BALLAD Poem: HISTORY, by Les Clarke

They pucker like they just sucked on a lemon and press their wet lips
against mine
Knocking at the closed door of my mouth with their tongue,
They sink their teeth into my neck until the blood pools in painful black oval,

I’m not brave enough to say “stop”
After all I don’t want to disappoint, right?

They smell like him and I don’t say anything,
I carry the shame for the next two weeks
I kiss the concrete with my forehead
And hold hands with a cigarette

No one seems to believe that someone half my size could possibly do this to me

I feel so small

The hours feel like days,
The years feel like minutes,
Locked alone in my own past and trying to claw my way out,
The white walls of the shower mock me,
I forget to wash the shampoo out of my hair again

The a violent history doesn’t hold onto these things
It surprises you with them
It smells them in the grocery store and becomes nauseous
It hears their voice in that of someone you love
It tastes them when you bite your tongue
And it makes you thankful for the numb

BALLAD Poem: Flowers That Never Bloom, by Taylor Palomares

I’ve only received flowers twice in my entire life.
First time I really didn’t count. It was a single plastic rose bought from the beach vendors.
Valentine’s day shouldn’t feel like a last thought. Goes to show you how that “relationship”
started, ended, was the entire time.

So, the first time receiving flowers was contingent upon being open to receive a symbolic
“apology”.
Accidently found out they conceived a baby, didn’t even bother to hide the new born baby seat.
After no response it didn’t take long for him to come along like a want to be Prince Charming.
He never said sorry,
Solely showed up
With simple red roses
At my door,
saying nothing more.

The second and last time receiving flowers was used as a gesture in order to forgive a man for his
sins. It was hard for him to say “I’m sorry” for all that he had done. Simple words, no fancy
gestures we’re truly needed. Solely to be heard, seen, understood.
Yet, still didn’t,
Couldn’t take
Responsibility
For a tumultuous
Past. One that his
Two hands created.

BALLAD Poem: Lost Spring of Love, by Sheila Thadani

Is it better never to have loved at all
Than to have loved and lost in sorrow’s pain,
When love departs on flights to be enthralled
With pleasures of youthful spring again.

That temptation of Eros which beckons,
To shed one’s age and cast love’s old clothes;
And search for the lost spark of heaven
In the sultry skins of fresh blooms of youth.

Oh, to be young again. When youth’s splendor
Enticed men’s ardor to my prime.
Can the fire relight love’s endeavors,
When love is ever fickle over time.

Empty hours now fill the idle days;
Walls deaf to the sound of love’s voice,
A smiling face absent from one’s gaze,
A life devoid of its cheer and joy.

Love that is lost leaves no footprints anywhere,
Nor even a Christmas day to share.

BALLAD Poem: Hollywood Forever Cemetery, by Eva Iris

I’m starting to understand the hitchhikers,
The restless youth,
The Romeos and the Juliets, the ones
with the daggers in their hearts.
I’m starting to think I’m destined to a life of
Fairweather friends,
And broken amends,
And rendezvous in my mind.
I went to Joshua Tree, and the healing vortexes of Sedona.
I went to New York city, bathed in the waters of Arizona.
I’m starting to wish I hadn’t given up ballet,
and wish I had kissed you while I could have,
and played with dolls when my sister wanted to.
But it doesn’t matter much, does it?
I am chained to you, chained to this,
chained to the ghost whose flesh everyone else can see,
the one that listens to the Velvet underground and says he
doesn’t believe in any God other than punk rock.
I’m chained to my boyfriend, the imaginary one,
who lives in a cloud in the sky.
I’m chained to the make believe entity in my mind,
handcuffs made of French braids woven by fairies
and demons that I can’t escape.
And I’m chained to you, City of Angels
Oh, how I love you,
Oh, how I loathe you.
Gas station blues, and seasons confused,
Strip malls and dying stars.
No matter how many times I try to leave,
I wind up here,
Criss cross applesauce in the
Hollywood Forever cemetery,
My drugstore mascara falling out of my eyelids,
runs in my tights and nothing but me and my
t h o u g h t s.

Girlhood is like that I suppose.
Feeling like nothing and everything at the same time.
A knife that twists in your stomach,
And the poetry that will stop you from bleeding out.

