Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

Cat and Mouse

07 Dec

by Wesley Strall

I have these thoughts.
Magnificent words.
A symphony in my head.
Endorphins release.
Pleasure takes root.
Then they are gone.
I can’t remember them.
As hard as I try.
They stay hidden in my mind.
Only to return when I unlock another.
Shortly after, they leave me again.
An eternal game of cat and mouse.
I grow so very tired of chasing.
There is but only one way to end this pitiful game.
By forcing these thoughts out with a piece of lead.

Bio: My name is Wesley Strall, I was born in Sarasota, Florida and I am 19 years old. Cheers.

Oh Jupiter.

07 Dec

by Brandon Henry

Gargantuan gassy globe,
Like a Cyclopes,
Ever staring into the
Deep vast expanse of the universe.

With a large red eye,
Violent anticyclonic storms,
Churning the atmosphere
Like butter for at least 400 years.

I get a glimpse of you and your
Four largest children,
Lo, Europa, Ganymede, and Callisto,
Appearing as an olive on a tooth pick,
Bathing in a martini.

While gazing through his larger
Galileo discovered you,
From your light,
But Simon named you.

Shining brighter than the nearest star,
365 million miles away,
Makes you seem not so far.

Come next year,
Will be paying you a visit.

Once she is gone,
You will remain alone.
Forever soaking in the black void

You will stay there,
But I will continue
To watch you from here!

The Fragile Lake

07 Dec

by Annette Kinship

My moments of fear

Are fragile like a lake

Carefully I tread

Into the dark of the sight

Remembering the pain

On the other side

Tremulous woes

‘board my ship

They move about

Tipping and longing

To suck me in.

Moments of fear

As a thief

Into the depth

Of the dark.

No candle, no star

No flicker of lightning bug

As I tiptoe


Under my feet,

My heart knowing

I could freeze

If a crackle

Beneath defeat.

I tenderly

As if walking on air

Steel my thoughts

Searching for

The memory of light.

A feather if dropped

With the cold night air

Could shift the thin

Frozen sheet of water,

I must stay my mind

Or the chill air

Will become my fate.

I walk with all grace

I lift my weight to God

I tend to my soul

With the strength

Of Love.

My ship does not tip

My feet do not sink

The thief cannot steal

Darkness loosed.


07 Dec

by Megan Finsel

Every scar has a story,
even the ones you can’t see
when you look at her
the ones crisscrossing her heart like a map
telling where all she has been and what all has happened.

She is a walking novel,
a compilation of the lies she has been told
and the lies she has believed
the words people have said
sketched for eternity into her flesh.

A civil war rages within her,
although she is taking up arms,
the enemy is throwing daggers into her self-worth.
While her demons
chase her in circles around the room inside her head,
telling her what all she is not,
and repeating every ugly nickname she ever had.

Bio: I’m a Special Education major with a love for books. Writing is not only a hobby, it’s my passion; it’s how I connect with the world by share my thoughts and emotions. If you want to get to know me, you need to read my stories, because I put a piece of myself into each one. My goal is to inspire at least one person with my work; then I know I’ve done my job.

Brain Storm

27 Apr

By Jaime Ruehle


Bio: I am a full time student in pursuit of my DVM (doctor of veterinary medicine),  and am at SCF to get my A.A. degree and prerequisites finished. I work part time at a vet office in Venice as a veterinary technician (similar to a nurse), and in my free time I study very hard in order to achieve scholastic success. This kind of a lifestyle takes a lot of determination, and I have even more than that. Poetry has been a big part of my life, and the main outlet for my emotions. I hope you enjoy my work.

Victim to Beauty

27 Apr

By Jordan Noyes

We voiced our concern with how he left us,
With organs wrought to twilight,
As we crowded around his remains,
The children playing with stolen teeth,
Caressing dreamless eyes,
The adults kicking a soul-departed son,
Letting free the anger,
Which surpasses normality,
Each eager to indulge,
An end beyond compare,
But we found no joy,
For we were left with unkind monuments,
Monuments of bone and blood,
Sinew and sorrow,
He was lost and we jeered,
Disgusted at how he went,
In the heart of ignorance and fear,
A pleasuring death drowned our terrors,
But an ugly demise was an unfulfilling end,
And so we thirsted,
To create from ourselves,
A sight both loathsome and merry,
So we went to the roof anew,
And pushed each another once more,
Waiting for the next to fall,
Hoping death would come,
But above all,



Bio: My name is Jordan Noyes, I am currently a student at SCF, and I adore the macabre. Though my poem may not be the best example of one’s writing, I enjoy creating stories that direct the reader over to the strange by denouncing the mundane.

