August 15, 2019

Linnea Skoglöv: Portraits of Love

Posted by Jack B. Rochester in Member Writing & Art, Writing

Cigarette Waking up slowly to a room set in darkness, eyes searching for light but finding nothing buta silhouette. You on one side of the bed and I on the other, not touching but I still feel you on my skinlike my mouth senses the aftertaste of a cigarette. A cigarette you smoked even though I begged you not to, I turned and said I won’t kiss youever again but you hugged me from behind and what was I supposed to do. So I kissed you. And you tasted worse than when you apologise for your breath in the morning, but the secondyour lips touched mine I had already forgiven you. Because when you look at me my heart suddenly belongs to a hummingbird, beating right out of my chest. And I need to feel your fingers…

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August 11, 2019

Bridging Two Cultures: Emma Wang’s Fierce Poetry

Posted by Jack B. Rochester in Member Writing & Art, Writing

Variations on the History of the People’s Republic of China i. Sometimes the skin retreats into the bone, jagged edges of tongue tasting the summer heat. ii. Imagine the ownership (or lack of) a sunken statue turning whispers behind closed conversations and blood against blood. iii. The first time I saw my father cry, there were ghosts in his lungs. iv. When the star-crossed, green-costumed women dance on skeletons My father averts his eyes like they’re the decapitated deer. v. On my passport every stamp sounds like yeye’s warnings, every printed word the broken English of my mother, every second of silence the wrath of old men. Abecedarian for the Chinese Immigrant All you can take are your Blouses and your tongue; Children & rice cakes should be Dropped into the sea to the Very last one. You will Find new building blocks to reassemble your Girls, new letters to construct your Houses – oh wait – It’s the other way around. Jackets you’ll buy at the K-mart, but only if it’s Local. You cannot carry your Mama nor your baba No matter how Oversized…

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August 8, 2019

Dayna Lellis: Telling Timeless Truths

Posted by Jack B. Rochester in Member Writing & Art, Writing

Your Value Instagram followers Twitter retweets Facebook likes Snapchat views Numbers we use To quantify #Popularity #Beauty #Wittiness #Worth These numbers mean #Nothing Compared to the people In your life Yearning for quality time With you They don’t need numbers To see your value Emotional We develop strong arms, carrying around emotional baggage for months, even years. We mistake this for strength. We weaken our grip on our baggage, opening it to reveal its untidy contents to others. We mistake this for weakness. May Day Unnecessary clicks, swipes, and likes are taking away precious seconds, minutes, hours, days of our lives, of our budding dreams. “Just a little longer, okay?” “I’ll do it tomorrow,” you say. Tomorrow is growing impatient. Tomorrow is ready to bloom today. Two Vows I’ve walked this path for eternity. Its minutiae are etched into my mind. One random day, to my surprise, I notice stairs that reach the sky. As I ascend, I glance below. I see paths that swerve, with shadows galore. Others appear straight with a sunlit glow, but on closer inspection they have bumps as well. I search for mine. It takes some time. Its gentle curves are…

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August 5, 2019

The Nostalgic Poetry of Delaney Daly

Posted by Jack B. Rochester in Member Writing & Art, Writing

Tender Continuum This town is a perfect snow globe on a mantelpiece, an impenetrable dome. Waves of puddles on the stone sidewalk swallow us down & we become a part of the rotation, the silent timepiece, the busted backdrop. We will never escape it even when we box up our memories & drive to the shore & cradle our kin or watch them outrun our misfortunes. Still, this is just a thought against actions, just a minute against an hour. When the glass shatters & we inhale the valley fog for the last time, we will draw breath as the pale petal in the summer storm wind. Silent Orenda Today, there is an urgency not to move. To instead, bury the worn soles of my feet in this comfortable, breathable moment, one that I am certain will not try to control me – in the same way that the passing hours like to threaten me and hold me to the slow, choking wind, who, with the right motivation,…

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July 31, 2019

Paths of Existence: Poetry by Yong C. Takahashi

Posted by Jack B. Rochester in Member Writing & Art, Writing

Journey I emerge from the mud Caked in past indiscretions Mistakes weighing me down I attempt to shake it off And decide I’d never be able to Reduce the heavy load I decide to cry until I’m whole Hoping not to drown in tears Unable to cleanse my past I praise the rain that comes but It’s cold, dark, and unrelenting Not the salvation I prayed for When I think I may drown The sun comes and warms me I look back at the faded footprints And marvel how far I’ve traveled The old path is almost gone The rotted breadcrumbs I left To find my way back home Are washed away and I must Forge a new path to happiness The Collector We can collect treasures Even coveting wounds That aren’t even ours Treasures proudly displayed Spotlight shining on them Repurposed into excuses You can use not to succeed After years, they collect dust Graying, covered with cobwebs Too tired to clean the artifacts Scrambling to recoup…

