Only Happy Lies

I told myself at the beginning of this year
That I would try to write only happy poems.
That is harder to do than it sounds.
But would it be a lie if I said I tried,
But then wrote something sad instead?
Would it be a lie if I said this prompt
Made me happy,
Didn’t take me down a rabbit hole
I didn’t want to go down?
Don’t get me wrong,
I love rabbits, especially the little cottontail ones,
The ones with the cute little noses.
No lies there.

But would it be a lie if I said I’ve never lied?
Ok, don’t answer that. I won’t if you won’t.
It’s not a lie that I don’t like lying,
Especially to myself,
But to stop lying, I have to examine the life I lead,
To reflect on who I think I am.
I must ask myself the tough questions 
and answer them, honestly.

Hello. My name is Paul, and I’m a liar.
It’s been 3 hours and fifteen minutes since my last lie.
But who is counting?


—Paul Causey

Idol

There lives a god within,
my own personal creation.
This is a god tranquil as a river trickle.
Cypress roots and limestone rocks 
along the river banks collect her.

This is a god as sinuous as wind
that glances along skin.
Bare arms, bare legs, bare skin,
wet with sweat,
welcome the parting curtains of heavy heat.

This is a god that burns alone in rage,
as sudden as the lightning’s strike
on dry prairie scalp,
overgrown, praying for a burn,
for the steam of scars,
the green survival that resurrects back.

There is a god inside, 
my history’s creation.
I wish I could atheist her away.
But she is there to stay.
I must restrain, I must care for her,
remind myself
that offerings to her are 
an offering to me and you.


—Emily Romano

Untitled



— Kim Mosley 

Tomorrow is a Yesterday

What fun to find 
that without my fear
or the lies that resistance insures survival,
tomorrow becomes a yesterday  in waiting.

Where time resembles 
 a canine expectation
on windowsill watch - 
a perfect strategy
to stay in puerile fascination.
To know the whole of everything 
with that childlike speculation
of what makes sense in this world.

A world that’s still, when my heart is full. 
A world not needing much in certainty.
Just being quiet enough to hear 
creation in conversation.

And in this world of mine
today is the only thing of value,
not needing trust or hope
but imaginations 
that have just enough wisdom 
to be confidants of the absurd,
to ask to place a window next to everything
as perhaps I'll need to go out and play.


— Ed Sancious