Out of My Head
I have been studying the difference between solitude and loneliness.
A trivium of knowledge anchoring down in the harbor of
Complaints about love,
Researched hate and
The science of triumph.
Iron and wood keep me grounded,
While the white walls collect harlequins,
Bottles of wine.
I have been studying the difference between solitude and loneliness,
Only to discover that ships may be sinking.
This queen knew what
the rest of us need to remember.
It might endanger
a whole race
for a woman to keep
The only miracle bigger than a resurrection
was the God that showed humanity.
“Lazarus, come out.”
His bones rose and came to the light
which was the glory of God.
He shuffled over to the one that set him free
and said nothing.
And his serious face looked as if it was trying
to articulate what he’d seen the last three days,
but he stood wrapped up in the linen and the wild air,
and considered the things left to say.
Fortress of Solitude
Where I hold everything in
And let it all out
Where I find myself
…All a different person in a different time
All with old and new feelings
In my castle,
The world shrinks around me.
Until I am a prisoner
Shackled with my own thoughts
With little escape
With little hope
I am secured in my solitude.
Those ancient stones cut into the sky like teeth,
as bold as the day they were formed by ancient hands.
A dusty, bright-eyed boy stands, flinging a string of postcards into the air.
“One U.S. dollar! One U.S. dollar!”
Paws outstretched, the Sphinx lazes in the sun,
grand and immovable.
A man without legs hobbles on crutches wrapped in cloth,
turning from face to unbending face.
The sun smiles on the wide river, the same sun, the same river
that were there four thousand years before
While across the bridge trots a donkey,
overladen with tin and plastic trinkets to sell.
– Amelia Kaspari
Woman with Crow
If she gives her sin away,
she can feel the absence of its warmth
as it nuzzled against her torso.
Her squawking pet,
Her greasy companion that
everyone could hear and smell
What is she without it?
It’s loyal to her, as
it perches on her lap,
black as the world behind her eyelids
Keeping it close,
She strokes its feathers with bony fingers
that begin to resemble talons.
She hunches over, wings
breaking from her shoulders.
Colette Tennant says
Yeah for poetry! We have so many talented students here at Corban. Poetry never plays on a field surrounded by a group of cheering fans, but we do like an audience, so thanks for including us in the student paper!