Poetry
Welcome to our poetry page, our most abundant section. The poems that are featured below vary in style and content but all ground themselves in the passion of the authors. Don't forget to press the "read more" buttons where applicable so you can read the full poems in their original formats. All poets have been credited for their individual works.
A Cold Autumn Evening in Queens
J.L. Stephenson
And we sailed to distant lands
by pipe and roll,
in the backwoods,
by a softball field
which I had never seen in such beauty.
and through smoke and packed herb
And ashes,
I saw an entire past and future.
Wrapped in denim,
smelling of a chimney that dared never to quell,
you were the fire in that pipe
and an escape,
brief escape,
from this damnation and expulsion,
from the good days
that I never knew all too well.
and thanks to you, I have felt less alone
in my lonesomeness,
less alone in company
that I so deeply adore.
Ailment
Aleena Jacob
Anesthesia for a rotten-old punch:
this is how they grew up so try to learn,
try to forgive, try not to hold this burn,
the Lord said this is how it is for you too.
The stove lights on, the power to burn
“How could you kiss him?”
The stove carries the milk, the source
“Do you have no respect for yourself?”
The milk boils
“Your father cried all last night”
The milk rises
“We never expected this from you”
The milk overflows, seeping down steel sides
into these hands plastered in the white cloth of shame,
“Just like when we had aunty’s girls over”
“Didn’t talk to them, of course not”
Twenty
Alexis Normandia
I am twenty years old and I am lost.
Not lost like a tourist in Manhattan,
But that of someone stumbling home after a long night
Or when you wake up in the morning and your hand gropes around for your glasses.
You know where you need to end up,
But you just can’t make out how.
I am twenty years old and I am lost.
But I have managed to locate incredible people in the fog,
The type of people you could not have any contact with for weeks and when you see them,
You pick up right where you left off.
Like time bears no wounds on the bond you share.
​
I am twenty years old and I am lost.
But I have heard songs that penetrate every level of confusion I have ever felt...
Another Evening in Europe
J.L. Stephenson
There are no lights here like New York City, except for you.
There is no memory that isn’t fading, except for you,
and I can’t wait much longer for the days among the cold with you.
The freezing winter in Jamaica was all the warmer with you there
and we pretended like we’d never age- just as the Romans do.
But we are aging, too quick for comfort, and I pray to end it all with grace.
But there isn’t grace in longing, no sympathy for my wishes left empty
because there was no voice in my throat when I needed it.
Only liquid medicines which last until the moments that you become a dream from another life.
I have a life like a worn black hoodie, all reliable and useful.
As a Result of a Night Among Friends on November 1st of 2019
J.L. Stephenson
It was somewhere after my fifth,
bourbon,
that i remember leaving my hand
on the frozen floor–
pressed on dusty tile while
the veins drawn along my fingers
pulsated
the same way my heart did
earlier in the night,
when I dared to look upon you.
my heart cries out, notice me
from across a bedroom–
but my eyeline falls short,
into the bottom of a paper cup
which is meant for water, juice, and the
rest of our innocence,
but serves none of them tonight.
i must be growing old now,
because i am not naïve enough
to see
a world with the two of us.
Bees to Flower
Eleanor Myers
and ain’t she the sweetest thing in the world?
I just want to sit on a couch with you, beer or no beer, until the end of time
legs over legs, or head on chest so I can hear the thrum of the bees in your ribcage as you talk,
answering what I’ve asked, just tell me about life while I look you in the eyes
bzzzzzzzzz
even covering the world with you would be nothing without a couch to sit on and to make it feel like
there was no end to time
beer or no beer
hand on hand, or head on bees
it doesn’t matter
there is no matter, is no time
watch the world fall apart to molecules in the background of watching me watch your eyes
​
cuz when I hear that voice and think ain’t she the sweetest thing in the world—
I know that it’s you standing behind that thought
Breathless
Aaron Perez
Airless, vacuum
Left me
Breathless.
Heart-beat racing
Left me
Wordless.
In a portrayal of words.
A picture spoken,
Artwork made from
Moving lips
Once inscribed
On white sheath trees.
Now, my fingers tremble
Poems quiver
In my mind
I'm not even
At the mic
Whisper
Not a word
Mind, a ball of yarn
Tangled
Twisted lines
Confusion
At it's best
Weaving words
Like thread
Seeing a quilt
From stanzas, verbose
Lungs pull for air
Like a dumbbell.