Musings on Wordlessness

27 Apr

By Richard Fairbanks

What am I writing?
I don’t rightly know,
With no words to write,
No things to show.

If college-ruled paper,
Could write on itself,
A hundred grand stories,
Would litter my shelf.

But alas! words escape,
They dwindle and die,
Not so very frequent,
As stars in the sky.

If pen touches page,
And ink doesn’t flow,
The words have no story,
No colors to show.

So what do I write?
Well nothing at all,
A poem I write,
I know not what to call.

My Father’s Mother’s Father’s Cousin

27 Apr

By Gonzo

My grandmother’s father has
a cousin who kept a diary.
On it is scribbled an odd looking star
and the first word in it is “Agony.”

It tells of seeing the body of his brother
mangled and pale in the snow
as a German soldier shouted out
“You reap what you sow.”

He lived on scraps from the table
taking their sad dog’s place.
Soon enough they ate the dog, too.
His mom told him to eat at a slow pace.

There are a few words about a camp
with a drawing of a high metal fence.
His uncle left a month before he did and
he learned why they hadn’t heard from him since.

There is a great deal of talk
of being sore and rather cold
and sharing beds with six other boys
as the floor was reserved for the old.

A page is torn out in the middle
and I later learn why.
It was used as a bandage when
his former grocer lost his eye.

He made it out alive
sometime the following year.
Though his mother was lost he was
strong for his father and shed not a tear.


Bio: My name is Logan Gonzalez and I am a freshman at SCF Bradenton Campus. I’m currently trying to obtain my A.A. and figure out what I want to do as far as a major. I have a great love for writing and have been something of a story-teller for as long as I can remember. I’ve used those skills for making up excuses as to why I’ve been late to class or forgot a friend’s birthday in the past, but hopefully wish to make a career with them some day.


27 Apr

By Clint Theron

Whispering wonderfully, we reminisce over the time
when you were casually mooning
over that Mexican boy wearing a green
hoodie.  Hur-rawr-doh?  I never can pronounce it right.
It beats lying sprawled out on the couch, eating Sun Chips
and getting stoned.

But hey, I don’t throw stones,
and if you ever make the time
for me, we should go out and get some fish and chips.
Or play miniature golf when the moon
is bright, like when we were kids.  But right
now I’m lurking outside your house in my green

Ford Escort.  Just kidding, I’m not that green
with envy.  Instead, I’m at the beach, kicking pebbles and stones
with someone less entertaining than you and pretending everything is all right.
I look at my watch to see the time.
Midnight?  The moon
is way too bright, it burns my flesh.  I need ice chips

to cool my temperature.  I realize you’re a chip
off the old block, you dyed your hair green
to rebel, like your mother did when she listened to The Dark Side of the Moon
to her parents’ dismay.  Now she rocks to The Rolling Stones
when she thinks no one is looking.  Ashamed to defy time
because it’s just not right

for a 50 year old woman to sway left and right
to the tunes of yesteryear.  It must have chipped
away at you to realize you’ve been so similar all this time.
But now you’re living with Hur-rawr-doh in his green
house and picking out matching Tombstones
when you haven’t even had your Honeymoon.

There was that night when the moon
was full, and we sat right
on top of your car and wondered who built Stonehenge,
and who was the better rodent: Chip
or Dale?  And if we would see the grassy green
European plains tomorrow, or some time.

The moon shines all the same with craters like chocolate chips,
but we were right not to eat them, we’ve already eaten those green
éclairs.  And like a stone wall, our friendship is weathered but sturdy with time.


Bio: Clint Theron is a Library Assistant at the SCF Bradenton campus.


27 Apr

By ThatSynGirl

I love you with every ounce of soul in my body that I have left.
Even though you took my heart and tore it through my chest.
You’ve done this before, you’ve stolen my heart, and you’ve beaten it to a pulp.
Then you’d hand it to me, and beg and plead to say we still had hope.
Then I’d run back to you, my heart still black and blue, and throw myself into your arms.
Knowing damn well, that I’m running to my end, that my heart was again to be harmed.
But I stayed with you, for so long, I did.
As I watched out relationship turn to shit.
I watched us fail with my very own eyes.
But they must have been blurry from all your lies,
Cause’ I never stepped away, or when I did, I crawled back.
Cause’ you’d spit your lies at me, and I’d take them for fact.


Bio: I don’t waste time telling people who I am. They’re going to form their own opinions regardless of what I’ve said. And so I leave that conclusion up to the individual.