Anger-Ramble
My rival will vanish without a trace—
Not a sinew left to decompose, rot.
The one who I hate, I vow to erase
from the world of living. Plucked plant. Kumquat.
A solid, dead anchor, brushing some reed
under the deep sea. Like fish food. Plop. Drop.
Swell chest, blank eye. The consequence frenzied
in my brain. What about jail? Could I swop
cigarettes and gay sex for freedom? Work
it would be! Bow-legged stride. Question
nothing, impulse tells me. A poison smirk
crosses my demented psyche. Bleed crimson!
I will hate you as long as I’m able.
I don’t mean it. This is anger-ramble.
Seasons (A Cinquain)
Winter
sunshine on snow.
The white ice mirrors the sun.
Mom baking fudge, the warm kitchen
fireside.
Spring—
green life returns.
Ice morning dew chills toes.
Early morning bike rides, breathing
new strength
Summer—
red hot humid
city skyline, crowded
by three-day music festivals.
Sunburned
Autumn
thesis papers.
Bleak fluorescent lighting,
who knows what it looks like outside?
College.
Bionote
Alyssa Black is a student at IU Northwest in Gary, Indiana where she is the editor of the school's art and lit journal, Spirits Magazine. She hopes to one day become a teacher who inspires students to love writing.
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