Stories written from my soul
Now erased from memory
Whisked away
Like a petal in the wind
A hurricane of words
A squall of thought
Meaningless.
Evening in Europe
J.L. Stephenson
Many days and nights have passed in Europe,
many of them before my eyes without any trace of recollection.
I have been left staring quite often, into nothing sometimes and sometimes
into you, which is nothing and everything in all the same.
I am stuttering in my words, my mind spins as if I’ve been on the bottle all evening
but I am stone cold sober, and yet drunk on you.
Because your words take me to Queens, your smile, straight to Paris
and your laugh is perched somewhere between the sun in Texas and Arkansas.
There is tequila and Peroni, some smokes and many memories rapid in the making
and I’m stopped for a moment each evening in the seconds before I rest
because I know this day is gone, and we will never have it again.
The day is gone, and we will never have it again.
Home in a Bottle
J.L. Stephenson
when i get drunk in new york city,
i remember home, the way she was.
i like to drop my eyelids,
see the stars out in the middle of nowhere, texas
and i like to feel how warm my mother’s hugs are.
i like to get buzzed and imagine my sisters laugh,
and how happy my father was
to just have me there with him, beside him, existing with him.
all of these come back to me
at the bottom of gas station wine bottles.
and sometimes i find mountains
in cheap whiskey from the liquor store just off campus,
I am again in the chilled and rain rusted bed of my father’s Ford
after a six pack of Shiner
and it saddens me,
to chase nostalgia in intoxicants
because the past flows only with the moon
and come sunrise,
i will have lost it all again to memory.
Central Park
Aleena Jacob
For some reason, I am awake
Before the sun rises, I lay on clouds
My mind wakes up first, from dreams of you
My body second, from the butterflies you release
Will you take me to Central Park?
So I can grasp the opportunity
To see those eyes gleam in the Sun
So I can catch your laugh in tune with the birds
Will I feel your hands with mine?
My palms reach but brush on sheets
My head snuggles into its own dimension
Before the sun rises, I slumber.
For unrelated reasons, I am in love.
​
* Full poem. *
My Boyfriend Talks of Mosquitos/I talk of Diaspora
Jaymi Grullon
My Boyfriend Talks of mosquitos
lurking in his bedroom.
He acts like
Walter White trying to catch a fly on the wall.
And I laugh.
That he knows
nothing about mosquitos
from our islands
as they suck your flesh so much
te quedas acabao’
His father Agu comes home from work
overhears this bendito dilemma
He thinks of Puerto Rico
the island he once knew
how he remembers wearing mosquito nets
​
wearing mosquito nets as veils
El abanico keeps the mosquitos at bay
For Nusrat Jahan Rafi
Nadia Islam
Our society proudly and unreservedly screams
Feminism and women’s rights
in opposition to the organized oppression of women in backward, third world countries,
Yet
Our society is rampant
with sexual predators
Hiding behind the masks of powerful men,
like slimy maggots wriggling beneath the skin of your juicy chicken wing.
Their gross crimes are given permission
by phony feminists, nonchalant news reporters, and the passive public
to shamelessly settle beneath crisp suits of sin
Solely because we refuse to believe the victim, as if she were the boy who cried wolf.
But no woman would invent false allegations
and endure extreme hate and notoriety
Rising Against Colonialism’s Palimpsest
Nadia Islam
You complain about immigrants coming in today.
They are war-ravaged; they have nothing—
Your people destroyed them with guns and treacherous pacts,
like a pack of wolves gouging out the guts of a lone horse.
You,
who live off my people’s blood,
How dare you complain about our state today—
the same state you concocted
By unashamedly cutting off our genitals because you wanted to teach us a lesson—
Who was the barbarian then?
By nonchalantly burning our bodies with mustard gas because we were disposable—
Who was the uncivilized then?
By eagerly putting us up for show in zoos because we were animals in your eyes—
Who, I ask, was the savage then?
​
You mocked our dark skin and our culture,
yet it is our ancestors
i’m in a three legged foot race with time and she’s winning
Francesca Fazio
tied and tangled together
we start off at a nice brisk pace
but knowing that this is a marathon and not a sprint, start to slow down,
a mere jog at first, then the scenery distracts
until, without knowing, we were simply walking
eyes wide with wonder of sights never seen before by seemingly a single soul
unfortunately the awe is cut short
as out of the corner of my eye another athlete appears
soon the competition takes president and the beauty forgotten
competitive fervor becomes the only motivation
the world beyond the track a grey smudge
then a stumble
a blink a second too long
a jagged pebble in an ideal location
and everything stops as face hits pavement
The sun doesn’t shine on 149th
Dasharah Green
The sun doesn’t shine on 149th.
