Category: Poetry

Dangerous Love

poetryphrog2

By: Bluefin Jones

 

Paper. Just paper.

Only paper. Your paper. My paper. Our paper.

It’s feel after you dry your hands; goosebumps. It can cut. Cuts shallow but feels deep.

Words, pictures, words, pictures, words, pictures.

A love letter

on paper can be bad.

Too bad.

 

A cover letter is so smooth of your interest. The interest of your job interest.

That’s a lot of interest, huh? An interest, you’ll know, stems first from curiosity.

A B C D E F G.

We were all there once. With paper. Always paper.

Trees are good thus

paper can be bad.

Too bad.

 

A birth certificate, social security card, money. Paper money. All paper, all important to someone.

A death notice can really liven up the mood to the greedy, but

paper can be bad.

Too bad.

 

Parchment was before, when it had value, real value. And now. Paper.

No one cares about how paper fees when a discarded idea is flying in the air into the trash.

Paper can be so good… but

too bad.

 

BIO: In a time different from this, on a distant sea, Bluefin Jones, while riding his domesticated Dinoshark, spoke to another man simply named Redwing Smith, who was held by the claw-hooves of a giant flying Pot-bellied pig, about the quality of peanut butter in this timeline’s supermarkets. Bluefin chose the leading market brand name while Redwing chose the generic brand, and promptly so, they entered an epic battle of wits, loud noises, scoffing, and theories of the sandwich crafting. They went their separate ways and never spoke again, but Bluefin still thinks about that fateful encounter and adjusts his sleeping schedule for 20-minute crying fits of frustration. Bluefin Jones seeks an outlet from the separation and found that his creative outlet is best expressed through the written word.

 

Regret

PoetryPhrog

By: Monica I Castro

 

Sing me a song of silver let

It flow gracefully in the wind

A thousand pent up memories

Like penchants strung on a whim

 

Whispers ripple through each moment

Cool rings that burn leaving no trace

True fire need not mark each sin

 

Executer, please, you need not linger still

 

Remembrance pierces the dark, forcing me to stumble

A rage it wields like daggers, a fury forged from spite

It saps my strength, binds my will, and

Pries all but misery from my trembling hands

 

Every moment is a battle, each breath a gasp

Time was once my battle ground and

Yet now it is my prison

There is no home left to bargain

True hope can only come from within

So take this empty shadow, its strength so paper thin

Forgive this ghost that echoes

And let my slate be wiped clean

 

Road Rage

PoetryPhrog

By:Helen M. Ulrich

That Person cut me off on the highway today.

Maybe that Person was having a bad day.

Maybe that Person was rushing to the hospital.

Maybe that Person was late picking up their child from school, or…

     was late for a flight,

         was late for school,

           was late for work,

            was late for an interview.

Maybe that person was in a hurry because…

     their child was sick in the car,

         they were having a heart attack,

           there was big spider on their lap,

             they spilled their hot coffee.

Maybe that Person’s mind wasn’t on the road because…

     they had an argument with their mate,

         they were worrying about a test,

           they were diagnosed with a terrible disease,

             they were exhausted,

               their loved one just passed…

Maybe that Person didn’t mean to cut me off today.

I Have Never Loved You and I Never Will

PoetryPhrog

By: Leah Glaser

Fresh out of the womb,
Our minds are molded to believe
that unless our bodies fall into Barbie doll shapes
we might as well fall into the notion
that we are worth less than the tails up penny
found lying in the middle of the interstate

That unless we succumb ourselves to every
grapefruit diet we will be nothing more than rotten fruit
on the tree of one too many shakes and one too few salads

We are taught that owning ourselves is too big of a purchase,
that we must loan out our worth to the opinions of others

And so we stand in front of the mirror,
pinching at our extra layer of warmth
As if to tell it I have never loved you and I never will.

 

Bio: I am currently a freshman at the Bradenton SCF campus, but will be going to Florida Gulf Coast University in the spring. This poem was inspired by watching multiple spoken word artists.

 

Recipe For Freedom

PoetryPhrog

By: Ryan Fowler

One can Cream of Independent Thinking

Pour over at least twelve years of ground up education

In a twelve inch skillet.

*Note: Must have community powered stove.

Place skillet over high heat of revolution.

Stir occasionally.

Meanwhile, chop up some Fox news, Sean Hannity, and a greedy corporation,

then throw that out because they are all bitter.

