love, poem, poetry, prose, Uncategorized

Paper-thin Parchment

When I was six,

I crafted a heart from glue and loose glitter

on a morning, too far gone from now.

At an age, where a cow

jumped over the moon

and sung of spoons I had yet to bend

on plates, fated to be shattered by falling stars.

Dear six-year-old me,

trapped between the blank slate and the final stare,

don’t pay that blue much mind.

When you find

paper-thin parchment just so easily tears,

my prayer is that you’ll use that same-colored crayon

to construct a kaleidoscope

based on the wonder you’ve been told

and the colors you have yet to see.

Today, my heart broke,

which is to say for you,

it is just beating.

May this glue be your assurance that some things stick

despite the years

and wear on the hands that press red into the folds.

-A. Struthers

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artist, poetry, rhyme, Uncategorized

Diary Entry 1:

dante_gabriel_rossetti_-_proserpine_-_google_art_project

January 22nd: *I awaken from my slumber with a loose line in my head. As my mind seeks to attach it to some narrative, I recall Rossetti’s ‘Proserpine’ and take to typing this poem roughly near 5:20am in the morning* (Finished around 6:55am).

Proserpine

An empty incense burns beside
anemones upturned
and beckons for the beauty
in the alms that were adjourned.

Bequeathed to Death, as if to Life,
the curse of Myrrha holds
the remnants of remembrance
by the seed that stains her folds.

An alabaster artifice
is all that’s left of love-
A portrait of the daughter,
none would slaughter twice the dove.

-A. Struthers

-Image: Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s ‘Proserpine’ (1874)-

poetry, rhyme, Uncategorized

Ben and Jane

He was Ben.
She was Jane.
Two children in a class,
not knowing what was growing
with each paper that did pass.

He was Ben.
She was Jane.
Two pupils in the hall,
drawing hearts on crumbled charts
and letters on the wall.

He was Ben.
She was Jane.
Too shy to hold her hand,
but bold enough to act as tough
and sit by her in band.

He was Ben.
She was Jane.
Their friendship slowly grew,
until one day, dear Jane did say,
“I’ve met a guy like you.”

He was Ben.
She was Jane.
His hope had turned to tears,
knowing what he’d let slip by
as pride had filled the years.

He was Ben.
She was Jane.
In six years time, she knew,
how her heart was tied to him.
When once she found, he flew.

He was Ben.
She was Jane.
Both by their love, did wait
for a bond that never loosed,
but was so ever late.

He was Ben.
She was Jane.
The two did live alone.
Sitting on their fears and tears
until he grabbed the phone.

He was Ben.
She was Jane.
The two did meet for tea.
In four year’s time,
the bells did chime
and so, the pair turned three.

He was Ben.
She was Jane.
The two are now a five.
And all because they took a leap,
the pair feel so alive.

-Amy Struthers