I march along,
Snowflakes on noses
Shards of glass sprinkled like rose petals
Corner boys in Canadian Goose,
“Ayo, ma. You can’t smile?”
Their voice heavy,
Like the bricks of their project walls.
Mine cracked,
Like the gum stained sidewalk.
In my mind,
I tell them there's a poem for them
That there’s plenty of corners in the world
That life doesn’t start nor end on 149th.
I whisper my woes; they can’t hear me though,
I march along
Red and blue sirens cry out for us.
The hue doesn’t reflect off of melanin
I pull my hoodie down low
My vision a tunnel
Dark like pitch
Dodging weaving strollers.
I pick up my pace
Vibing to passing Mercedes booming systems,
Dice rolling
Heavy laughter, Heartier yelling
All of the Feels to Give
Dasharah Green
I tried to write a love poem once; it wasn’t terrible.
I forced every word on the page.
I scribbled in notes about love gripping the hands of time, an abundance of everlasting emotions,
two souls intertwined on a park bench, a living room sofa and a gas station. I wrote about
stability while using similes about playing love like the lotto. I circled hearts around the words
you and I, to up the stakes.
I even wrote it with pink ink to make it make sense.
I rhymed words like dream and sunbeam. I searched for synonyms that matched the feelings I
felt. I wrote of hydrangeas and doves, picket fences and the ocean, hearts racing and jumping
into your arms. I slept on it, came back to the poem and added a splash of us dancing in the rain,
like the movies.
I poured my heart out about pouring my heart out to you.
It was a very lovely poem.
Bedtime Story
Dasharah Green
Cotton candy kisses melt along my jawline
Your lips pause there,
A sticky caress
I can taste your sweat on mine
Salty and sweet
My favorite dark chocolate treat
The tattoos on your flesh
Tell your story
I dig my nails deep
To find an empty space
And carve out my name
Each syllable
You hum
Like the loveliest of lullabies
In my wildest dreams,
I’ll find you
In another life,
I won’t be born without you
You weren’t made for me
Yet,
You remain for me
​
* Full poem. *
Nappily Ever After; A Love Story
Dasharah Green
First,
Let me start off by saying, “I’m sorry. I promise to do better.”
23 years together and I still struggle to figure you out
I know, I know
I should know you like the back of my hand
I’ll admit it
In the past, I’ve burnt you to a crisp
Forced myself to flatten you out
Painted you as an image you weren’t grown to live up to
People would compliment how good you were
How they couldn’t believe that you sprouted from my ebony crown
Little did they know
In your untamed state, the Dominican ladies would stare at you
Control
Pravin Persaud
alarm blaring as she wakes
same time, every morning
her pills burn at the intake
same feeling, without warning
her pills feel weak for once
different thought, stupid brain
thinking of how she’s a dunce
hurtful thoughts, back again
she brushes her hair
seven strokes, five times
each movement with care
every mess up, a crime
she sits quietly in class
hands folded, every day
taking off her flats
feet fidgeting, must sway
eating her lunch slowly
twenty-three chews, always perfect
any less being unholy
always perfect, a side effect
​
waiting for the bus at the curb
same schedule, all week
her plans must not be disturbed
without order, life is bleak
​
​
The Dog Bed in the Dryer
Rachel Johnson
Don’t put a dog bed in a dryer,
especially if it’s cheap. You think
it’s no big deal, right? The dog
peed on it, why shouldn’t you wash it?
You throw it in without question.
If you put a dog bed in a dryer,
don’t ignore the fire alarm just
because your first thought is mom’s
just cooking onions. You already had mac and cheese
for dinner. Grab the dog while mom finds
the phone, and you and your sister run
down to the mailbox where
your parents told you to meet
If there ever was an emergency.
​
Like putting a dog bed in the dryer.
Don’t cry or panic or think about
Untitled
Tiffany Praimnath
There is no glow
Like when us Juliettes
Leave our supposed Romeos.
We blossom,
And their tears water our petals,
It’s the least they could do
After killing us.
