Click here to load reader
Upload
maureen-burgess
View
217
Download
3
Embed Size (px)
DESCRIPTION
poetry chapbook
Citation preview
Bona Fide
Stephanie Furtun
Tree of Life
American hubris,
American greed,
American supremacy.
Why are you under my possession?
Isn’t it time to stop suffocating me?
Suffocating me of all the things I refuse to be.
Some smile,
While others whimper,
Why can’t life be anymore simpler?
The power of something green and mean,
Can change something,
So serene.
“ A casual stroll through the lunatic
asylum shows that faith does not prove
anything. ” –Friedrich Nietzsche
One
Life without a voice box would be no life at all.
A voice box is our gift from god to achieve what we
want and what we need.
I would live a life, unable to fight for my
strongest desires and aspirations.
The birth of nature speaks to me like my mother’s
broken English.
The audacity of her French accent guiding me
through a life filled with
Injustice,
Poverty,
Crime,
Fear,
And pollution.
Who’s going to be there for my daughter?
To tell her right from wrong,
Wrong from right.
Take away the risk she’ll have form being exposed
to
The oppressed government, our founding fathers
polluted us with.
Change our history; she doesn’t need to be wounded
from
Divorce,
Starvation,
Or the corruption
That ventures through our
Daydream nation.
Bring out the power of higher education.
Let the next generated be graced with appreciation.
For a life without a voice box would be -1
-1 for 2-3 = -1
-1 for the number of lives lost in the fire.
-1 for the fetus that died in his mother’s womb.
-1 for the points you lost in Jeopardy.
-1 for the one less strawberry in the fruit salad.
-1 for the one less voice box in our world.
“ A man who dares to waste one hour of
time has not discovered the value of
life. ” –Charles Darwin
The Land of Nowhere
Pale ashen skin
Raw black eyes
Head full of hay
Where are you from, young boy?
The man asked him.
He looked,
Up
Into his wrinkly visage,
And replied,
Nowhere.
Shelter
Her somber eyes
Beaming at the
Thought of a
Loaf of bread.
When will I
Eat?
She thinks.
Like a street dog
Sinking into the Black Sea.
Hopeless.
Timorous.
Weak.
Under the heap of lies,
A striking, shy mortal,
Pale porcelain complexion
Covers the freight in her eyes.
A pointy red nose
With Hair as black
As the heap of lies
I found her in.
“ Every man dies. Not every man lives. ”
–William Wallace