Sunday, 5 November 2017

2 Poems by Jennifer Boyd

Politics, God, and Science

During breakfast, a grin
Saving up for change,

but seldom paying.

Teeth bared like train tracks,

a holler or whisper.

What am I?

Beethoven told his wife:
Sing me a song. I may be

deaf but I can still play ___.

Musicians and pilgrims

worship at the same altar.

Explorers come to me
to hear me divulge

the earth’s secrets.

I am indecisive and We

pray together,

not saying anything

What am I?


Directions to Jackson Square II

I was dishonest again.
When the subway approached, its warmth
shrill, pigeons croaked. We hoped to be unsung heroines
as pigeons took flight and
I vowed to be more like the lonely stranger across
the platform. He sang not in
minor but in prayers.
Perhaps he was an artist. He might have been
anything. But he did not write poems
under cellophane steps. He fanned
his blank canvas as the pigeons
watched. Holes filled my lungs as
he seized another empty space. He stole
God’s own words.



Bionote 

Jennifer Boyd is a sixteen-year-old from Boston, Massachusetts. She is the founder and editor-in-chief of The Onism Journal, an emerging literary and arts publication targeted to youth in the Greater Boston Area. Jennifer is additionally a blog contributor at The Huffington Post and UNICEF's Voices of Youth. Her poetry has been published in multiple literary journals, including The Critical Pass Review, New Plains Review, Glass Kite Anthology, and Tower Journal. Jennifer's work has also been recognized by the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards, Smith College, Hollins University, and Princeton University.

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