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July 24, 2019

Abigail Kipp: Getting to the Heart

Posted by Jack B. Rochester in Member Writing & Art, Writing

Favorite Things  A few of my favorite things fill my head  Sunlight through green leaves dancing in the dark  Rap songs on the radio ignoring what is said  Just moving along down roads lost in the mark  Watching dancers soar wishing I was too  Silver rain on bare skin cool wet slides down  The sound of white snow falling in queue  Black skirts a little too short peaceful small town  And the way you looked at me like I lookedAt you lost in innocence the before  The fall when we were both completely hooked  Before we started cold trench and ash war  Moment of love I am doomed to repeat  With everyone that comes next like useless meat.  ** Two languages (free form) Two languages And I can’t find the words Crawling in my mouth Screaming to be free Twenty-six letters And I can’t locate The syllables That read How you let go. How do I write When poems are all a…

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July 14, 2019

Ellen Rachlin: Poems of Survival

Posted by Jack B. Rochester in Member Writing & Art, Writing

Strategy Cannot be hit …well maybe hit but not marred and if marred, put that thought aside; just stare at open, fast to strike surfaces, then look nowhere but the eyes. In spacetime, there should be no difference between what opposing fighters see and measure, but here the arc of a kick holds mixed coordinates, so it’s best to move at all times because moving is winning, winning is moving; punishment is achieving victory. Nearby there are always judges, and rarely, a referee. Continuity Rage wore itself out on no-name turf between opposing hills, in the end, claiming Crown and…

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July 10, 2019

John McKernan: A Deeper Look

Posted by Jack B. Rochester in Member Writing & Art, Writing

MIDNIGHT PHONE CALLS FROM MY ALIAS Quit pretending you are still a teenager That girl at Wal-Mart keeps asking about you Have you written your obituary yet? Which of President Kennedy’s sluts did you like best? I’m not frightened Are you? Where have you been hiding? Making any money selling cheap fireworks? Why don’t you visit me anymore? Sure Go ahead Enlist in the Marine Corps Here are some verbs to help you out Crawl Slither Sneak Snivel Grovel Let me tell you something you need to know You want a crate of chocolate chip cookies? Buddha walked through the door showing us the new tattoos His entire body a geranium covered in blue and green and black and yellow and red What would it take to make you speechless? A maniac’s kitchen knife to cut out your tongue DIAMONDS OF SWEAT Drop to the dry ground Tiny explosions of dust A large serving of memory please In a chilled wine glass With slivers of yesterday I always…

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July 5, 2019

“Wash, Rinse, Dry… Repeat” by Zee Mink

Posted by Jack B. Rochester in Member Writing & Art, Writing

Lie, then smile with penitent lips, as you continue to cheat Wash with repentance. Rinse with remorse, Dry tears of regret Repeat It is your anemic nature, your compulsive rogue swagger Coffee break room champion, scalawag bragger My own weakness, craving your wayward arms My insanity, always falling for your charlatan charms I am the princess of poor personal choices Never listening to the warnings of my inner voices My logical head knows, my deceiving heart excuses The blatant deception, the revolving heart abuses I tell myself to walk. NO RUN away and never look back He’ll change, this is the last time he’ll jump the loyalty track Truth be known, I am the genuine liar, the authentic phony I could have a steak, instead I feast on cheap baloney My table is set, same old menu, no wisdom served today Eating with a spoon of shame, digesting familiar foul play Zee writes from…

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July 2, 2019

Keith Kennedy: Feeling the Angst

Posted by Jack B. Rochester in Member Writing & Art, Writing

Too Busy for Suicide I’m awfully sorry to be awfulIt was the camera – you see it, in the corner I was afraid that if I didn’t fall in lineThey’d make me wear a rose-colored shirtThey’d make me kill my family So I said what they wanted to hearI told them of your discretions, making sureNot to elaborate too far, so theyDidn’t find out what horrible things you’ve doneTo my ass, in my mouth, while the others watchedThey are sorry, too, for doing what they had to. When Pink was Heart I craved your body like a mindNo matter where the dead birds fellI changed my course to walk behindI stared at skin ’till I grew blind And when you dressed I felt the flames …

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