Are socially anxious people always acting? Always completing a stage performance? “Lights, camera, action!” every time they leave their home? I deserve an Oscar. Countless times have I stepped up onto the stage of life and performed until I felt weak. Feigning fascination until I feel faint. The mask seems glued to my face now.… Continue reading Ode to the socially anxious
Category: prose poetry
These are posts that are poetic, literary and prosaic in nature, not necessarily fitting the poem format.
Teddy – a poem
Teddy bears forgotten atop wardrobesCough dust as they yawn awakePeering patiently over the edgeWatching - watching the girlThey used to know.Would they be proud of who you’ve become?Your laughter used to animate their limbsLong picnics in parksFast frolicking in grandpa’s gardenA memory - long gone. What secrets could teddy shareKept behind stitched lips and beady… Continue reading Teddy – a poem
Stolen Voices – poem
There must come a time When the silenced speak Voices break free from locked boxes Kept underneath a royal bed. The Little Mermaid lullaby lied Teaching girls to sell their voice For a promised Prince and Immortal soul. Funny - It was always the voice That made us eternal Yet cracked hands of crones Claw… Continue reading Stolen Voices – poem
Powerlessness – a poem
Dry cracked palms pray - For better, better than this. Broken promises pierce pockets Pennies pouring into bottomless pits Foreigners found on shores - Imprisoned. Beautiful black men hands high Bloody. Same-sex Lovers lying in arms Denied. We plead. We pray. We play along... From high white thrones - They cackle. Monstrous men mighty. Footprints… Continue reading Powerlessness – a poem
Black Lives Always Matter. Black History Always Matters. – poem
As February comes to a close, Making way for the coming of spring I want you to sing of the dead Black boys and black girls. Gospel and grace holds space for their names Their pain our pain forever ingrained In our hearts, our days, our future Untouched by their feet. Because Black lives always… Continue reading Black Lives Always Matter. Black History Always Matters. – poem
What Makes A Poem? (poem)
I’ve been pondering a question: What makes a poem? Is it the rhythm of a repeated rhyme? Time, meter - line? Hmm... Assonance plays with sibilance Not forgetting consonance A friend to fickle alliteration A simple station - yet we Stop there. Pay your fare and Play your games fair! What makes a poem? Perhaps… Continue reading What Makes A Poem? (poem)
And I’ll Be Fine, Happy Even (poem/journal entry)
*This is a poem, of sorts, but also just a stream of consciousness about the fears and pressures I've faced lately...* We'll find a house and make it our home. Draped in cosy comforts that feel like ours. It'll be tiring and imperfect but we'll make it work. And I'll be fine, happy even, just… Continue reading And I’ll Be Fine, Happy Even (poem/journal entry)
Self-Isolation (poem)
Somehow Spring has raised its glorious head,and yet the world must watchthrough dirty glass.Trapped - a barrier between usand the new green world outside.I weep. A grand plague has reached itsskeletal black hand to our throats.A virus born from nothing -We were not prepared.We are not prepared.Selfish sisters and brutish brotherstake to the shelves and… Continue reading Self-Isolation (poem)
Copacabana NY (poem)
Underground space always alive. Awake. Laughter, clinking glasses, dancing heels the song of the sax chant of the cello pull of the piano. Each ever-moving body is clad, head to toe, in golds and silvers twinkling like stars, at night with every jig. Suit and tie are mandatory, here. Mystery is kept by smoky… Continue reading Copacabana NY (poem)
Broken Compass (poem)
Lost and uncertain The space between a forgotten past and an elusive future grows. Thickens. Stretching across the black sea I'm surrounded. My boat drifts along the endless landscape of time. My clock, ticks. Is it this way, or that? I've long been alone, here. Broken compass shifts, with each passing tide. Am I… Continue reading Broken Compass (poem)
S. R. Crawford 