“The Doors of Then” a poem by Shawnelle Alley

 The Doors of Then

Shawnelle Alley [Shawnelle@theAlleys.us]

It wasn’t a dream, but it repeated

Then

Blurred together like finger-paint memories
Cement gray floors of confinement, tears fall
Where chunks are missing, though time crawls forward
Hugging splotchy white cinderblock walls
Rays of anticipation peek through rotting windows
Their musty lover growing moldy black specs
Clinging, like little sisters to their solid love

Continue reading ““The Doors of Then” a poem by Shawnelle Alley”

Ocean by Jackie Byers

Ocean

by Jackie Byers

There is a certain shape in me
That dreads the sea,
so I go down to the shore.
Once more I stride the grit
study the wind tossed foam
taste cold salt sea spray
And try
To drive the demon away.

He retreats a bit
But lurks beneath
The awe of boundless beauty
The thrill of perfect power
Purifying
Peace instilling
But never still.
Potential for disaster
Life unbridled, rampant, raging.
A wet blue heaven wrapped around earth
Nourishing teeming life
Gnawing at the granite edges
beginning and ending of all.

Words by Christine Janak

Welcome to National Poetry Month! Enjoy poems from Fine Lines and feel free to write and share your own!

Words

by Christine Janak

A violent hurricane of words
Shook the house.

They seeped through the cracks in the ceiling
And crawled under the doors.

They slithered up the staircase
And bled through the walls.

Thousands of fire-red ants
Seared pinholes into my flesh.

Words were thrown
Like crumpled tissues into a waste-bin.

I sat on my bedroom floor
With my knees crushed against my chest
As truth gobbled me up like a Sunday feast.

Words

Words

Christine Janak

A violent hurricane of words
Shook the house.

They seeped through the cracks in the ceiling
And crawled under the doors.

They slithered up the staircase
And bled through the walls.

Thousands of fire-red ants
Seared pinholes into my flesh.

Words were thrown
Like crumpled tissues into a waste-bin.

I sat on my bedroom floor
With my knees crushed against my chest

As truth gobbled me up like a Sunday feast.

Write

Write

Mary Anne Radmacher

Write to make
sense of life experiences.
Write to learn
as much as you can
from all the challenges and the joys.
Write because words and ideas are fascinating.
Write because exploring concepts is play.
Write to synthesize these explorations
and make them practical.
Write to become the best version of yourself.
In the process of seeking empowerment . . .
empower others,
write to inspire,
motivate, comfort,
facilitate, discover,
communicate.
In this scratching,
this making marks,
encourage others
to make their own mark.