Tag: poetry
member name: Laura Cushing
|
July 16, 2008 02:21 AM EDT --
(A poem, kinda - more like lyrics. It would be a song if I could write music)
Take this place in which
we exist, but fear living.
Call it anything but beautiful.
The sun will rise and set. . . .
more
|
|
August 10, 2008 12:47 AM EDT --
Yesterday, I knew this girl
who wore 'tragicly hip' as an accessory
to thrift store jeans
and manufactured angst
she drowned her happiness in bottles
then peeled the labels back
. . .
more
|
|
March 19, 2007 03:31 PM EDT --
Four years of war. I can barely comprehend how many lives have been lost. When I was a child, one of my earliest memories is of my mother crying when she learned the Vietnam war was over. I couldn't . . .
more
|
|
August 11, 2008 11:08 PM EDT --
All Aboard the Crescent Line
by Laura Cushing
1. Penn Station, NY
A Columbia University student
backpack on his shoulders
i-pod in ears, a going-home smile,
checks the schedule . . .
more
|
|
August 27, 2007 12:00 AM EDT --
Never project emotion.
They will only mistake
anger for arrogance
tears for weakness
If you show fear
they will strike.
Smile. Smile. Smile.
Shake hands.
Make eye contact. . . .
more
|
|
February 03, 2007 03:20 AM EST --
"Your poems are too personal," he says.
"Remove the you; the I. What is left? That's your poem."
Imagine this poem
without you, without I.
Maybe it exists in
the vacuum of space. . . .
more
|
|
February 18, 2007 01:57 AM EST --
The sky made me feel small
that day we walked through history
and I felt disconnected from myself.
The trees were shedding bark
because all the wind had gone
and the leaves tumbled away
yet they still . . .
more
|
|
March 07, 2007 07:44 PM EST --
The car is our vardo, our gypsy
caravan. We speak our words
for cheap bread and expensive
wine. We pray for the ins of
Ginsberg, the knack of Kerouac.
We are a living limited offer, our
infinity bartered . . .
more
|
|
June 17, 2007 02:22 AM EDT --
Irene who wasn't Leon's wife
who may have been from Costa Rica
crocheted a Christmas mouse
with a gray stitch tail
disappeared shortly after
the New Year
Nerdy Mr. C
the least popular science . . .
more
|
|
September 06, 2007 09:26 AM EDT --
Got a poem accepted for publication, unexpectedly. It was one I submitted like... months ago, and I'd completely forgotten the submission until I got the email today.
It included this nice notation . . .
more
|
|
March 17, 2007 01:37 AM EDT --
Oh homemaker
boilermaker
three lined obituary!
How you puzzle me.
Did they call you Margie?
Or Margerita? Did your
husband go to war
and leave you waiting breathless
until inspired by
patriotism, . . .
more
|
|
March 22, 2007 07:59 PM EDT --
the split belly
of a South Central Liner
spilling metallic intestines
over a rusty track
the picked remains
of a bum's last meal
a black speckled
bird's hymnal crowing
and the exposed
white . . .
more
|
|
March 30, 2007 12:37 AM EDT --
I order cherry pie
and a coffee,
black remembering how
Traci (with an i, not y) was popular-pretty
cheerleader captain, darling of the football team.
Her teeth, white and sparkly, shined like beacons . . .
more
|
|
August 03, 2007 03:10 PM EDT --
She always threaded her hair
with a ribbon three inches
wide, red as her lover's suicide
her face dark as the miday
alaskan sky, black eyes
ice-smooth and reflective
of a heart that . . .
more
|
|
December 07, 2007 05:28 PM EST --
For two word challenge - using the entire list of words (though Pearl Harbor is just the title, but hey, that counts, right?).
The Great War
becomes in this moment
forever less Great.
This . . .
more
|
|
February 01, 2007 02:02 AM EST --
The Boilermaker
a poem by Laura Cushing
Thighs fused
welding like metals
Luke constructs
internal combustion engines
powered only by that
Moldy source of
deadfall love
white and bunched
this . . .
more
|
|
February 11, 2007 01:24 PM EST --
We can slip on the threadbare soles
of our ancestors
and slip them off again, just as easy.
We are not
(despite the feeling
of the bit at our mouths,
the crop at our flanks)
horses.
These shoes are . . .
more
|
|
February 21, 2007 03:10 AM EST --
And he said to me
"Love is like lemons.
When life hands you
lemons, you make lemonade."
But I say
Love, if a lemon,
is far more likely to find you
at three am shaking on the kitchen . . .
more
|
|
March 19, 2007 02:35 AM EDT --
It was in the way you looked at me
when you said "My name will
be in lights." I believed you.
I never expected my name
to appear anywhere other
than the obituary page.
Maybe my expectations . . .
more
|
|
February 06, 2007 01:13 AM EST --
Leigh pushed me through the cellar door
and the cellar stank of roots and earth
floorboards creaked and marked our berth
the lightbulb overhead burned bare
She closed behind . . .
more
|
|
|
|
