NARROW WORLD By Elizabeth Bailey

N arrow is the world you see.

A re you not tired of the bigotry?

R ound and round and round you’ll go.

R ound until you stop the flow,

O f the past and it’s racist ways.

W ill you take a chance to change?

 

M ountains may be moved.

I ntolerance can be no more.

N otorious will never be your name.

D etermination can be your game.

E nding the cycle of bigotry,

D evoted to opening the eyes of the future.

 

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Intolerance

The following 4 posts were written for an International Writing Competition regarding the subject of  intolerance. All entrants were published on Facebook and received recognition.

Elizabeth Bailey for Narrow World:

  1. Best use of negative to positive
  2. Honorable Mention for creative expression

Amanda Suzanne Faulke for Intolerance:

  1. Best use of resources

Valerie F. White for Intolerance of Key West:

  1. Best illustration of humanitarian effort

Nicole Longley for Locker Five-Twenty-Seven:

  1. Best poem, and most likes/loves
  2. Honorable Mention for making a judge cry

 

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