Past Poems
My Favourite Colour
by Dorin Saadat
My favourite colour is his brown skin the blue sky
Before me, my childhood stands,
A colonial entwined with anarchic vines-
Maturing realizations.
What is love? An itch to set your house on fire?
What colour are the walls?
Not brown. Not blue.
......
Hands that Left Scars
by Nad Sof
I’m sorry to those who carry my shadow,
For no soul should ever bear such weight.
I am a girl, barely begun to understand the world,
Yet I've tasted its bitter lessons too early—
Each one leaves a scar that whispers,
"Don't trust, don't hope, don't dream."
If there’s a touch that could reach me, soft and kind,
Without the weight of ghosts in its hands,
That would be the first.
......
The Past
by Barbara Guest
The form of the poem subsided, it enters another poem.
A witness was found for the markings inscribed upside-down.
It might have been a celebration, so strong the presence
of the poem. The sky sinks slowly inside the past.
Classically Misunderstood
by Nicole B
Deep down I knew I was right all along
But I waited too long
Too long for everyone to tell me I was right
Cry’s for attention
Validate me please
Please don’t leave
I was a statue of strength with a cracked foundation
......
Yesteryear
by Evelyn Judy Buehler
A superb time,
A long ago nursery rhyme,
Distant bells chime,
Grassy hills to climb.
Grandfather's clock,
The crowing of the cock,
Doors they didn't lock,
A lady's smock.
......
90. I often stop to think about where you might be
by Kea Campbell
I often stop to think about where you might be.
I stare into space and wonder about how we buried our dreams without saying a word.
And when the came and you said you were moving, I made sure to leave you first.
It's the insecurity of enjoying life alone that guts me to my core and rattles me deeper than bone.
I can't say I don't think about us 5 years ago.
Drunk under the stars with your arm as my pillow.
It wouldn't be true to say you didn't treat me right.
But it wouldn't be false if I said that sometimes when I was with you, I felt colder than winter's driest nights.
......
85. My silent stories are fading
by Kea Campbell
My silent stories are fading.
Unthought and nearly forgotten.
Testimonies published since grade 8,
But the chronicles, less of an epilogue.
I think about writing sequels,
But the narratives never change.
It starts with me and ends the same.
Merely less of who I used to be.
......
Cruelty-- Forgiveness-- And Forevermore.
by Nad Sof
Sometimes I wonder, what makes the heart so cruel,
When forgiveness blooms in the soil of a soul’s duel.
If I, broken and bent, can rise from the wreck,
Can bury the ghosts, and silence the wrecked,
Why can’t they let go, leave me in peace,
And allow me the breath of a soft release?
I don’t ask for riches, or a word of praise,
Not even a promise, not even a gaze.
Though they tore from me every spark, every light,
......
Hands that Left Scars
by Nad Sof
I’m sorry to those who carry my shadow,
For no soul should ever bear such weight.
I am a girl, barely begun to understand the world,
Yet I've tasted its bitter lessons too early—
Each one leaves a scar that whispers,
"Don't trust, don't hope, don't dream."
If there’s a touch that could reach me, soft and kind,
Without the weight of ghosts in its hands,
That would be the first.
......
Nostalgia
by Xia Sava
Nostalgia is a lighthouse
shining its light for new ships
Nostalgia enjoys what is,
no desire for things to change,
but ere long, Nostalgia watches
as the ships sail away
so Nostalgia waits
......
