Existential Poems
Damn my soul and my body and my cells
by Marra Makinen
How can I think that I am both,
A divine Daughter and a worthless combination of cells,
All at the same time
I can be happy and excited one second
And then cynical and nihilistic the next
I started taking these pills-
Doctor prescribed, of course
And I can’t tell whether they’re working like they’re supposed to-
By mending my body and healing my gut
......
Burnt honey
by Quinn Smorenburg
Slobber on his shovel; this old man shits nothing.
Naked and shaking; his begging lips crack.
He swallows his honey, swinging his lanterns;
but piercing his darkness: two button eyes –
rimmed golden; reflections of want glazing his jowl.
His shadows birth those dregs swallowed.
Hounding sweet truth, his lanterns in hand.
Shine they do not, but gulp and lick that
waste remaining; unknown, still crunching.
......
Body
by Francis Shipp
They say ashes return to ashes
And dust returns to dust
But when I die
Bury me in the ground
With no casket
So that maybe as my body withers
Something new may sprout
From my mortal sacrifice
And I might make something grow
For once in my life
......
The Mighty Have Been Rendered Low
by James Kipp
Oh what spectacle of visage rendered bare before the world to suffer silent ignominious glare.
On bended knee in humbled show, head and heart abashed, by how the mighty have been rendered low
Evanesced venerated glories past, faded long ago. In chattel'd bondage to indignations, rending soul and bone. The once reverent, now lie ‘neath heel and stone.
The once mighty have been rendered low. Made so by inglourious traitorous deeds, self inflicted upon thine sacred creed. Fervent in the certitude, we reap that in which we sow.
O' how the mighty have been rendered low.
In the gloaming remnants of times yet passed, from 'neath shadows aspersions cast. Onerous uncertainties yet persist, can redemptive solace still exist?
......
The Ocean at my Door
by Tyler Morello
When I drove out to the coast I found
The ocean at my door.
An open window
Above my pillow
Played white noise from there on the shore.
I walked across the rocks and sand
To the seafoam frosted border,
And reveled within
The salty seas wind
......
Burnt honey
by Quinn Smorenburg
Slobber on his shovel; this old man shits nothing.
Naked and shaking; his begging lips crack.
He swallows his honey, swinging his lanterns;
but piercing his darkness: two button eyes –
rimmed golden; reflections of want glazing his jowl.
His shadows birth those dregs swallowed.
Hounding sweet truth, his lanterns in hand.
Shine they do not, but gulp and lick that
waste remaining; unknown, still crunching.
......
The Ocean at my Door
by Tyler Morello
When I drove out to the coast I found
The ocean at my door.
An open window
Above my pillow
Played white noise from there on the shore.
I walked across the rocks and sand
To the seafoam frosted border,
And reveled within
The salty seas wind
......
Damn my soul and my body and my cells
by Marra Makinen
How can I think that I am both,
A divine Daughter and a worthless combination of cells,
All at the same time
I can be happy and excited one second
And then cynical and nihilistic the next
I started taking these pills-
Doctor prescribed, of course
And I can’t tell whether they’re working like they’re supposed to-
By mending my body and healing my gut
......
The Mighty Have Been Rendered Low
by James Kipp
Oh what spectacle of visage rendered bare before the world to suffer silent ignominious glare.
On bended knee in humbled show, head and heart abashed, by how the mighty have been rendered low
Evanesced venerated glories past, faded long ago. In chattel'd bondage to indignations, rending soul and bone. The once reverent, now lie ‘neath heel and stone.
The once mighty have been rendered low. Made so by inglourious traitorous deeds, self inflicted upon thine sacred creed. Fervent in the certitude, we reap that in which we sow.
O' how the mighty have been rendered low.
In the gloaming remnants of times yet passed, from 'neath shadows aspersions cast. Onerous uncertainties yet persist, can redemptive solace still exist?
......
Body
by Francis Shipp
They say ashes return to ashes
And dust returns to dust
But when I die
Bury me in the ground
With no casket
So that maybe as my body withers
Something new may sprout
From my mortal sacrifice
And I might make something grow
For once in my life
......
