Arts & Culture

Poetic License

There a so many poems about Spring. Enough that we could read them for a full year. In our last edition of the Beacon I interviewed Sammy Biacho, and in this issue we’ll have two poems by him. We also have submissions from Ellias Poole, Jessica Curlew and myself. I hope you’ll enjoy the words and the sunlight shedding our coats. At this time of writing, the Writ literary magazine is almost in print! Be sure to get your free copy from the English Department in Preble Hall.

Dear Kindness,

By Sammy Biacho

On June 21, 1997, I would forever be known as a miscalculated

mistake which went wrong, waiting to be buried alive.

If I had not died by age eighteen, I got laucky.

I can wear my body until the day I give it up to nature.

Fuck nature! Why can’t I wear my body forever?

Why must death plant my seeds inside nature,

I want peace but why does the package come with sacrifice.

How selfish of me. Enough is enough,

there’s a bullet going through my soul, it made me scared.

I dropped to my knees and allowed the demons

to run through my insane mind, shattering

what was left of my happiness. I tried not to think but

the silence murdered my freedom.

A killer with strings and I was it’s puppet.

Dear Kindness,

What happened to our freedom to free speech, the pursuit for justice, equality,

and the practice of our own religion?

Eric Gardner died from multiple cops holding him down as he screamed “I can’t breath”

before dying. A malicious, hateful, bullet killed Trayvon Martin,

as he was walking with a hoodie on, may he rest in power.

Omar Mateen, an American born, killed forty-nine civilians at a gay bar,

he was labeled as having ties with Isis.

Twenty students and six adults were shot and killed at Sandy Hook Elementary School,

the murder Adam Lanza was labeled as mentally ill. As I speak,

two American men who fought for the flag and fought to

protect it’s proud nation, died standing up for two Muslim Women.

Children of undocumented parents are being torn apart from their families and locked away from sunrise to sunset.

Someone, somewhere in the world hashtags “MeToo”.

Dear Kindness,

Someone once said, survival is not our bodies but a vehicle

and happiness comes in the form of an outdated document

with an idea of what it means to be free.

My mind is killing my thoughts!

The president has said, grab them by the pussy,

A news anchor is telling Lebron James to shut up and dribble.

Society is made up of upper power and if they had it their way

I would be on a plantation: picking cotton, learning how to speak only for survival.

Screw society. They create labels to judge, attack, and oppress our happiness.

One day, hate will learn to love, and allow love to lay it to rest.

Dear Kindness,

Why can’t I remember being happy?

Shattered Heart

By Elias Poole

Freshly lit cigarette
put out on my heart,

but your words burn right through.

I get up,
the slamming of the door pushes me back
the tv silences the ringing in my ears.

Two lights shine bright in the window,
but I  have little color.
I turn grey.

I lay back down,
my head cracks against the wood,
I bounce back, clueless, broken.

Red gushes down my face,
she looked amazing in that red dress,
but now it is grey.

The sound of cracking echos around the room.
I try to crawl my way around but I can’t.
my hands are cut from the pieces of my heart,
as I  scramble to remember what it was.

But it’s now grey.

My walls are falling down,
they claw with devilish smiles,
I’ve fallen into the game.

She left me,
with no return,
I fell in love with the devil.

If only I blew out the cigarette.

Thaw, a Flower for a Pocket

By Liam Woodworth-Cook

The winter’s shipwreck scaffolding falls-

Ice sheets turn a puddle into soft steam touched skin,

Our pores sip fragrance.

I am reminded of times before and times before that, as I hear the trumpets of beaks.

My toes trace the map of dirt, tapping the roadwork

down south.

Frost’s metal binding collapses-

Swimming in the sea

the salt wasn’t bitter.

It clung a rind in reverence of renewal

While my tongue spoke gently.

Granite scars wash to polished bruise-

I am reminded of when weight was one bag.

Overindulgence is stacked like package store shelves,

heaping lethargy.

I am removing the bricks from the garden growing sprouts,

It has been too easy to tape my eyes with plastic.

My scuff marks are feathered by hand-stitched pillows warmly greeting

the sun that is vinegar for my freezer burn.

Tasting the hues

of fire pits I’m laying motion locomotive.

Melting is summer’s synonym for love.


By Sammy Biacho

A holiday meal doesn’t have to weigh a person’s self-esteem down.

A vegetarian Thanksgiving can be inspiring, not boring or stressful, but amazingly insightful.

When you dig in for the first time; to take a bit out the roasted grain of meat, with pumpkin pot pie, roasted butternut squash, swiss chard, sweet potato, and feta tart with crust.

A whole new world

Will open up inside your tongue.

A holiday meal doesn’t have to weigh a person’s self-esteem down.

Don’t chew too fast or swallow in a hurry!

Because a vegetarian Thanksgiving will not kill you.

If you allow the flavors to conquer your taste buds, I promise you the results will be wildly

Delicious. Let’s enjoy this experience together.

A holiday meal doesn’t have to weigh a person’s self-esteem down.

Letting Go

By Jessica Curlew

The sounds rise

the morning dew shines there and here

the coffee drips in the cup of heaven.

Rain falls, nuclear war,

Spiders wage wars,

strings collide.

Time stops only for a moment

and you can only see what you’re

paying attention to.

You hide behind the mask

little boxes on your head

little baskets in your heart.

Weave a web of spiraled webs of color.

The naked canvas awaits to be filled with blue and red

follow a thought through

and change the world.

The world is yours now and then.

Categories: Arts & Culture

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