“2018 The Clock Strikes 13” 4/1/18 “Best Piece” Finalist

2018. The Clock Strikes 13   When did students attract so much lead You have fun; I have PTSD instead. Shots fired Another one dead   Cops creeping ‘cross private property Phone in-hand But they see this black skin on me Boom! Another one dead   Forced ‘cross the border? Trump is outta order! Media distraction turns  heads Meanwhile Boom! Another one dead.   Troubled white man Murders unarmed elementary kids Why not dead? Just ‘sick’ in the head-   Why must history repeat? This U.S bullshit is not discrete BLACK LIVES MATTER DO NOT RETREAT Boom! Another one dead.     America, enough of us have bled! NRA Pockets Deep and FED Blue lights evoke fear and dread   Kaepernick’s passive epiphany “Everyone-take a knee.” He said. Career of a great man-not dead Change came instead.   Beware. Knowledge does not come cheap. Someone knows secrets of the elite And as soon as someone starts to speak… Boom! Another one dead.   Wise Words to Consider To everyone reading this, I want to make it very clear that this is a work of poetry, an art not to be taken offensively. I have my personal opinions on this poem, as I’m sure all that read it will. Comment Wisely.   “2018 The Clock Strikes 13” Won Because It reflects major events that have flicked across America’s Newsrooms. These events were, and still are controversial today.   Dez R. your $100 Cash Prize is on its way to you. Look for this ^^ & know that it’s Athena’s Golden Seal, reserved only for finalists. Thank you so much for reading, and sending in to Athena’s Poetry. If you want to learn how click here. Or just print and mail to: Athena’s Purse Meridian, MS  P.O Box 4515 39304   I really loved reading your work 🙂…

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Athena’s Poetry: “Ode to Pablo Neruda”

If given time I could traverse the lands, and gather enough shadows to fill your ink well. I’d watch you write the petals of flowers as they fell, then allow you to rummage through all the drawers and pigeon holes in my head. You could roam over the pit of my mouth, and insert your memories. We would time travel, before my government could erase you off the blackboard. Your thoughts, your lines forever uncoupled, wasted. With you I wish to brood over water droplets, savoring the difference between rain and tears. Your work says none at all. Sitting in your eye sockets I would explore the erotic pulse of poetry. Swim in its passionate sweat, and drink its juices as we gaze at the body of woman, raw. In ashes, and the brim of your hat you clothe her. Your language the language of water -fluid: enough to cleanse, and potent enough to drown. Stanzas flow from your hands like sangria, the wisdom of the vat eternal. I found your book of promises among a million, and in the full light of day, we walk in the shade. My eyes burn with the smell of incense and spiced street candy. I dance among your personas. I gather silence to begin to hear your genius. Orchids bloom in the periods of your sentences. Neruda: sensual, rustic, exposed, and yet secret. When I finish I’ve just started, and once I’m back I’m gone once more. If I live twice I shall still only know you far enough for once. As to explore you, is to be talking geography.   “Ode to Pablo Neruda” -Doorress A   This is a poem that won “Best Piece,” and was published in The Streetcar. It was a personal favorite of mine, which almost always means it…

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