Am I Every Poet?
(02/24/22 1:00pm)
Am I every poet?
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Am I every poet?
For you, I would have given my whole life.
The graveyard was nothing remarkable. Birds flew above, singing the songs of early morning as they started their journey across the skies. Tombstones scattered themselves across the fields, decorated with bouquets of many shapes and sizes. The grass had gone for the winter and was replaced with a thin layer of snow that blanketed the ground in an icy chill. And sitting there, still as the air around him, was a rider atop a modest white carriage. His passenger stood opposite him, shivering in the cold. He held out his hand to her, offering a ride. She accepted and climbed aboard the carriage. The rider offered her a blanket to stay warm and she took it, wrapping herself in its warmth. And no sooner than the rider had appeared, he left.
I dwell in the past so often.
The swing set in the clearing had rusted with time, ivy climbing up the poles and growing over the seats. The trees made a large ring around the area, their leaves bright red and yellow in the early fall weather and just beginning to shed. Dew had settled on the dandelions and grass, and they glistened in the early morning sun. A crisp breeze flew over Nyx’s wings as she stood in the middle of the clearing. She shivered, bringing her arms around herself.
She tells me,
It was the night before November, and Lila was getting ready for a Halloween costume party. As she braided a section of her hair on either side of her face, she looked over the makeup she had done.
A room may look emptier without its furniture,
Two mirrors face each other
For the love of R&B,
Clocks are strange, they don’t have agendas but move promptly.
I stare at the blank canvas in front of me with a glimmer of desperation in my eyes. It’s happening again. My body is frozen, trying to pull inspiration from thin air. My eyes scan the empty room. The paintbrush in my right hand feels like a dumbbell begging to be put down. It’s been half an hour at this point and still nothing.
POV: It’s 2014. You’re getting dressed for school and reach for black tights, your new skater skirt from Kohl’s and a pair of black combat boots. You scroll through Tumblr while you wait for your parents to drive you. "Chocolate" by The 1975 is playing on your iPod. Life is good.
Fake parking tickets, sidewalk pavement, public buses. These are just a few places Ed Madden has inserted poetry as Columbia’s poet laureate. He has two main goals: to make poetry a public art and to promote the voices of local writers.
i started chewing my gum too soon
I skipped the last day of high school to go to your funeral.
The traveler stood in the rubble, looking onward with unseeing eyes. All around him lay the ruins of an alien world. He saw mysterious structures from a forgotten era, infected with life as the vegetation strangled the surroundings. Towers that touched the heavens, now lying along the ground as nature reclaimed what it had lost. He walked along, noticing the statues of the now extinct builders, and he wondered where everything had gone wrong. It seemed to him that they had built monuments that they believed would last forever, testaments to their greatness and skill. But now that they were gone, they only served as testaments of their failure, a monument to disaster. What a strange people, unknowing of their fragile mortality yet boasting of life and power. The traveler found it rather odd.
Tally the numbers of your answers as you go and see at the end which "Fate: The Winx Saga" character you most likely are!
Unity can be difficult to envision in a world
You remember what it was like. Before the nightmare. Before all of this. Every second the memories of better days run through you at the speed of light, never ending and never ceasing. You remember your family. You remember your friends. You remember the time spent together. Your life, your passion, your happiness. But all of that is gone. All that was is now nothing at all. You can’t handle this and eventually you stop trying. Now you sit, alone among the shattered pieces of your mind, with nothing to keep you company but the memories.