Creative
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Dead Eyes See Dead Stars
Dead Eyes See Dead Stars by Matthew Brothers Cylinder of sound rotating around, ears hear voices from the ground. Crawling about below, what they do no one can know. When the sounds surround, the decayed will run, scream, and cry. Those reactions given to the realization, and the three are shared across the nation. This moment of sound, when the skulls look around, they all learn what they are- the bones of those perished so far. They can move, their senses active, however, their sight- what they see is not attractive. Their sight blinded, their hope bound -to despair. Blindly trying to dig to the top, reach the starry sky.…
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Flicker
By Matthew Brothers Lights flick on, lights flick off. Lights flick on, lights flick off. In the dark, creatures dwell, can’t you tell? So, don’t turn out the light. Unless you want to be plunged into that chaotic night, don’t ever turn out a light. If you heeded my word, you can read this warning well, you’ll be ok, so long as you remember. Keep the generator running; the electricity can’t run still. In light, you’re safe. In dark, meet your grisly fate. There’s a line between the horizon of safety and demise. It’s a clear switch when light enters and exits. But when lights flicker, what happens? Will…
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SOMEONE ELSE
by Anna G. Potter Dear sorrow, dear last swallow of coffee, dear folded-up longing, dear late-evening fog, I am supposed to write a letter with something important to say to someone else. Someone else. Dear someone else, dear other being, dear alternate life, dear what’s-his-name, dear story-bearer, I am supposed to say something important about you, me, this brief lapse of time. Time. Dear time, dear spiraling-dead leaves, dear autumn, dear spring, dear ever-healing-wound, dear gap, I am supposed to let you pass with measured optimism, but you crash and collapse into free verse. Free verse. Dear wilted metaphor, dear upside-down simile, dear sideways symbol, Dear everything-has-meaning-if-you-look-hard-enough, I am supposed…
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Bust of Maria Barberini Duglioli
Marble is cold, Unforgiving material mocking the sculptor But your eyes, though blank, bear softness. Spider webs lace your collar, contrasting sharp Round beads collecting at the neck. Not in your Blood to be gentle, you, queen command Attention among whittled down features. Your fragile beauty speaks more than cold should. By Jenna Moses
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Sestima for Future Thought
Sestima for Future Thought By Jenna Moses If our world has survived boiling down to nothing, Through our drawn-out years of wasting and decay My hope is that you are well and alive. A great-great-great-grandchild so far ahead That you are much less than a memory to me, And I, likely the same, to you. It is not frequent, my thinking of you, For the things I know are slim to nothing. But I could guess the same in your idea of me: One full of rot and decay, Less about a young girl in your shoes, with journey ahead, More of Grim Reaper, heaven, or spirit, than alive. But…
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To Wrinkle
by Jenna Moses To Wrinkle is to create a fold, cause some thing to be imperfect in appearance, in stature, in grace. A blemish on the otherwise smooth face of a woman whose tired eyes cry lines through her cheeks, across her forehead, slither down to decrepit hands that grip desperate onto life but cannot stop the hiss of years wringing out like sheets on a windy day. Life becomes a flat line, which doesn’t look so flat pressed against skin. It is soft, speckled, requesting an iron be taken to perfect the folds.
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RockOut’s celebration of Acceptance Day & Halloween Haikus
During LGBTQ+ History Month, on Thursday, October 24th, 2019, RockScissorsPaper participated in RockOut’s celebration of Acceptance Day. During common hour, an array of clubs and organizations gathered in the quad to show their support for the LGBTQ+ community. We had a booth to show our support and to engage with the campus community through a writing activity. We had people write their own haikus using spooky-themed words as inspiration. A haiku is a traditional Japanese poem that consists of three lines. The first line has five syllables, the second line has seven syllables, and the last line has five syllables. The RSP staff read through all of the haikus and…
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Smart Prey
by Fatu Pombor The wind pierces her skin as her feet slip outwards onto the wet cool leaves. She is running, running somewhere, running nowhere, her mind doesn’t seem to know as she gets deeper into the woods. It’s dark, though the midnight sky is filled with swirls of lilac, sapphire, and amber. Only lit by the glow of the moon that drips its light onto the cold hard surface, leaving soft flickers of kisses against her warm alabaster skin. The air is sticky and filled with steam. It’s only a matter of time before he comes for me, she thinks to herself. She decides to run faster. The cold…
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Broken
He was stuck in an everlasting wasteland, one of the few able to see the real evils of the world, the evils that destroy and ravage even the most innocent and kind-hearted attacking their fickle minds like a vulture on the hunt, ripping through skin to pick apart everything they keep hidden inside feasting on the weak until they are nothing but an empty shell of themselves, left dormant, abandoned, hoping for the light. But the light they want is a light easily attainable through a cold barrel and that bright white flashing against a blackened sky, making them finally feel at peace with the world around them laying as…
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Inhabiting Circles
Conservative, she never swallowed love—just chloroform carvings. In the highway, cunts caused her security. When she discovered the truth during cunnlingus, such revelations formed shy ambidextrous men coming clean out of their heterosexual habits to copped up doublegangers; their covered bonds sundered into clipped wombs. She asked for compassion from a constipated Jesus Christ, finding clits in cupboards. She spit, trying to pour cubism into closets, or into openings covered with love. She never spoke, only called, just contemplating about canned goods staining petty lesbian hearts as they comically waited for shots in the light. -by Tabitha Punger DISCLAIMER: Please be aware that RockScissorsPaper posts only the true, original work…
