UNDER THE NIGHT SKY

Sitting in the woods

Under the night sky

 

Just you, I

And the fresh mountain air

 

The babbling brook,

Set a tranquil state.

 

For Mother Nature’s Show

Is about to begin.

 

As the fire light dances,

The crickets start to sing.

 

Hypnotizing the fireflies

Into a mystifying swing.

 

They twist and twirl

Through the forest trees.

 

Leaving a light trail,

As they waltz from leaf to leaf.

 

Under and over they go,

Filling ones heart with desire.

 

As the fireflies tire

And choreograph comes to close.

 

The firelight fades

Only the sound from the brook plays.

 

Under the night sky,

You and I are left mesmerized.

 

Falling in love

With Mother Nature.

 

Elizabeth Bailey

 

WRITING AWAY

Some Run,

Others only roll,

Yet some just sit here and Hide.

 

When ducked back in my cell,

The only real tell,

Are the words that

I jot down with pride.

 

They yell in the morning

And throughout the night

Sometimes it’s the girls locked inside

But usually speaking,

Their cries are all quiet,

It is my thoughts that are

Yelling with fright.

 

The future is scary,

If yours isn’t, I am sorry,

My mind wants new pieces to fit.

Yet thinking comes easy, but

The actions can prosper

As long as my plans don’t just sit.

 

So I’ll keep writing away

With new pencils each day

Creating a new world ahead.

And maybe, just maybe Jesus will see

And bring my worries to end.

 

Brittney Barber

Write On for April 2017 Poetry reading

The following five poems were read at the 2017 10th Annual FKCC Poetry Reading put on by the Spring 2017 Poetry Writing Class and attended by FKCC students, faculty, staff, and Key West Community members.

 

All this shattered glass

By Liza B. Crump

 

All this shattered glass tells the tale of the story of all her memories and heartache of the past.  She used to ask herself and God how much longer will this pain last?

 

 

Leafless Tree in the Wind

By Mary Elizabeth Bailey

 

Leafless tree in the wind

Broken, oh how insignificant you look.

You’ve had your adornments

Stripped from you

Not even one leaf left to show.

Not even one leaf left to cling to.

To remind you of the elegance and majesty,

That was once yours.

The things that were part of you,

Made you feel whole.

Now, withered and strange,

A few still rest at your mangled roots.

Gradually, the few left

Waft away on the breeze.

Leaving you

Somehow more vacant than before.

Left alone with your reflections.

No longer able to hide behind your vanity

Just a leafless tree in the wind.

 

This world

By Shamika Clark

 

I wish that this was Jerico,

And all I had 2 do was March and praise,

Lord I lay my Freedom at your Feet,

And continue to walk in Faith.

 

I haven’t seen my family in such a long time,

And though it seems all hope is gone,

Lord I give my burdens to you to bare,

Until you call me home.

 

This world is not my home,

I’m just a passin’ through.

Through these troubles unknown,

Until I’m back with you.

 

I wish that I was Paul,

And all I had to do was sing & pray,

Then this very foundation would shake,

And you would open up those gates.

 

There are things in this world that I have yet to see

But I won’t miss them none.

When I am finally standing next to you,

Shining bright as the sun.

 

This world is not my home,

I’m just a passin’ through.

Through these troubles unknown,

Until I’m back with you.

 

 

 

 

Frankenstein Bride

By Nicole Langley

 

So here I am again, severed apart

He threw me away, he tore out my heart

Left cut up and broken and deeply depressed

Appendages scattered, he left me a mess

 

A pile of body parts now, that lay on the floor

But I can rebuild, I’ve done it before

I’ll need some tape, some glue and some twine

For getting my head, reattached to my spine

 

Throw in a lung and my liver, intestines beneath

Dust off my brain, then pop in some teeth

Sew a thigh to a knee, a knee to the shin

I tossed out my spleen then nailed on my chin

 

I’ve broken some parts, a few ribs I may lack

But I sit myself up, and straighten my back

Glued on my nose, tape on my lips

Sew on some hair, screw on my tits

 

I rise up from the ground, covered in dirt

No nerves left to sever, so I’ll never hurt

No voice box to say a whisper or hush

Don’t try to flatter, no blood left to blush

 

I fixed up the details, my ears and my eyes

For crying my tears, and hearing your lies

Might have lost a few pieces, a finger, a toe

But they’re not important, so you’ll never know

 

Pieced back together, but I took one part

Closed up the sutures, but left out my heart

That part’s for you, thou you’ll abuse it, I know

I put it in a box, topped it with a bow

 

Stitched myself up, with care and with pride

Now love me forever, your Frankenstein Bride

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Run Away Thoughts

By Gennica Seargeant

 

If I actually took to heart the thoughts in my mind,

I could comprehend why I have been so blind.

 

It’s hard for me to understand things I cannot see,

And make conscious choices of who I want to be.

 

I allow myself to constantly relive the past,

And suffer the repercussions of putting myself last.

 

I want to listen to my thoughts and put up a fight,

Because I’m no longer blind and now see the light.

