Spring Poetry: A Miniature Anthology
Caty Childress, Editor
Forget Me Not Seed
Sadie Overstreet
I planted a Forget-Me-Not seed
In the garden of your mind.
I watered it with conversations,
And raindrops of my time.
I nurtured it with sunshine,
Spent days watching it grow.
I gave it all I could,
Because little did I know.
That you would leave me stranded,
Before I could ask why.
And my Forget-Me-Not seed
Didn’t get to say goodbye.
But I know she’s still there,
Tucked in the back of your mind.
For my Forget-Me-Not seed
Remains to remind.
Withered and decaying,
Does she make you think of pain?
Her poor petals drooping,
Under tear droplet stains.
I hope she whispers my name
And words no one else knows.
I hope that every time you cry
My Forget-Me-Not grows.
Because I can’t stop thinking
About you and this stupid seed.
And it’s starting to sound
Like you planted one in me.
So when you can’t fall asleep,
I hope she haunts your thoughts.
I hope she grows until you die,
So Forget Me, you will Not.
Shallow Wakefulness
Claire McConnell
I exist in a dimension of shallow wakefulness
With fragments of reality that make it through;
Exposing a nihilistic nakedness
That’s calloused over truth.
My ears are just barely submerged
Under a violent wave that drowns out the sound.
Thunk- thunk- thunk- my body scourged
Upon the rocks on shallow ground.
Keeping me afloat is the buoy of cursory breath
Near the reef of heavy eyes-
Where I see the visage of a brilliant death
Standing stoically, watching my chest rise.
Floating- floating- in a life so deep,
It seems easier to just swim down;
For I cannot wring the strings of my soul dry,
They weigh me but never enough to drown.
In this dimension of shallow wakefulness
Is a magnificent gilded crest-
In its inscription, I read “Do not awaken us-
Till we’ve laid our head to rest.”
Nimble Thimble
Laura Sheikh
There once was a deer who went by Thimble,
Unfortunately, she was less than nimble.
Her family owned a bakery,
Full of treats—sweet and savory.
Once her mother asked if she'd go and fetch the flour,
And Thimble returned in about an hour.
She had roses, lilies, and daisies,
But her mother just stared, as if she were crazy.
Her mother then groaned,
And began to sort through all the spices they owned.
"Thimble," she said, "we're out of thyme—
Go get some, but this time, come back on time."
This was too much for poor Thimble’s brain,
These words of her mother, she couldn’t explain.
Through the door she went out,
But soon she returned, so full of doubt.
"Fine," her mother snapped, "I’ll just go."
"Please, Thimble, I— just knead the dough."
This time Thimble thought she knew what to do,
She went home and returned to the bakery with her sister, Mary Lou.
At first her mother just glared,
And then her nostrils flared.
But finally, to Thimble she declared,
"Deerest darling, you’re dismissed—
I promise you, you won’t be missed."
Where
Anonymous
“Where” is the detail you’ve been longing for
Or maybe “where” is that place you seek out
Somewhere your heart calls when lonely or sore
It will come sometime, do not fret or pout
A person, a place, an object, a word
A question that always holds desire
Say it aloud, it's important shared.
It's not a question that makes one grow tired
There are five of them: who, what, when, where, why
All are important and always questions
Full of feelings and meant to clarify
Break down or build up, give it a mention
Break down your wards; know how loved you are
And be brave enough to use your own words