(After decapitating us, so they could feed their ravenous egos)
Right?
Hell, hath no fury
Like when us Juliettes
Are scored by our supposed Romeos.
But for centuries,
The debate will be
Who killed who?
Was it me
Or was it you?
​
* Full poem. *
Untitled
Tiffany Praimnath
I started to feel nothing at all.
That dreary, dull numbness you kissed upon me
Cradled me
To sleep one night
And it hasn’t left since.
I’m performing an exorcism
~to hell with you
​
* Full poem. *
Our love part I.
Samantha Ruotolo
The night of our first date
You smoked your first cigarette
You undid the cellophane
Took the first cigarette to the left of the pack
Put it between your fingers
And grabbed your lighter
I watched the flame catch fire
You took the cigarette and tapped it
I watched the ashes
Slowly
Fall onto my dress
Creating a hole
At the bottom left corner
In the middle of the floral pattern
You coughed
Dropped the cigarette
And tended to my dress
"I'll never smoke again"
You said
And dug the heel of your converse
Into the cracked cement, where the cigarette laid
​
20 years later
I found that same pack of Kent
​In your Converse you wore to our first date
With only one cigarette missing
In the Rubble
Samantha Ruotolo
I miss the thought of you
I miss talking to you
And only talking to you
But I should have known
I dove headfirst
And you didn't want me to
I dove headfirst
Like how you run into fires
I dove
And I got burned
And you weren't there to save me
You didn't save me
You didn't even watch me
You didn't watch me stop breathing as the roof caved in
You walked away
With nothing to prove
You walked away
And left me
In the rubble
​
* Full poem. *
Honey
Luis Melendez
My Eyes bounce from corner to corner
imagining the feeling of your fingers on my birthmarks, with nails of colors I can’t quite place. The music that’s inspired me nests in my ears
and sings in my chest until I sleep.
I used to believe that I was better off dreaming
Until I saw that the breaths I take when I am awake share the air with yours
The sweetest kiss
withdrawn from your lips is Honey
seen in golden light.
So pure that it draws my tears from where they hide.
It would be tragic to leave with but one, so I ask for as many as you can give.
​
* Full poem. *
Divinity
Luis Melendez
I spoke to God through
the cracks in my wooden floor
which made markings in my forehead as I pressed into it
In prayer against the grain
as a cry for help
so that some sort of divinity
would let me keep you
I was ashamed
because asking you to stay should never have come you’re all I’ve ever known to be pretty in this dirty kind of world
​
* Full poem. *
You Matter
Luis Melendez
Pills and potions take their toll on you
My friend, I hear your story
Telling of what you thought to do
When you climbed the highest story
Of how you heard her cry for you and tell you that you’re strong for holding on to all this pain and fighting for so long
Although it’s surely been some time
And I haven’t seen you in a while
I promise I won’t forget the jokes that always made us smile
I know you’re trying day by day, to be the best that you can be So my friend, I’ll leave you with this,
You do matter to me.
​
* Full poem. *
My Cup
Esmeralda Nieves
I like my coffee bitter
Its rawest form, the healthiest
Hard to get used to
Some are overwhelmed by its bareness
I indulge in its ability to open my eyes
The way this drug should taste
It coats my tongue and throat with honesty
A little sugar doesn't do much harm
As long as the sharpness isn't blurred
I like my coffee sweet
The way she stirs milk
Hiding it's dark qualities
Enveloping it in sugar
Only the way she can do
Mama, why can no one else make coffee the same as you?
When I sip
Suddenly I'm not tall enough to see over the table
I need to sit with my legs beneath me
Reaching across for another slice of warm buttered bread
Poofy hair and wide-eyed
Only understanding saccharine
Slake
Ancient Olive Trees
Esmeralda Nieves
So much you have seen, dear ancient olive trees
Standing on the land of the great and the weak
Your eyes stay open
And you breathe in the truth
Only allowing life to flow from your lips
Minds so full, you understand everything will run its course
Soaking up the soil, you are no stranger to pain
Your roots have grown thick from the tears of your neighbors
And yet you still breathe life from your lips
Teach me ancient olive trees how to stand with pain and produce an abundance of fruits rich in
oils and taste
Teach me ancient olive trees how to breathe life from my lips
​
* Full poem. *
Stop Lights
Laura Altieri
I preach and I spew
to let things be,
telling everyone around me to
give life room for its natural path
without too much question as to why things happen.
