Wednesday, May 4, 2011

WHERE THERE'S SMOKE




photographs by D.R. Wagner

Kathy Kieth the editor/publisher of Rattlesnake Press visited the class a week ago. The students were asked to write and submit a poem to the 'Seed of the Week' feature at http;//medusaskitchen.blogspot.com on the subject...Where There's Smoke...
Here are the results.

Dillon Shaw

I actually sent in two separate poems in response to the "where there's smoke" prompt


Where there's smoke

there are children

whose mothers left nothing

but asthma and tears


***


I savor the smoke, so ashy and dry

I remind myself it's the last one

Yesterday I smoked because I wanted to die

Today I stop because of my son

A cowardly way for a man to go

I recall it only with shame

The delicious poison lifted my woe

And promised a death free of blame

But today is the last sweetness I puff

For I now have a child to rear

Living is hard but it is enough

To have beautiful new life grow near


Nancy Pulciano

not only sent the smoke poem but all these others as well.


Where the smoke comes from…


Haven’t you heard?
Everyone knows.
Everyone knows-
Where the smoke comes from.

Talons and teeth
scales and rage
dated from history’s page.
A medieval dragon named Groth.

Don’t get him mad
He’ll surely blow
and you will know
because his eyes will begin to squint.

His temper will tip,
his nose will scrunch,
his lips will bunch,
he will hiss and flash white, white teeth


Then out of his mouth
or maybe his nose,
fire will burst like a lovely rose.
And then you will see.

Where the smoke comes from.


The hills were golden:

And the hills were golden

And the children would play

And the birds would sing

And the sky would open

And the trees would sway

And the wind would whistle

And the grass would tickle

And the acorn would fall

And the squirrels would chase

And the flower would blossom

And the night would come

And the stars would twinkle

And the dawn would break

And the sun would yawn

And the hills would glisten

And the dream couldn't wait

Cause none of this happened

but the hills were golden on

this dark and gloomy day


Bitterness Bites:

The bitterness bites at me.

Another day not happy to say,

nonetheless a bitter Monday.

I cried in the shower on one knee.

Asking for forgiveness,

begging for a plea.


I cried silently.


But nobody came or answered

my call. The bitterness bites at me;

like an unripe persimmon

teasing my tongue.


And bitter is my heart,

nothing more than a bird.

trapped in my ribs:

its cage.

But nonetheless,

it was nothing more than a bitter day.



Raindrops:


The sky is crying, putting a dampness on my page.

I can barely write with the weather's new profound rage.

The wind is drying out my eyes

and pushing tears on my face.


Looking up

I yell with contempt,

"I won't cry as well".

Lightning strikes profusely

A quick reaction in response.


I have no choice but to remain.

Dwelling in the skies sadness.

Sadness of my own won't manifest today.

Rain drops fell from my eyes only to sympathize with the pain.


Life's waiting room:

It was half past two

and we sat there

we sat there in life's waiting room.

I can't remember who was talking

my focus was on me and you,

and the sea foam blue

that brushed the walls.

we just sat there.


you held my hand.

like our eyes held the distant light

it was far and near but ever so bright.

there was life and death

all balanced on a rope pulled so tight


The clock stroke three

and its just me

the chairs all left and all I see

the blinding light that couldn't wait

I felt your touch

And when I opened my eyes

You weren't there.


I left life's waiting room.


Thoughts about love:

I once experienced love.

there is a difference, not infatuation.

Here I can describe it:

It's a burden.


Everyone holds the burden.

but once love is felt,

the burden will be lifted.

Lovers will be so free.

So free they will have no idea what to do with themselves.

That is why I write about love.



Where there’s smoke. . .

Zeeniya Yahiya

Where there is smoke

There is fire

The red, yellow flames soaring with desire

As the smoke attempts to reach

The blinking glittery stars

The night is vast, mystic and inviting

The heat of the flames

Combined with the heat of our love

Is at war with the cool night breeze

The embers trickle away

Cackling, as if mocking, yet approving

The rhythm of the embers and the fire that rises

Sweet harmony in our ears

Where there is smoke

There is fire

And two bodies in love, in desire.


Lynn Park


When there's smoke..

my mother's cooking fish

the aroma fills the kitchen

sniffing and water at the mouth


when there's too much smoke,

smoke detector starts beeping

we scramble around and panic

fan and blanket at the fire


when there's finally no smoke,

that's when we gather together

have a nice meal with each other

with a smile and the fish on our plates

***

Errin Hadnot


Where There's Smoke

It's winter-time,

cold wind blows,

in an empty room

nothing but a fire place and I,

chills run up my spine

causing goosebumps to arise.

Flip the switch,

turning the blazing flames on,

where there's smoke,

in the red brick chimney.


***

Salena Huang


Where There's Smoke


Where does my mind travel?

When I am forcefully caught

Helplessly planted in the gravel

And held hostage past the lot

What I remember becomes a fog

My adrenaline pumps and

My eyes peeled shut like a dysfunctional cog

To my surprise, I see a hand

As it have never looked so reliable

I reached out with all my strength

A determined grasp was undeniable

Just grateful for going to such lengths

The smoke was thick and unbearable

The smoke left everything incomparable

***

Allison Ferrini

Where there’s smoke

Where there’s smoke

There’s friction between bodies

Hot flame breath

There’s skin burning

Love and lust and heat

Wrapped around your ribs


Where there’s smoke

There’s dust

Gaunt coyotes and insanity

Parched brush

Scorching sand and talking skulls

Insincere sun tattooed onto flesh


Where there’s smoke

There’s explosions

Plumes of Armageddon

Missiles through the sky

Bright gun flashes

And shiny beetle helmets


Where there’s smoke

There’s history

Ancient battles lost

Gods dueling, mortal devastation

A heart kept in a box still beating

Useless hope


Where there’s smoke

There’s snakes in a pit

Preachers screaming temptation

Chlorine baptisms, plastic crucifixions

Tequila communion

Group suicides and poisoned punch


Where there’s smoke

There’s your hair

White cloud around your head

Whipped by the searing wind like a candle

In your inferno eyes

In your branding mouth


So don’t tell me where there’s smoke all you see is fire


***

Calista Baramki-Azar

Where There’s Smoke

It rises

Furling, twisting up chimneys

Caught on a breeze

Taken

Somewhere far, light under a bird’s wing

Stumbling, stretching its embrace through sky and clouds

Descending

Kissing willows, trailing fingers through streams

Rolling, expanding, whistling through your hair

Seeping

Hiding behind boulders, taking cover from the searching wind

Caught

On a breeze, sucked under the doorway

Only to escape.

Furling and twisting

Up your chimney again








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