The Sharon Academy

Any Other Tuesday

Turn down the TV! Don’t your gray eyes see, that

justice is soundly sleeping? All these scenes of talking,

without speaking. But, the milk still pours,

and the shoes still fit.  It’s almost beautiful,

How it works, and moves, and lifts.

 How the coat still lies behind the chair,

How the wind still likes to kiss the hair

But here, nor there, nor anywhere

Is the one who makes all the difference.

But the dog is down, and the lights are

Up. No need to cry into your cup. But you my dear, Read more »

»

Pop

There were nine moons in Spain,

So I asked you “Well why?”

You told me “Just gumballs

Up there in the sky.”

So we went out for tea, and we braided our hairs

And drowned in the river

Since nobody cares.   

»

Trashcan Feelings

To my New York City baby

In apartment 15 C

If you’re so cosmic

Why don't you write your own damn

Poetry? 

»

Black Postcards

Run back to your empty faced Eden

Where the people are pretty, and exercise daily. No,

don’t send nice postcards, or call on my Birthday. I’ll just

Adopt a dog. Oh honey,    

I really didn’t mind you hiding from me

But why did you have to hide from yourself?  

»

L is for Like Me

S stands for sorry

For all we’ve become.  

Because baby, what’s the use

In putting up streamers  

When I just burn the invitations?   

»

Maybe Next Week, I Guess

I'd thought to write a brilliant piece this week

A clever thing, chock full of puns and wit

A piece that hardly needed a critique

The reader could just sit and ponder it

The perfect line to start- now that's the key

To draw the reader in, to spark desire

Once drawn in it would lead the he or she Read more »

»

Static

We’ll wait awhile, you and me.  

Listen to Sam Cooke come cool

through our radio haze, and linen.

Then, in that easy honey morning, a change

really will come after all.

And I will slowly see, that you are the prettiest lie

I have ever waited with.       

»

The Everchanging Room

 

Life is like a room: Read more »

»
Nicole Faust's picture

Weaver

I try to phrase things right.

Really, I try so hard,

but the words seem to simply slip through my fingertips,

falling through the net of lies I've told myself

into the pile of snippets of language I've forgotten.

 

And when I try to retrieve then,

I get caught up in the fibers

I wove together to catch, Read more »

»
Syndicate content