These "things,"
they happen for a reason,
and we are expected to know that everything happens for a reason
from a young age, just like Disney tells us.
I preach and spew
because I like to believe that
coincidences are a myth,
just like my grandmother tells me,
because the idea
of everything coming to a clean point
satisfies me.
But I can't help but
wonder why it is that
stop lights only turn green when I have nowhere to be.
​
* Full poem. *
The Day Job
Aaron Perez
Freedom exists
In the mind
The wondrous thoughts
One may conceive
In the slow passage of time.
To the right,
Is a wall of glass
Looking over a meadow,
Where birds chirp sweetly
Where the sun rises
And though the body sits
The mind does not.
It sees
The hands move
Over sheets of white,
Covered in glyphs
And inky text,
Stories
That one could only wonder
Of their meaning.
Each one
Remade
Reprinted
And saved for tomorrow
The old, destroyed
The new, preserved
A resurrection.
And in the ease
Of such a task
The mind leaps
From the
Rebirth of these ancient words
To the many thoughts
That lie beyond
The Ways I have Called the Women I have Loved a Bitch
James Larkin
Behind her back
Behind her back
To my friends who also call a woman they love the same thing
Or behind her back with a smile on my face
Like I got some sort of right to do so
Behind her back while the word
Effortlessly falls off my tongue
I’ve done it in a text
In response to a simple statement
Maybe I took it as a threat
And I only knew how to follow anger
With hurting someone
I’ve done it to her face
In front of everybody
There was this one time where I did it while slamming the table with my fist
Because I thought it would shut her up or something
And looking back
I know I had a young mind that was confused and uneducated
That thought the only way to carry myself through high school
Was through strength
Strength in my voice
HOW WILL I SURVIVE THIS
Tiffany Praimnath
Darling girl
Stupid child,
Have you learned nothing from the woman before you?
The lady phoenixes
That have died,
Been burned at stakes,
Have resurrected
After the males took their breathe away,
WE LET THEM TRY TO KILL US!
WE
ALMOST
LET
THEM
HAVE
ALL
OF
US!
CACKLE IN THE FACE OF THEIR DESPAIR, CRY AND CRY AGAIN,
LET IT SHATTER YOU,
FEEL EVERY OUNCE OF PARALYZING DREAD
Vernazza
Sydney Reyes
what is motion?
it is the color of coca cola bottle glass, smelling like freedom
the color of myth, smooth as thunderous marble streaked with
lightning
old as painted cliffs,
broad brush strokes running into sea foam
it is emotion
it is a bottle of white wine and dancing in a grotto
alone save for yourself, a good friend, and the sea herself
it is a castle, it is a cat, it is two black and white dogs chasing
the tide
it is kind strangers, it is acoustics
it is prayer in the form of love
of gratitude
of shades of real beauty, of some aphrodite’s blush echoed
across buildings with green shutters, half open
it is playing word games and eating gelato
​it is sunset, it is saltwater squelching your shoes
Waves Caress the Sand
Naomi Jenkins
The beach is always considered a place of peace,
Or escape. Escape from the perils of reality. Paradise.
Watching the waves caress the sand as her freckles danced along
her rose-colored cheeks - slightly sunburnt from all the heat.
Grains of sand tickled the in-betweens of her toes as she looked
Beyond the horizon, full of intrigue. Wondering about the unknowns, the depths of the ocean that she would never know.
The taste of cheap alcohol trickling down her lips as she downed another shot. Looking for an escape while looking at the waves.
People fall in love with the idea of the sea, the idea of an escape, the idea of the unexplained.
Exotic we call it. Something about its mysterious nature entices us.
She sticks her freshly painted white toes into the warm waters.
What I Wish I Knew
Naomi Jenkins
I wish I knew that high school was nothing like the movies.
I wish I knew there was no Troy and no Gabriella,
but couples so desperate to make that their lived reality.
I wish I knew that eating school lunches was always the best choice.
I wish I knew why it was so hard to get to school by 7:30.
I wish I knew who would still be my friend.
I wish I knew who would betray me.
I wish I knew why my skirt would always rise up.
I wish I knew why my pants were always too tight for the principal's standard.
I wish I knew why my body was always treated like a pariah,
something that should be hidden.
​
I wish I knew why boys would rate which girls had the fattest asses.