poems by Chelsea Richards

You were there

When I was little and alone
you were there
When I scraped my knee
you were there
To comfort me and dry my tears
you were there
When I needed you most
you were there

Guide

I need someone to help me
To help me through the cold nights
To be with me in the darkest times

I need someone to comfort me
When I come in fright
That is why I need someone
I need a guide

"A Dangerous Spring Morning" by Li Hollinger

A Dangerous Spring Morning

I awoke with the first rays of sun as always, with the harsh rays of dawn pouring through the boards that blocked up our windows and falling like daggers against my sleep deprived eyelids. It was routine for me - for some reason I always jolted awake. Emily stood shift tonight, and when I came out from the kitchen looking half-dead I knew she could sympathize with me, but she wasn’t stupid enough to say anything; she just handed me the Ruger and went to get what sleep she could while I took my turn at watch. Looking out the window, it was easy to believe a year had passed now; hardly anything really looked like civilization anymore. Even when it had all been burnt and rubble, it was still easy to believe we would come back and rebuild when it was all over; now with the warm weather returning with the New Year, the forest had reclaimed much of the land, and it was easier to believe that it would never be over. We only had a week’s worth of food left and two guns. Emily and Joel would be better off if without me; I was just another mouth to feed. With a strange sense of calm, I looked down at the gun in my hand. But I knew I couldn’t waste the bullet.

"Intermissa, Venus" by David Sellers (Periphery advisor) with an acknowledgment of the "anxiety of influence" of Horace, Ezra Pound, Byron, and Keats

Now I write anapests to the Goddess for rest
For a sense of direction – Inspiration, inspire
Me with purpose domestic – Call off the quest!
Change venue, Venus, avant thee! retire
Now in verse anapestic I shall praise the domestic;
Responsible, sober – awake since I dreamed:
Apollo, now rules me! See now I’ve confessed it:
That the goddess was not - nor is not - what she seemed.

It’s been thirty-four years since your last Visitation
Since Cinara went silent – And left me to pine
Now I’m over fifty! Lift this incantation!
Don’t enthrall me with that which can never be mine.

Your divine supplication, in verse incantation
Makes mortal men’s lips strain for goddess’s feet.
And this one has now called me to her veneration
To expose my soul, to adore, to entreat –
For the goddess is all in the poet’s vocation;
Her presence obsesses him all of the time,
With the love he’d engage in, though no desecration,
For poets can “yearn for the urn at the shrine”
Of the goddess who holds them in her captivation
With “magical” verse and the “dizzier wine.”

So I sing anapestically that she’s still got the best o’ me
(Is that why I’m stuck with this feminine rhyming?)
But the sharing of souls is just not what it used to be
And the spell of Midsummer is long past declining.
So, goodbye, Babe, to the Bacchae - to the goddess, to the muse
Who’s the reason that my soul was compelled so to roam,
Though the heart still be loving, and the night’s bright to cruise,
If “la belle dame sans merci” calls, say I’m not home.

"The Holy Land" by Kevin Foley

The Holy Land

Violent orchids in lamenting graves
Despair shall spread like a Teutonic plague
To empires born of infinite grace
In heavenly spite through faith misplaced

Saracen winds race across the sands
To reclaim the jewel that fell from god’s hand
Raped in the desert by the western man
Behind epic walls where crosses stand

Salivating like Vatican dogs
With a blink of an eye their swords are drawn
Seraphim tears like blood shall fall
For those who rose to answer the call

Templar skies turn old and grey
And every man by god betrayed
To empires born of infinite grace
In heavenly spite through faith misplaced

"Power Tools" by Mr. Marc Smith (faculty)

"Power Tools"

cool electrical power

silent panthers - waiting

to tear in to

to slice a part

to div ide from

honed glistening metal

transient makos - stalking

to dev our greedily

to con sume eagerly

to des troy completely

piercing metallic screams

dervishes in the night - wailing

a requiem of destruction

tear ing,

slic ing,

div iding,

de vourin g,

con sumi ng,

de stroy ing,

only to create a new.

Excerpt from "A Fool's Dance" by Stephanie Milem

from "A Fool's Dance"

The outfit was tight, only puffing out around my arms and legs then tightened drastically at my wrists and ankles. I wore sheer white tights under the one-piece outfit colored in black and red, and covering my feet were pointed shoes which curled at the tip and were each decorated with a bell. I wore a ruffled collar around my neck in the same colors, also adorned with bells. My hat was tight around my head, pushing a chunk of black hair over my oddly colored right eye. There were bells hanging in front of my face, attached to the oddly formed hat colored the same as the rest of my ugly second skin. It was humiliating and ridiculous, but none of that mattered. I danced and I sang; I made a fool out of myself to impress the wretched prince on the throne. I lived the humiliating life of a jester, a joker, a dancing buffoon in the eyes of our dear prince. The prince I despised with every inch of my belled being. However, there was still hope for me. The princess sat beside him in a throne much more beautiful than his. She watched me intently as I spun and danced, smiling and praising me as I bowed deeply at the waist to only her and held out my hand. He scowled as I made her happy and I only smiled on the inside. He knew nothing of the love we shared whenever he turned his back - he knew nothing of her betrayal and my silent triumph over him.