2012-2013 Online Edition - POETRY

Growing Up

By Jarre Hamilton


I have forgotten

All the stories I used to tell

Because someone told me to

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So I stuffed the pirate ships and majestic castles

Under the bed and told the princess to find someone else

Because someone told me to

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So here I sit in the solemn, grayness of an empty mind

That only thrived through creativity

Because someone told me to

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So this is me

Not really being me

But “growing up” like I was told to do

And in growing up I have slowly…

 

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The Gulf One

By Nicholas Harris


I can still see him

standing there,

pearls of water

dripping off his

scotch glass.

His brow is furrowed,

lips pursed to keep

the memories

from flowing from him

like water from a dam.

The eyes are lost

to the past,

seeing through

his family, the house,

the comfort

he had constructed

around him.

Words leave his lips.

And he is taken,

taken to the desert.

The sun bakes his back

and he can feel

the dryness

in his mouth again.

He stands there: eyes distant.

We wish to reach out,

to touch him, bring him back to us.

But we can only listen, listen

and try to understand.

You could see the rocket

fire from his eyes,

the smoke leaving a trail

across his pupils.

You could see the target,

slowly driving along the sand,

leaving tread marks in its wake.

You could see the impact,

as the rocket passed through,

like an arrow passing through

the heart--- never stopping.

You could see the walls,

the liquid remains dripping

from the ceiling

as he once again

looked inside with his mind.

And you could see

through his chest,

his heart quivering,

writhing, lamenting,

mourning---

as he whispered

in a voice so soft

that the whole world

could hear it on the wind:

"They were people."