Listening to the seagulls fly With white wings spelling angels talk Hearing the waves clearing me With a calming effect Warm sand Giving us land With my chair and air Umbrella for a cool moments Tender days to sandy stars Under my feet and swimming cars.
Near the Brook
Near the Brook, time loosens it’s rough grip. Water slides over smooth stones Like ancient secrets, catching the glow and breaking it into silver laughter. The air is cooler here, washed clean by the steady breath of the stream, every ripple gleams to carry a quiver a promise of rest. Leaves drift past like unhurried thoughts and dreams.
JoyAnne O’Donnell is an author of Winds of Time, first book, Spring & Summer’s Veil by Kelsey books and Palace of Enchanted Day and Night by Cyberwit, Heavens Medal, Summer In The Breeze.
You can find more of JoyAnne’s work here on Ink Pantry.
Disaster in her face remains as my guilt But I remember how we knew of the chance I watch as the old man across the street smokes a cigar, its flame flickering like lost hope He glances at his watch, watches as it ticks on by Nowhere to go, his eyes seem lost as he stares into the distance, his dusty glasses perched loosely across his face His thumb traces the worn leather of his bible, and he turns a page A little boy scampers towards the vending machine In his hurry, piles of silver coins drop one by one Kneeling, he picks them up clumsily, eyes strained with tears as one falls into a sewer His mother, panting, reaches up with a yellow handkerchief, wiping away his sorrow She offers him a lollipop, the strawberry flavored red one, and she smiles in relief as he takes it There’s lines across her face, but her eyes continue to shine A woman wearing a tailored suit walks on by The click of her heels click at a furious pace Her hair is tied into a neat bun, but a loose strand manages to stray
An Old Friend of Ours, Older Than I
I still remember it Time had battered its soul The faint whiff of my cat’s urine The beeping sound it used to make Crevices and grooves mark its skin The claw marks on the left side of its arm The peeling leather depicts a story of its life Somehow, it still tries, whirring back to life, determined
Made of black leather An old friend of ours, older than I Sometimes, I’d sit back and allow sleep to take me away Sometimes, I’d just sit down and do nothing at all All of the moments, big and small, had healed my soul Growing up, it had always been a source of comfort Even now, there are traces of its massive body in the dust
Changes had been made through the years How long has it been since the last time you held me?
Coated in Layers of Metal and Paint
Carved into my body are intricate shapes Edges coated in liquid gold Beauty caused by a single blade
Two faces, one hidden against the wall There will always be an angle you choose to hide from In another lifetime, another life will see me What they see, a face they wear daily Coated in layers of metal and paint Disguised as a tool to show your face The world I see will never depict reality A reflecting surface seems to shine from below Cold as the sheets of ice, it shows the world in a different view Small and insignificant, it stands tall and proud “Mirror mirror on the wall,” they say, but all I see is insecurity One day you’ll stand in front of me, demanding what I see But can’t you see? The world I see will never depict reality
Siha Park is a high school student and currently lives in the United States. Siha’s writing focuses on observation, memory, and moments from everyday life. Siha is interested in how attention changes meaning, and how poems can hold what might otherwise be forgotten.
