The following poem is an extract from the chapbook metaphors, metonymies, & anthropomorphisms. It is published here with the kind permission of the poet, second-year EPST student Alexandria Sisson, in celebration and anticipation of the season to come.
Just an Expression I wish I could draw: Give form to my thoughts Relinquish all the chaos of my imagination onto a page for another’s to make sense of I wish I could tap that boom bang clang The fount of liquid fireworks inside my head Let drip their colours into paintings or
A poem to the boy who owes my heart some heavy-duty patches, and soon, before it heals all crooked For awhile you were happiness A type I had never tasted before Somehow familiar – like nutmeg and cinnamon, fragrant and warm – But somehow, with laughter words a body and soul Your taste
In little rooms stacked like blocks, lining the pristine streets, they wait. Eyes big as street lights shine from their heads, heavy with anticipation, swaying side to side under the weight of waiting. Small bursts of excitement leave their lips like barks. Nervous bones lead to pacing and strange habits.
To know more about this project, please check out the first collaborative list, 20 Reasons to Run Away and Never Come Back, found here. 20 Reasons to Tell Them Because I need to practice my speaking skills Because my distress has made me feel less like a human and more like a slug Because I
Subtly overwhelmed by the realization of my graduation, I, like my graduating class fellows, have embarked upon the journey of exploring the world of “what if.” Amidst the swirl of mixed emotions signalling the end of another fruitful academic year at Bard College Berlin, I found myself caught within an entanglement which marks a fixed and certain
I have been thinking a lot about lists. And I have been thinking a lot about reasons. What inspires us to make the choices we make? Many weeks ago I started compiling lists of lines of poetry, not full poems themselves, but simply lists of one line each that one-day could belong to a poem.
How can a gesture erase a thousand others are less than the one person insufficient one flawless. The hand’s caress caressing un-draws figures in the sand the cathedrals, erected to capture children playing distant sounds the awe for God, now are now gossamer structures floating on the frothy water The hand holds grains towards the indeterminate