Thursday, December 1, 2016

No words

Eyes that gleam with the azure depth of sapphire;

Adorned with the burning fervor of a thousand constellations.

A visage absolutely beaming with radiance.

You bring on complete transcendence of ecstasy.

Denoted a goddess by some.

But I just haven't got the words for you.

-Harrigan O'Connor

Tuesday, November 29, 2016


One by one
Stitchers unite
Give of themselves
To provide
           comfort and peace.

Stitch by stitch
Images to encourage
Names to remember.

Know by this act of love
We are One
And love will always triumph over evil.

-Jenny Williams

My modern day pilgrim: A poem about my father

There with us was an great electrician,
He was one of a kind, on a mission.
He was a burly man, strongest there was,
He was a handsome man with all his flaws.
Torn up clothes and old shoes were what he wore
He did not have much money, being poor.
He loves to play games on the computer,
When lights go out he’s the troubleshooter.
I did not find him unnerving or crude,
Even though he ate dehydrated food.
He believed in staying classical,
He had never been mathematical.
He had the mouth of a sailor, foul of tongue.
He had smoked tons, blackness covered his lungs,
He had a full beard of grays caused by his three girls.
His girls were beautiful, his little pearls.
I could not clearly describe the smell of that man,
It was a smell that reminds of the beach.

-Kier Bailey

Friday, October 14, 2016

Don't Ask Pavolva

Ask Anna Pavlova why she danced,
And she will tell you that
Dance is the purest expression of emotion,
Earthly, or spiritual.
Ask me why I love dance,
And I will tell you the same.

But ask me why I am myself,
A dancer
And I will tell you,
so that I may never

Because two hundred years ago,
Women and girls strapped and squeezed themselves into corsets,
Waists so petite, so constricted,
They took man’s breath away.
But my grandmothers were breathless too.
So two classes a week,
I practice an art forged in a cage.

Ask me a second time,
Why I dance
And again I will tell you,
So that I may never forget

That the perfect woman was
Detached from this world,
She is not bone, muscle, passion, flesh like man.
She is a willowy frame
Constructed of gossamer wings and feathers.
So we put her in a pair of shoes
That will make her flutter like a fairy.
But the truth is, my friend---
She is no fairy
And she will not fly
For many years.

-Mariana Kornreich

Friday, September 16, 2016


And as the night fell. In the quiet of the dark.
We sat talking, she and I.
And the street light shined. And the dog continued to bark.
And we talked and talked as the spotlight in dark. Continued to shine.

She was a very pretty girl, but I don’t know the color of her hair.
With the eyes of shiny metal.
And with every minute to spare.
And I began to see her face, and began to settle.

Continuing to sit there, she and I.
And the people on the sidewalk looked at us. Stopped and stared.
And she looked at me, ready to fade out of my mind. Ready to die.
As I came back to reality, and realized I was talking to a chair.

Funny thing, about how lonely a man can be.
And I couldn’t feel anything, in bone cold weather.
Wishing for her to be there, nothing I’d rather see.
As loneliness adds thought to life. And makes midnight smell better.

And I watch them. The people.
Drinking their wine.
Drinking their vodka, and moonshine.
Smoking their cigars.
And watching the cars.

And a mother leaves her car, with child.
With her scarf wrapped, child in hand, walking speedy
With child, she holds tightly and she smiled.
Saying “come on sweetie”.

After a while I see her exit the store.
She lights a brand new cigarette, in unison, like a bike pedal.
The child had a balloon in her hand, and freed from her mother’s grasp. Nevermore.
And as a car speeds down the road, the child runs directly into the street. And with a crash.
The child was struck by metal.

I stood straight up, to see if the child was alive.
And her mother screaming, reaching for her phone. As everyone spies.
And I walk, stumbling away. Ready to cry.
As the balloon the child was holding, flew into the sky.

I walk home in the deep of the sea.
As the sirens from ambulances scream with fright.
What did I witness, a child going into the light?
I couldn’t look at the people walking past me.

And I fall into my bed.
And fade into unconsciousness.
And I slipped off my shoes, and the orchestra the crickets lead.
What did I witness, a terrible coincidence?

And I remembered the child’s balloon
I remembered her sweet face.
The color of it was blue.
And her dress with cotton lace.

And I thought of her and I talking in the chair.
And the people smoking.
And the color of her hair.
And the mother unable to speak and crying, and choking.

And how we hold these terrible coincidences all inside.
And continue buying, and laughing, and time continues.
But the thing that disturbed me the most was not the child, or the mother yelling a cry.
It was the blue balloon I saw flying away. In the deep of the sky.

Like watching her soul escape from her mother’s grasp.
Like her mother asking the same question over and over; “why”.
Or how people just kept walking by.
But I don’t care, that was the past.

A week had passed, since I saw the child fly away.
And flee from her mother’s grasp.
But suddenly, I stopped. Frightened still, and couldn’t believe my eyes or what to say.
I saw a popped blue balloon, in my front yard. In my grass.

And in that moment. I fell on my knees.
And the morning sun came.
And the sway of the trees.
And I prayed for the first time. And I felt him come to me, like standing in the rain.
And I felt like I was going to cry.
And I felt him touch me. Like a father’s hug
And I came back to life, like Jesus in the sky.
And the blue balloon just lay there, in the grass. Popped and snug.

And I wait for her to come to me.
With the color of her hair.
And everything was ok you see.
As she sat next to me talking in the chair.

I love you, and I don’t feel alone. Or scared.
And the child changed me. And freed from MY grasp.
And I no longer felt, like the savior loved me last.
And everything was ok. As she disappeared.

And I sat alone in the chair. 

-Jacob Duran

Tuesday, April 12, 2016

Just the kicker

I am the kicker, just the kicker
I know what I am destined to be
I hear the hike of the football
I see the field-goal post ahead
I know this kick will win the game
I am the punter, just the punter

I pretend I am in the NFL
I feel the pressure building
I sense the winning kick
I worry I won’t make it
I stay confident and strong
I am the kicker, just the kicker

I understand what’s at stake
I know I can do this
I know the sounds
I know the feeling
I know the atmosphere
I have been here before
I hear it, there it is, the snap, the hold …
I know it’s time to go
I dream I’m in the NFL
I thrive on the moment as the whole team chases me around the field
I see the Gatorade cooler being dunked on the coach
I am the punter, just the punter

I open my eyes
I see my cleats on the ground
I am sitting down looking at the turf field
I glance up to see my high school team practicing offense
I shake my head
I can hope my dream will come true one day
But …

I am the kicker, just the kicker.

-Aidan Marshall


She’s benevolent with a tinge of malevolence
I’m on the fringe of no longer being relevant
It’s become pretty prevalent
That my morals are desolate
So I tend to throw fits
And act a little Jekyll-ish
I try to fend off your hits
That you throw deep into the pit
of my psyche
I just want to confide in someone else besides

-Harrigan O’Connor

Wednesday, January 13, 2016

Not Quite

Not yet Spring,
Timid, anxious I wait
My white lace cape
Melding, melting, mellowed
Into gracious red clay

On the eve of Spring,
In profound anticipation
Green, silent buds,
Yearning for music of succulent pink

Soon, it will be Spring,
When buzzing bees linger-
Distant, hazy ‘til then,
The lull of the blossoms

For now, dining with Tantalus