A poem and quote prompt no. 31
“Be careful, lest in casting out your demon you exorcise the best thing in you.” — Frederick Nietzsche
she walks about the sand
here, a piper is her grandfather
finishing dripped touches
on a Gaudi castle
praising her lower self
for stomping the dream
before the tide rises
she’s still looking
for shadows…
A Poem
Call up your favorite languages
Call up your mother tongue
Spill out your crafty treasure chests
Dust off your used to be hobbies
Pull down the attic ladder
Gather the scrapbooks, the yearbooks, the printed photographs
Your sewing machine
Restring your guitar
Clear your throat for the harmony
Gather the heirloom seeds
The fabrics and dyes
Your crochet and knitting needles
Your…
Always learning teacher/writer/mama/wife/sister/daughter
Hi! My name is Samantha Rae Lazar. Thank you for taking the time to read my little auto-bio. I began writing on Medium in June 2019, and I am in love with this platform, even with all of its challenges and changes. …
Prose poem
I’ve got a long way to go to catch up with you — perhaps the breeze behind is a little cooler/a little less restrictive (racing again?) broken-down arches, and an aging favorite tongue — I need nothing of your attention, but there you are
waving two-handed at the summit/I see you…
A poem
will I fade away
I dreamt of burnings
irons left on to ignite
my boy woke me
called mama
a startled grunt
still dark
I checked his cave
breathing
deep in his own
dreams
will I fade away
solar lamps
a smiling moon waxing
over October
and we’re all doing
the best we…
I am not really empty
Readers,
You may or may not have noticed I have been less active on Medium these past few weeks. My two publications, Sky Collection & Inspired Education are up and running again, but other than that, my own writing is staying close to my heart right now.
I have been…
Poetry Prompt: medical musings
no one uses a sidewalk as a bed
as a general rule for living
fire ants enjoy a good skin swarm
depression of the nervous
system might work better
when you take only one
no one chooses concrete
to survive a major interaction
I wonder if you were bummed
to…
Poetry of scarification
I’ve got a low boil, slow boil ache —
the kind that stays supple in the Tropicana days
the kind that left me winded on the sidewalk outside
Jade Garden at 87th and Metcalf Avenue
half a mind to walk home in the flash flood splash
with no forgiveness in my heart
for a man…
A post-modern love poem
turned on its head,
the horse kicks rainbows
go ahead and bury the metaphor
if you’re not ready to see
refill eight cups
that makes all love stay
at least the night
then perhaps pancakes
here we inverse the devil
show the raw to the raw
soak up all we’ve ever been
sponge…
