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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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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…
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Visit by Ekiwah Adler-Beléndez, Poet
At 10 a.m. Adler-Beléndez will conduct a student poetry workshop in the Smith Center Ballroom, and at 5 p.m. he will give a live performance in the Smith Center Theater. For more about him, see the link below. His visit is part of the Kaleidoscope Arts Festival.
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Halloween
It lets the doom in, but not the doom out.
