Did I mention that Max wrote good poetry?
Must read from Georgia Park!
St. Peter greets his next soul at the gates, and asks for his name. This particular soul shakes his long hair out then looks up and says:
“As long as there is something to hold onto
there will always be hope, struggle, curiosity
As long as I still draw breath
there will always be adversity
until there comes a time in life when I can no longer see
I will know there is something that cannot be taken from me
As long as there is a mother to bring life
there will always be fertility
As long as there is a father guiding
there will always be integrity
As long as there is a son to raise
there will always be prosperity
As long as there is a daughter to praise
there will always be felicity
until there comes a time in life when I cannot be me
I will know that there is something that I cannot see
As long as there is someone to teach
there will always be university
as long as there is more than one way to interpret the lesson
there will always be controversy
As long as there is a student to make a stand for truth and justice
there will always be a revolutionary
As long as there is a brother with which to share
there will always be honesty
As long as there is a sister to love
there will always be family
and the dream of equality
When there comes a time in life
when these are things I can no longer see
I will know that this is what will be the death of the free”
Jim pauses, looks around, and then says,
“By the way, mister, where in the hell are we?
28 by Nate Leland
I watched the moon rise like she was forgetting
another lover every minute,
like tonight… she was finally
gonna make it,
gonna trampoline off clouds and find her way without
Gravity been too heavy,
and the oceans are exactly as big as they seem.
Do you know what it’s like
when even water follows you everywhere you go,
but doesn’t have the time or inclination to touch you?
She was the opposite of meteorites,
bound for space where she would revolve around no one.
When your life is a reflection of another’s light,
how would you feel about the one who monthly blotted you out
and recarved your face every night in shades of his image?
Tonight she is untarnished.
Tonight her texture is only the shadows of her own character.
Tonight she is so beautiful and generous,
the man in the moon nothing but…
View original post 225 more words
swirl and stream
They nibble in
sharp, little stings
on the tender
at the joints of
hot vapor, and
I impel this
body move on,
in short, sure
My left heel
catches a slick—
screams out a rubber
sole and stone.
I have slipped
my own blood.
and I am stilled;
it is not the sickly
ferrous tinge of
the wounded and
it smells like
to ink my
Blind, deaf, and
one of haîma
I stamp out my
your way in
View original post 17 more words
how do i go on
now that this bitter husk
no longer bears your burden
now that shattered skies
no longer paint your visage white
left with naught
but false impressions
framed upon your pillow
and all the stars have fallen
from the absence of your eyes
Max Meunier (Max Meunier Poetry)
[Max states: “I write about the things going on in my life. I am a feminist, humanist, cat loving musician bound by whimsy and the incessant analysis of hyper-vigilant observations. I am obsessed with words and rhythmically woven wordplay.” We are honored to have him as a member of our tribe.]
Here are ten years spent searching for the antithesis of a life uselessly lent to Keurig machines brewing, daily traffic migrations idling, flat-screen TV’s streaming: Here are the screams of the mad-eyed peeling their scalps to let out the vacancies eating away at their brains. Here are the years spent shifting desks in dormitories where your youth went for a degree in death management: You found yourself crawling naked hysterical on the sidewalk well past sun-rise. You took the plunge and scrapped gum from the sidewalk, making yourself a lunch to carry downtown for a day staring listlessly at trees in the park, where you found, on a pedestal, a mirror looking down at you. Here are your dreams above the obscurity of the crowds – a PhD in philosophy, Mr. Little Camus you could change the world.
Here are the scars on your forehead the time you realized the…
View original post 208 more words