 

THE LONG JOURNEY HOME

Walking down that long winding road.  With

the sadness and memories of a place once known.

 

The time has come to say good-bye to the shameful

Life of guilt and remorse.  It is a kind of life of a place once known as that long journey home.

 

Walking into the darkest of places that everyone knows as the pits of hell.

 

Through all the trials and tribulations, grief and turmoil it has been nothing but agony and pain throughout that long journey home.

 

Walking down that long winding road.  With the heartache once known.  As the journey comes to a bitter end and I find myself seeing a happier end to that long winding road.

 

Camille Edwards Fisher

THE DREAM FRIEND

What if you were born looking at the world like a puzzle, but the pieces just don’t fit quite right?  The problem of course is (for everyone else) that unless someone tells you that things don’t fit, you are quite happy with how they are.  Unless someone insists on the rules of the puzzle, there are many ways to put it together.  Unless someone tells you that your puzzle is ugly, you think it is beautiful.  I loved my world as a kid.  I loved the leaves, the grass, the sand, my toys, (water).  I loved my parents.  I loved the stories they used to tell me at night – stories about animals, about adventure, about places.  About dragons and magic and witches.  About big families and friends.  Other kids who magically were there to be with, to so things with.  I understood friends the way I understood dragons and swordplay and talking dinosaurs.  Because there were no friends in my world.  In fact, there were no other people in my world.  Not the way the books talked about people because the people had names, they were (truly) just like me.  My world had a mom and dad in it only, and sometimes a person they called grandma.  Mom was tall with long hair.  Dad was really tall and skinny with short hair.  Grandma was short and round with really red hair.  Sometimes I would get grandma wrong; especially when there were other people with her they were called aunts and uncles.  They were kind of like her, but kind of not.  In books Aunts and Uncles always have names and they were clear, but somehow not in my world.  Nobody seemed to mind until one day I was taken to what they called kindergarten.  There was someone there who was kind of like mom, but kind of not like mom.  Sometimes I thought she was mom, then mom would come to pick me up and there would be two, and that was not right.  Then I noticed that there were others.  They were my size.  There were many.  They were fast and for the first time, they would hurt.  I would play with the toys, and they would say something, there were so many all the same and yet I was supposed to do something different for some of them than for the others.  Then they started laughing and hurting me.  A big mass of kind of like mom and dad things, ones that hurt.  Not friends, not kids, not dragons.  Something else.  My mom made it go away, and I did not have to go back.  She asked me if I would miss my friends?  I was confused.  I did not see any friends.  I don’t know how she could have gotten it all wrong.  There were no dragons or unicorns either.  Then two years later it started again.  I had to go to school.  Of course I know about school from books.  I wanted to learn to read so that I could read the stories in the books by myself.  I knew you learned to read in school.  This time there were lots of others.  They did not hurt me, not at first.  There were beautiful things there, books, toys and things to make, numbers, my backpack and my pencil.  Plus a swing set over the pink rubber tiles.  I learned to read about all kinds of things!  The stories had friends in them.  My world just had others.  My persons had expanded.  There was the red sweater lady that taught my class, Ms. Eice.  Someday she did not wear a read sweater, and that was confusing, I think it was she on those days because her hair looked the same.   Then there was the other teacher in a different room.  The one with the brown jacket.  There were the 2 PE teachers.  One with a red jumpsuit and the other with blue shoes and grey hair.  They made me do things over and over again away from the others, some of the things hurt.  Then the others would laugh!  A sea of colors and sizes and hair.  Some days blue sweater would be friendly then the next day blue sweater would not be there.  Someday blue sweater would be somewhere else in the room and not be friendly. My world of grown ups was populated now.  There was the old couple in the yellow house, and the family in the green house and another old couple in the blue house.  When I would go there they were the same, which was proper for a person with a name though they were not really friends.  Friends were in books!  Sometimes we would go shopping and my mom would say “Isn’t that so and so from school but I just noticed a blob standing next to someone she was talking to, no not a friend.  Friends were in books.  There were no friends in my world.  Until one night, when Natalie came to me in my dream.  She said she wanted to be my friend.  She played with me we talked we had adventures together.  She was just on the other side.  We met every night for a week.  I know if I could just remember her address, her phone number, I could go there at daytime too.  I could find her and I would not have to loose her again.   I tried and tried desperately.  There was a friend, a real friend, and if I only could… it would be so easy.  I knew the city.  I could read maps.  I could ride a bike.  I would have a friend just for me, the way there were friends in books.  As much as I tried, she never gave me that magical address.  For many more years to come my friends lived in books and in toy boxes.  I have often wondered if Natalie was a child as lonely as I was before the world knew about Autism, or if my mind simply created her.  If she was like me  – I hope that she eventually made the puzzle fit the way it is supposed to as well.  Autism is not about what we know, it is about seeing the world as puzzle pieces that fit together to make a friend.  Science tells us that there are 300 of those pieces that make a face – which is why many autistic children can do algebra before they have their first friend that at least only involves 3 variables.  So do not laugh at me! Do not call me names.