Mix 4 tablespoons of Jean-Paul Sartre, with a just a teaspoon of Nietzsche in a small bowl.

Bring half a pound of “I Have a Dream” to a boil, drain, return to pot.

Add mixture from small bowl.

Add as much of the elusive Integrity of Politicians as you can find to the skillet and pour over

“I Have a Dream.”

If you cannot find any Integrity of Politicians,

Just turn up the heat of community powered revolution

Until it all looks the same.

 

Bio: Ryan Fowler is a second year student at the Venice campus of SCF. He enjoys the arts and would like to write and direct films in the future. He has a particular taste in music and aesthetics that seems a bit different from the norm of society. It is this unique view on beauty that allows him to creatively evoke different kinds of emotions with his works.

Colliding Dreams

PoetryPhrog

 

By: Megan Finsel

We are colliding dreams,

spinning in uncertainty;

stars within

our own nebula,

destined to find that

where we belong

is with

each other.

 

 

Bio: I’m a Special Education major with a love for books. Writing is my passion; it is how I connect with the world and share my thoughts and emotions. To get to know me more you need to read my stories because I put a piece of my heart into each one. My goal is to inspire at least one person through my work; then I know I’ve done my job. ​

 

Tears of an Angel

PoetryPhrog

By: Kelsey Irene Bronkema

Silent drops fall

From emerald eyes

 

Shoulders shaking

With wracking sighs

 

I hold my mother

As she cries

 

“Mama,” my Nana

As she upward flies

 

 

Germaphobia

PoetryPhrog

By: Monica Tamayo

 

Dirty is my enemy

The coughing and sneezing of others, sickens me.

The sense of cleansing and sanitizing is never satisfying,

But contamination is defying.

A sick person’s breath often haunts me,

Taunts me,

And flaunts itself upon me.

A spray of Lysol isn’t enough,

A single drop of hand sanitizer is a bluff.

The compulsion of washing and cleaning ten times every hour,

Could be foolish,

But the sensation bacteria and fungus revolving around me,

Is revolting.

Just the thought of bacteria, diseases and viruses,

Sinks my stomach,

Like the Titanic,

sinking and wrecking into icebergs.

Sanitation for others,

Maybe isn’t assembled,

But me, without it,

Causes Dante’s Inferno to tremble.

I live with 50 bottles of Lysol piled up in my closet,

50 hand sanitizers in my drawers,

And 50 soaps in my cabinet.

You sneeze, I’ll run and scrub away.

You cough, I’ll run and grab my bottle Lysol.

Call me Germaphobia.

 

Petrified

PoetryPhrog

By: Lindsay Victoria Peters

8 cups darkness, plain

3 ounces shuffling

6 quarts knocking, loudly

2 tablespoons whispering, repeat until softened

5 quick flashes of light

1 teaspoon slowly dripping water

 

Boil the shuffling until closer to you, then quickly shut it off and let it simmer on low.

Gently add in your knocking until it turns to a banging then run to the corner of your room.

Slowly mix in your darkness and whispering until you can’t take it anymore.

Stir in your dripping water and your quick flashes of light until you’re slowly shaking on the floor.

Bring it all to a boil, then let it cool off.

Yield: One horrible night sleep

 

Bio: My name is Lindsay, I’m 21 and currently attending SCF in hopes of being accepted into the Dental Hygiene program. I grew up in Port Charlotte with one brother and one sister and I have an enormous passion for animals.

Hearts

PoetryPhrog

By: Megan Finsel

Hearts,

like windowpanes,

shatter,

broken fragments on the floor,

scatter,

catching bits of light,

blood-red spilling rays across the flight.

Down the stairs,

pooling on my

floor.

Is there no puzzle piecer present to piece the broken puzzle back together?

Is there no adhesive with which to bind the fragments to one another;

mending what might be lost forever?

Or will they lay there for eternity

bits and pieces,

sentiments,

scattered on the tile?

Will they remain defiled on the floor?

Forlorn.

Bio: Words have a great power to me. They can evoke emotions, thoughts, and ideas. They can start and end wars, and they can paint pictures. When I learned I could use words to express myself, I realized I had found my passion. Writing is my way to communicate the complex emotions and thoughts that we all tuck away in the recesses of our hearts. And if I can make at least one person aroused through my writing, then I know I have done my job 🙂