Monday, January 30, 2012

Poems by Thom Hart


The sweet aroma
Released from
The pores of the earth
As the frost
Steadily thaws and
Spring is made
Apparent, yet it is
But January


I will love
You as long
As love endures
As a cliff
Resentfully juts
Out above
The sea.

I’ll find you

And I’ll search
High and low but on
The mountaintop I will
Find you waiting.
Do not leave me.


Look out the window,
Look, it’s me,
Or my soul.
Look, it’s a popped
Balloon, hanging
On a dead branch.
Look, I saw your
Face today, but
Every time it wasn’t
Look, my friends are in the crowd.


Blood vessels straining
You dare them to
Push their limits
I yearn with every
Inch of my body
Every breath,
Every thought,
Involves you.


Music on my eyes,
Relief, contentment
I am happy
Thank god,
A Monet.

Saturday, January 28, 2012

Friday, January 13, 2012

poem by Tyffany Richards


What are you?

Call me colored but I won’t be offended.

Just means to me I’ve got more shading

Than a black and white portrait

Different shades

In one picture

But aren’t you black?

In a way

More like mahogany

Smooth almost dark brown with a red undertone

Not shiny blue black

Brown like the soil

Or tree bark

Like cardboard boxes

Like coffee and milk

Where are you from?

Not here not there


Where are you from?

I’m from many places around the world

But I am from my mother and father and the earth itself

Who are you?

I am me.

Mahogany brown skinned me

Who identifies with everything and everyone


Not Black entirely, nor White

Not Asian or Latino

Nor Indian

Not entirely.


Mahogany brown

Colored girl
Congratulations overdue! to Tyffany Richards, for having this poem chosen to be read at the ASAP Celebration of Young Writers at the Washington Town Hall in 2011. The poem was recently recovered and we thank Tyffany for sharing it with us. 

Friday, January 6, 2012

Poem by Sarah Shulman

Cry baby cry.
Actually no, you’re giving me a pain.
Slowly progressing, sometimes depressing.

Your dog is rude; it bit me in the face.
Yes it hurt.
Cry baby cry.

Your unshaven face is a playground for my fingers.
Your baby blue eyes, a universe, which pulls me.
Slowly progressing, sometimes depressing.

Travel the world, and try new things.
I’ll culture your belly, like it or not.
Cry baby cry.

Eight days a week I would make my self available.
While you check your twitter,
Slowly progressing sometimes depressing.

Please, the sand is running thin,
Get off your screen, and let me in.
Cry baby cry.
Slowly progressing, sometimes depressing.

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

songs, photos and writing by Thom Hart

Recommended: Thom Hart's bandcamp site. Have a look and listen. Also, check out Thom's writing here.