 

Suzanne Knast

Inspired by Margaret Atwood’s story “The Tent”

I’m in a tent… and I’m staring at a crystal ball as milky as an oracle’s cataract.  The octogenarian gypsy is perfectly stereotypical: dressed in a purple and white, with the face of a crone and jewelry more fitting for someone a fraction of her age.

But her eyes….

As I meet her gaze, I am certain she knows all the secrets of the universe, and I’m more intimidated than Tweety Bird was when he had that photo op with Big Bird on Sesame Street.

I remember to breathe, and I wonder if the curiosity that led me here was more a sense of fatalistic abandon, since all of the sudden – I’m okay being the cat.  Because even if curiosity kills it, that cat learns more than a thousand inquisitive dogs, and looking back into her eyes – I want to know what she knows.

The tent smells like a lavender farm someone placed inside a head shop.  She still has not said a word, so I reach for the chair in front of her and sit down.  After what felt like hours of her mystical scrutinizing crystalline.  It carried a jaunty resonance comparable perhaps to Eric Clapton playing on an angel’s lyre.  She asked me what it was I wanted to know.  My mind flashes back to 15 minutes prior, outside the tent, musing overt the faded yet authentic  ‘Fortune Teller’ sign.  At that moment, I was innocently nonchalant, if not skeptical.  I recall thinking that as an individual what at this time in my life doesn’t know what direction I want to take- the profundity of having someone tell my future to me seemed like an ironical and speedy solution.

Back in the present, suddenly transfixed by this mercurial crystal ball, that notion seemed exceedingly petty.  I’m lost in some impenetrable trance as I contemplate the multitude of new questions going through my head: I want to know the secrets of Stonehenge or Socrates’ last thought as he drank his lethal sentence.  I want to know what a rainbow smells like or exactly what blind kids visualize when they dream.  The key to alchemy.  The possibilities of immortality.

Here so far, I hadn’t broke my enchantment from said crystal ball, which at this point is filled with swirling flames, captivating the pyromancer inside me.  I finally breach the mounting silence.

“I want to know the meaning of life,” I proclaim.

As soon as I uttered the last word I snap out of it, grasping the fact that the fire has extended to the entire tent, and the gypsy is nowhere to be found.  In a hazy panic, I make my way through the flaming occultist debris, and as I take my first gasp of fresh air, I hear the gypsy laughing.  A transcendental, euphonious laugh.

She was not laughing at me though. In my stunned silence, she most assuredly was not laughing with me.  Somehow, in that instant, I knew with all the clarity of my being that the laughter was, in actually, the answer to my question.

 

Jen McColl

The Pondering Pond

Lily found herself starring at a pond so placid, it mirrored a willow tree, and in it she could see a perfect reflection of the setting sun.  Words couldn’t justify the splendor of this scenery; in the same way that language so often fails to adequately convey God’s beauty.  Language was created to help us translate just such experiences, but how much of life’s magnificence and glory got lost in that translation, she pondered, contemplating the methods Neanderthals may have imposed prior to the invention of language.

This may seem contradictory – to be philosophizing on Divinity and Evolution in the same moment.  Most people thought Lily was a walking contradiction herself – she was a scientist and a nun.  Yet there was an ultimate truth behind the mask of her two worlds that those same people declined to grasp, which put simply is Energy?  She believed that energy created this universe and what is God if not the purest form of energy?

Lily longed to make her mark on this life; albeit unparalleled with the obsession of fame her generation has morphed into a vain epidemic (nevertheless perhaps it is arguably relatable). She wanted to change the lens people viewed the world through, which in turn would change the way they lived their lives. This was an anonymous and sacrosanct fame she craved everlasting and far superior to any form of celebrity worship relished by the masses of our era.

So she embarked on her own personal crusade to bridge the gap between the futile war amidst science and religion, because she posed they were fighting the same fight. She proclaimed religion and science were two sides of the same coin, or two strands of the same helix, as it were.  If people could just see things the way she did maybe the crimes committed by zealots in Gods name could be prevented, and the Holy wars would cease because we could accept that all our religions and all our deity’s are simple aspects of the one – the same energy, which none of us will ever be able to infallibly define anyway.

Though a nun she may be, and the bible she does study, she does not believe that there is any one BOOK that a certain denomination possesses where you can find the proof of God. Instead his confirmation manifests in nature.  The same nature every single human being in this world shares: A rainbow over a snow wrapped mountain, or the pink tinge on the clouds from a setting sun, or the placid ponds just like the one she is currently starring at her own reflection in.

And it was in this pond that she had her epiphany.  What a scientist might call an altered state of awareness and a Christian may call an answered prayer (yet nonetheless the same inference).  Maybe she was going about this the wrong way.  It’s true that we all come from the same place, the same energy – whatever and wherever that may be.  And that the only difference in us all lies the in the infinite  variety of lenses each theory, religion or culture view the world through…  Yet It’s not her view, her lens that people need to understand and uphold.  Rather that each and every lens is syndicated into a colossal kaleidoscope.  And more importantly, however many lens that kaleidoscope may have, it’s still the same celestial spyglass through which we all gaze.

 

Jen McCall