Sunday Blues, Poetry by Barbara D.M.

Genre: Melancholy

Title: Sunday Blues 
Sunday blues
calling her name
She sat there empty,
time slipping away
Galaxies in her eyes
Cups stained with her lips
Shadows across the room
Aching bones
Smudged lines down her face,
thinking of better days
-Barbara D.M.

 

 

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Tangent, Poetry by Rebekah Mambiar

She walks across the lawn
just as he steps out of it.
She enters the classroom
just as he was leaving it.

Genre: Love, Melancholy

“Tangent” by Rebekah Mambiar

She walks across the lawn
just as he steps out of it.
She enters the classroom
just as he was leaving it.

He sees her stand up and leave
just as he reaches the table.
One moment, he says hi to her
but then she says bye soon after.

Then their eyes meet for a fraction-second,
they both smile for a brief moment.
And then she walks on, alone,
and so does he with his own crowd.

They are two realms apart,
two figures on different surfaces,
never meeting save for an instance—
a tangent amidst the vast stretch of planes.

 

 

 

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Planting Seeds, Poetry by Abu B. Rafique

Four:
If I told you that I want all of this to be like this thirty years from now,
Would you call me hopeful, or stupid?
Do you think we’ll stay? Or will one of us go?
If I get lost,
I hope to go in a circle,
And wind up back with you.”

Genre: Nostalgia, Wanderlust, Youth, Love, and Melancholy

Planting Seeds by Abu B. Rafique

One:

Sometimes I wonder, if I’m remembering something hard enough, are you remembering it too?

It’s like smoke now, slightly sweet,
And overwhelming,
And enough to make me dizzy if there’s too much.
I saw you in your pale yellow sundress with a tired smile on your face,
And the sun setting around us filled the sky with a pink light that made you shimmer as you walked,
I wished then that I didn’t have to leave anymore.
You and I walked two miles up the dirt road to your home,
And you showed me your grandfather’s apple trees,
You asked where I was going and then told me where you would like to go.
I remember the smell of,
Apples,
Your perfume,
And the candles inside.
You gave me a necklace before I left and you seemed to understand.
I’ve met many since then, but none seem to UNDERSTAND.
I think of you,
Often.

Two:

Where should we go?

Should we go,
North? To Canada?
Or west? To California?
Maybe south? To Georgia?
Should we live up in the mountains?
Out in the desert?
In a lonely cabin?
Does it have to be “we?”
You can stay,
I don’t like me, so I’ll go.
And keep going.
Maybe, eventually, I’ll be able to get away,
Maybe not.
I guess I’ll go,
And find out.

Three:

You sit there in your denim jacket,

And black jeans,
And black boots,
And colorful hairbands on your fingers,
With your hair tied back in a ponytail.
And you want to give a chance,
And get a chance,
And stop pushing away,
Or running away from,
Everyone who tries to love you.

Four:

If I told you that I want all of this to be like this thirty years from now,

Would you call me hopeful, or stupid?
Do you think we’ll stay? Or will one of us go?
If I get lost,
I hope to go in a circle,
And wind up back with you.”

 

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