BALLAD Poem: Negativista, by Justin Han

Negativista, c’est la vie
I miss the way you haunted me
Shadows overgrown and untame
The silence screams aloud your name

Negativista, deja vu
Another day of missing you
I’d still risk it all for your love
But it would never be enough

I told her
We’re never getting older
I’ll just carry you closer
Watch as hell freezes over
All we need is each other!

Now that you’re gone
I’m never moving on

Negativista, in my blood
Feel your heart beat when I run
When did all our good go so bad?
Oh, now I know how much we had

I told her
What about when we’re older?
After hell freezes over
What is left to discover?
I won’t ever recover

Dead or alive
Be with me tonight

Time stopped when I walked away
Hold out your hand
Take mine
And pull me under

Leaving was my great mistake
Poison me one last time
It’s now or never

Negativista, c’est la vie
Do you ever remember me?

Hold out your hand, take mine
And pull me under

(That’s the way that you want it? That’s the way it’ll be)

Hold out your hand
Take mine
And pull me under

(That’s the way that you want it? That’s the way it’ll be)

I’d still risk it all for your love

BALLAD Poem: When Colin Comes A-Callin’, by Rebecca CLIFFORD

A Western Ballad for My Nephew

Well, Pardner, let me tell you of a monumental day
when all the yellow lily-livered cowpokes ran away,
And many townsfolk chose to hide one dusty afternoon,
when Colin came a-callin’ and made the ladies swoon.
He was handsome, suave and charming – a prize for any gal!
– An infamous gunslinger from the Okeydoke Corral
(And grandson of Cow Patty, a lady of the west)
who came, one fateful day, to put the menfolk to the test.

He galloped into town on his trusty stallion, Nelly,
with a scorchin’ in his throat and a rumblin’ in his belly.
He quickly checked his bags at the Empty Arms Hotel t
hen sauntered through the saloon doors and rang the barkeep’s bell.
“Gimme a bag o’ cheetos and a strawb’ry yoo-hoo.”
The bartender complied, and brought some jujubes too.
His hands shook as he did so, but he gave his finest service;
And, truth be told, everybody there that day was nervous.

The barkeep kept the yoo-hoo comin’ cuz, I s’pose, he reckons
when Colin comes a-callin’, he may as well have seconds.
“I’ll challenge all you orn’ry chappies to a game of snap,
And when I win, I’ll go upstairs and have a little nap.”
Now, snap’s a card game most complex that only real men do,
(- Just as only real he-men drink strawb’ry yoo-hoo.)
And Colin was a cunning expert at this game of cards!
Feet fumbled… fingers fidgeted… I gotta tell you, pards …

The silence was deaf’ning in the bar that day,
and the men spoke not one word – for cowards all were they!
Then the girls came forward, eager to be near the shootist
and knowing Colin only paid attention to the cutest.
They winked their eyes ‘n’ waved their hands ‘n’ twirled their little curls.
“Y’all are purdy, but there’s only time for one kiss, girls!”
The sighs of disappointment! Then Colin turned to Sue –
“Hey, Colin’s come a-callin’ and he’s got a peck for you!”

Sue blushed and giggled, puckered up and bravely raised her face
and Colin planted smacky smooches all over the place!
Her chin, her hair, her eyebrows – when would he call it quits!?
Her cheeks and nose and earlobes… somehow he missed her lips…
Somebody coughed, somebody sniffed, somebody’s feet shuffled.
Someone softly said “a-hem”, kinda quiet and muffled.
“Excuthe me, thir, you thed one kith but you gave her a duthen.
And whath’s more, Thue’s to marry me! (though she’s my thecond cuthin).

I thay, thir, pick another girl to shower with affection
or, perhapth, another town, if thath’s your predilection.”
The townsfolk gasped and stared at Ben then all snuck off to hide
Leaving Colin, Sue, and Ben standing there inside.
See, Colin’s reputation made all the people shudder.
They went back to working crops and farms, and milking milk-cows’ udders.
“We’ll settled this – an all or nuthin’ wager! Ain’t it scary?!”,
Colin smirked – but Ben stood firm, his eyes both wide and wary.

The game of snap became a dastardly deal of doom.
Sue stepped away, leaving them alone in the saloon.
The cards came fast and furious, the favours fell to Ben
And beads of sweat appeared on Colin’s forehead – and then!
Colin caught Ben in the act!! A card was up his sleeve!!
“You lyin’, cheatin’, stinkin’ thief – I’m askin’ you to leave!”
Well, Ben backed off. “Ben here, done that”, he answered simply.
“Thue never loved me anywayth becuth’ I’m old and pimply.”

