The stream (all workshops)
I wear a badge, my uniform is navy blue
I work to protect people, people just like you
Serving justice is my one and only objective
My heart is golden, my senses protective
My eyes are vigilant, my blood runs blue
I stand for the flag, and all that is true
I wake up each day to protect one and all
When death looks into my eye, I stand tall
Some wonder why I risk my life this way
Why I put it all on the line every single day
Truth be told, I'm not fighting what I see
I fight for those who stand behind me
SAY IT WITH FLOWERS
A posy of small pink roses, just in bloom
Matched with ribbon and shoes in a lighter pink
A blush of needed colour in any room
The candle is ready to be lit, I think
Just one rose as a buttonhole for the groom
All just hoping he is not the worse for drink
Wedding days should be both serious and fun
Flowers are taken, ceremony’s begun
All these words flow through my thinking
Come and go like summer days of youth
Once they’re gone they leave a trail
Of vaporous nostalgic sadness
Joyful feelings seem preposterous
Among so fragile and futile a task
Such as simply existing within
The constructs of murderous modernity
The tree on the hill looks as lonely as me,
But then again how could it be?
I have no one, no one at all,
Nobody ever comes here to call.
The tree has birds who nest and sing,
It also hears secrets the wind doth bring.
I have no one, no one at all,
Nobody ever comes here to call.
The tree has squirrels in its bough,
Eating nuts like they’re doing now.
I have no one, no one at all,
Nobody ever comes here to call.
The tree has picnickers around it come,
Eating and shading from the sun.
In the chaos of my fragmented damaged mind,
Will feeling so torn in it's tainted nature so dark,
Like somebody corrupted the original design,
And turned to waste what was once a true art.
Wandering through wastelands of soul desolation,
My broken heart beaten through a life of such woe,
My spirit cries out drowning in seas of suffocation,
Overcome by trauma of a lifetime of such sorrow.
For my 18th birthday my great aunt gave me a photo album, full of old pictures of my grandparents, and cousins, and great great grandma.
The oldest photo was from 1973.
For 50 years she kept a picture of her little sister safe, along with a whole album of others.
There were christmas cards from my aunt, and baby pictures of all of my siblings.
She labeled each with the name and date, and the event;
Every one scrawled out in elegant swirls and loops.
I wish I could write
about everything I see
the same way I write
about pain and love and fear.
Maybe with practice, it’ll come to me
as easy as the air I breathe.
But for now, I have to wear an oxygen mask.
Small
Written by Kelly Ann Wilson
We would like your body more if it was smaller.
We need your emotions to be smaller
Because we don't want to see human despair.
And we need your pain to be smaller
So that we don’t have to do something about it.
We need your response to be smaller
So that we don’t ever have to say
That what we did was not okay.
So much to explore
Books upon books out the door
From ceiling to floor
Laughs and cries I read
Hoping to find what I need
Reading at my speed
A day that I seek
Those special hours of the week
Keep me at my peek
I will come to be
A person who is so free
Able to be me
She had broken pieces when we met.
Some of the shards piercing her still,
revealing a disquiet of scars.
Love, the brigand that put them there.
When I gave her cut flowers
she had no chance of seeing
the field of understanding and tenderness
from which they came.
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