October POE-try
The Cat is Dead
Claire McConnell
The cat is dead in Schrödinger’s box.
Its fate was written before the thought.
Open the box- and look without fright-
You’re not the one killing it on sight.
Listen to me, my weary friend:
This prolonged theory must come to an end!
We spend our efforts defending, denying,
While poor cats are in boxes, quietly dying.
And I know there’s a chance the cat is alive
But let’s not forget; this idea’s contrived.
Even cats deserve funerals, don’t you agree?
Yet outside this box, the world seldom grieves.
...
Boxes, boxes, boxes.
What a simple word for infinite paradoxes!
People stuffed in boxes, every day-
And our bravest act is walking away.
Check, check, check.
So why is it you don’t open it, may I ask?
Is the action simply too great a task?
If observation saves, does it also implicate?
Does inspection transform you into magistrate?
Maybe I should be the one to say:
Those people in boxes did not get a say.
Look with keen eyes, my little Versailles.
Remove their not-so-clever disguise.
Do not deny- it is no service
I see your back-turned, your face turned nervous.
Open the box, open your eyes!
For every closed lid, another neighbor dies.
The cat in Schrödinger’s box is dead
A nuclear atom pressed against its head.
The people in boxes are next, I’m afraid-
With guns at their necks, and wrists weighed with chains.
The cat is dead in Schrödinger’s box-
And soon, you may be too.
For every cat unfairly lost
Is a person averting their view.
I Fell Asleep On Your Shoulder
Sadie Overstreet
I fell asleep on your shoulder,
And when I woke up you were still there.
I asked how long I’d been sleeping-
The weather had changed and the trees were bare.
You said it wasn’t any problem,
How long, you didn’t know.
I don’t know why I began to cry
When I pictured you sitting in snow.
The simple act of staying,
Not knowing how long I’d be gone,
It seemed to me you were saying,
“I’ll be here forever and on.”
You asked if I found it pretty,
How everything around me changed.
Yes, the world I woke to was different,
But you, you stayed the same.
Only then did I feel the cold bite my skin
And the wind ruffle my hair.
The world around us was quietly screaming
Yet somehow I didn’t care.
For I was safe upon your shoulder,
While you watched me counting sheep.
I don’t think I’ve ever loved you more
Then how I loved you when I was asleep.
But you’re leaving me now, alone on our bench,
In the cold of an October pour.
You said to me, standing there drenched,
“Being beside you isn’t enough anymore.”
King Minos
Angus Burge
“Judgement for whence
thou is hither” T’was
his phrase spoketh
in record. His eyes
spoke alike, of echoes--
echoes full of betrayed
men which rained down
upon me alike to acid
and bile. Red of blood
writhed with sin, the city hath lain
upon his skull. No longer ruling, seven layers too deep.
Abandoned citizens, dawned hatred upon thou undeserving. He has been appointed ruler at this time. He hath a cold laceration acrost lucifer’s chest to claim his ice chilled blood, pooled up to his toes as it reflects, stained to his ankle for whence he wade in it. A grumbling released, and the walls of nine, echoed in his voice. “For he that soweth to his flesh shall of the flesh reap corruption; but he that soweth to the Spirit shall of the Spirit reap life everlasting.” I stood, me brittle with fear, and unimportant to the next man he would see I am but a mortal man, layers hath used me
Hero for which I amn’t,
but instead of a story’s
beginning, which shan’t
Be read by any of men.
The king looked down me.
He rose his hand, animating
the serpents of judgement.
They crept beyond me, and
Constricted me. I struggle to
Be met with god’s grace.
I echoed prayer in my head
But to my unfortunate feat
The lord is dead.