The shabby rustler sidled off and folks were glad he left
(Ben reeked of mothballs and dog barf, plus he had bad breath.)
And folks saw Colin differently – a tough man until recent
When Colin rid their village of a feller most indecent.
Then he and them played checkers and card games (- mostly snap),
And everybody came to know him as a righteous chap.
The gals and Sue all loved our hero, Colin the Clean Cutie.
Who next time came a’callin’ and made Sue his hot patootie.

Now Colin comes a’callin’ about four times a year
And this grandson of Cow Patty is the cowboy they hold dear!

BALLAD Poem: Untitled, by Natalia Miller

I think about
How my knuckles
Would feel
Being cut against your teeth

And how my hands
Pressed against
Your left side
Pushing on your ribs

Maybe my mouth
Didn’t reach above
Your belt buckle
Enough times

I love you so much better in my head

I think about what could’ve been done
What I want to do sometimes
What I wish I did
I only feel like that sometimes.

Once upon a time you didn’t let me play with your hair
And then I was lathering toner into it
Now your roots have grown in
But I still remember your hairline and the details

What your sideburns feel like
And the cuticles on your fingernails
How the bottom of your heels
Laid on top of my ankles

I remember everything most days
And then there are others
Where I’m more gracious
More ferocious

When I wish I could have knocked
Blood out of your nose
Or answered your calls
And hear you cry out

Or when I might slightly grin
And wave at you
Fifty feet away
When my days are fine

And anger isn’t on my mind
I forgive you most of the time
Because I remember
How your heart belonged to mine

BALLAD Poem: When Words Fails Us, by Courtney Calardo

Hello: one word and a handshake is all it took to know you were important
Heard it spoken in my head but left unsaid
as I sat across from you

To share my dreams of becoming a documentary filmmaker
I felt a knowingness from deep within
that we had met before

Our souls entangled
bringing us back to one another
So you could guide me toward
what I‘d been searching for

You helped me discover once more
How to trust my intuition
and the voice that resides
in the lap of my inner child

We were living a dream
disrupted by the complications
of life as humans
Pulled apart toward new adventures

Toward a different kind of existence
Yet somehow finding one other again
To share what we had learned
And see what had remained

In-yun: a Korean term for a karmic connection between souls with encounters from past lives
Sometimes the English language is so disappointing

It reduces the meaning of what it is you’re trying to express
Leading you to overexplain or undervalue the feelings you attempt to surface

Take care: the last words I said
before you went away
What a ridiculous thing to say
But I couldn’t bring myself to say farewell

resisted its finality
Couldn’t bring myself to shut this door
Lock you out
I knew our paths would cross again

But my vocabulary was too limited
and failed to surface a phrase that said
I love you
But I’m not in love with you

I want to be a part of your life
but can’t in the way you want me to
can’t offer the kind of love you deserve
or promise it would be enough for either of us

Not in this lifetime
though perhaps in another
Perhaps that’s why I am drawn to you
In-Yun

Perhaps that is why I can‘t say goodbye
Though they ask me to
Tell me I need to let you go
So we can both move on

Relationships, like words, can be so simple
and fail to grasp our soul’s desires
Why can’t they evolve, as we do,
as we learn and grow

and become something different that works with where we are in this iteration
in this human form,
despite its complications?

Why do we have so many rules and restrictions on how to be human?
On when and how to say goodbye?
When maybe what we really need
is a better way of saying I’ll see you soon.

FASHION Poem: FEELING GOOD IS GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME, by Stephanie Hacksley

I’m dreaming of a time
before a peace sign was a picture on a plastic smartphone cover
A time when jeans were popular because denim was durable

I’m dreaming of a time when
we made our own clothes
our own tie-dye

A time before Woodstock was a can on the side of the road
A time when life was about being together

A time we could sit with ourselves
Sit with each other

A time when we told stories
Made music
Danced
Listened

A time we could be real
A time we could really be here

All this social media is making us stupid
We have become slaves to the dark lords

Zuckerberg
Bezos
Musk

I can’t see you with a phone in front of your face
And you can’t see me

I don’t need the high life
I don’t need fancy things

I just need life to be
as simple as
your body
next to mine