’t worry about it,” they say, “you have plenty of time to figure it out.”

Twenty-five comes around, we’re living on our own in that snug little downtown apartment; not the artist’s loft we’d imagined. Nine-to-five feels like eternity, and office buildings make us nauseous.

“We miss the blue sky,” we say, “We miss poetry, and the Eiffel Tower.”

“Oh don’t worry,” they say, “you’ll figure it out. Remember, you can do anything.”

 

Biography:

Writing is my passion. It’s how I connect with the world, and how I share my thoughts, ideas, and feelings. If you want to truly know me more, you need to read my stories because I put a piece of my heart into each one. 

 

You Need Me


25 Apr

By: Megan Finsel

You need me,

I know you do.

You need me more than I need you.

 

Someday, you’ll regret losing me.

Someday, you’ll realize how important I truly am.

 

It’ll be when you least expect it,

you’ll wake up and you’ll reach for me but your hands will find only air.

You’ll call for me, but I won’t say a word to you, not a sound.

You’ll do everything you can to get back to me; you’ll turn your life upside down.

You’ll be lost without me.

 

When you’re sitting in front of your T.V. at nights, you won’t know what to do with yourself.

Then you’ll make a desperate attempt to try to replace me,

but you’ll come to realize that you still need me.

 

All the while, I’ll be here,

between the couch cushions,

waiting for you to find me.

But you never will.

 

By the way,

You have seventy-two notifications,

fifteen missed calls,

and eighteen text messages.

Just saying…

 

Biography:

Writing is my passion. It’s how I connect with the world, and how I share my thoughts, ideas, and feelings. If you want to truly know me more, you need to read my stories because I put a piece of my heart into each one. 

Ins’t Perfect


25 Apr

By: Ernest Dorman

 

To the midwife who said it doesn’t

Matter if my son “isn’t perfect”

Because perfection doesn’t exist

Perfection is ungraspable

 

The crave for perfection

Is what ruins us,

The love to be correct

Pure, right

Morally and ethically,

To be complete

 

No one can be this word

Perfect.

It is a part of being human.

 

Flaws

Is what humans are made of?

It seeps out of us when we

Are angry and sad,

Lonely and vulnerable

 

Love makes us overlook these

Things we call flaws.

Perfection is in the eye of the beholder.

That’s the beauty of it,

Imperfection is beautiful

So thank you midwife.

 

Biography:

Hello I am Ernest Dorman. I’m a sophomore at State college of Florida. I’m a very outgoing, kind, loving person that is overly positive. I love music and fashion a lot I would love to work in either field one day. After finishing my A.A I want to transfer to USF and get my bachelors in Mass Communication with the concentration on Public Relation. I would love to work with a major fashion company or brand or also a Record Company.  My ultimate goal is to become a creative director for a major fashion company or a Professional singer. 

Nostalgia


25 Apr

 

By: Megan Finsel

 

­­­­­The rule was

we had to come in when the streetlight

came on, and we would play to the edge

of the light because neither of us were brave

enough to step into the dark.

 

To this day

the smell of eucalyptus

and bug spray

still takes me there.

To chilly nights by the bonfire,

when we would leave the marshmallows

on the sticks too long, and watch them

burn.

To when we could walk down the block to the library

unsupervised.

When we classified magic

as falling asleep on the couch, and

waking up in our beds the next morning.

 

Now when I think back to those times

to the tree house

the pillow fights

movie nights

 

The memories look antique

Aged

But I can still smell the smoke

The bug spray

And I still don’t step outside the light.

 

Biography:

Writing is my passion. It’s how I connect with the world, and how I share my thoughts, ideas, and feelings. If you want to truly know me more, you need to read my stories because I put a piece of my heart into each one. 

Earth Rewrites


07 Dec

by Dr. Woody McCree


You have been bombarded, my friend,
Like the moon and mars, which bear the scars
Of asteroids pounding 4 billion years past.
But you, unlike these wounded giants, bear few such visible scars.

You are alive, ever in motion, always healing,
Ever reinventing yourself.
You are always under revision.

Anniversary Massacre.


07 Dec

by Lexxa

Roses are bloody
Violets are gutty
Stabbing at your flesh
Slicing off your parts
Happy Anniversary
You little slut.