Esse est percipi

Nodulated hand curled, pen furled in grip, shaking at the ship’s wheel, making waves of paper edges. Hoping to dog-ear history, creating flaps reminiscent of flayed fish. Your body a place marker amongst words drowned in seas of lost literature, novice sailors dastardly shipwrecked upon the pages, evaporate under the illusion of the siren’s call.... Continue Reading →

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Ghost Train ~ Samantha Rose

MORALITY PARK

One fateful night in 1954

A storm brought from the sky cold rain

Cracked tracks swollen below the downpour

The Hudson swallowed the runaway train!

 

And since that night our train disappeared

To the deep floor of the riverbed

Legend says it comes back ‘round every year

Collecting the souls of the dead

 

The train starts back up on the darkest of nights

To play reaper in spirit abductions

You’ll see in the black two shining lights –

And with that, let’s begin introductions!

 

One-eyed-Tom is no stranger to gore

Friendly guy – too much so, thought his wife!

She caught him in bed with the girl next-door

And wiped his smile clean off with a knife!

And Margaret here is such a dear!

But she was caught in a small mix up

She tried to poison her lover last year

And accidentally drank the wrong cup!

 

To you, it’s true…

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Shulie ~ Feminine Collective

I am honored to have my poem published in the Feminine Collective this past week! I love this collective and I definitely recommend spending some time looking around. If you would like to read my poem, you can do so HERE. If you want to learn more about Shulamyth Firestone and how she inspired this poem,... Continue Reading →

Edible Doll ~ Samantha Rose

MORALITY PARK

They say that femininity is sweet to the taste

and too delicate to choke on.

It is a platter of cucumber finger sandwiches

and lukewarm tea served with sugar cubes

decoratively catered to the Male Gaze.

You, girl, are an edible doll.

Soft on the stomach, primed and proper to devour,

the only thing to satisfy a sweet tooth as well as a bored hand.

And you were always taught not to play with your food

but that didn’t stop him from making you desert.

You are the epitome of finger food,

your worth designed to be unraveled like licorice twists,

candy coated in curtseys, blush, low self-esteem,

and poisoned pastel femininity—

you delectable, delicate, porcelain machine.

You only let yourself bleed in pink.

As fingerprints are exchanged for your “purity”

you must melt on his tongue like chocolate

and always smile with your teeth—

nice girls don’t shatter on display for the world to see!

And…

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The Knight’s (Dragon’s) Pedestal ~ Samantha Rose

MORALITY PARK

It is a long down from this dungeon fortress,

captive behind bars of fangs and smoldering dragon’s breath,

sliced open on the glimmering edges of his scales –

I placed her gently in an ivory tower, saved by chivalry’ sword

and shielded under my cloak and protected from the mighty

brutes and beasts lurking in the oceans and on the earth –

He stole my wings and stitched them onto his own back,

my flight stripped and swallowed by his gnashing jaw

and boiled in the fire of his belly, the heat allowing him to rise –

And she, the purest of the sexes, soft, porcelain, breakable –

exalted on her feminine pedestal, I bow to her, lifting her handkerchief

as if bestowing a crown upon her delicate forehead –

His dagger horns form a cutting crown, belying his total power,

he ruler of the earth, I, confined by his decree.

But he…

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1969 ~ Samantha Rose

MORALITY PARK

The wheels on the wagon don’t work like they used to,

they’ve stopped turning around the axel.

Rust has collected between the hinges

of about the same shade his hair used to be

long ago

when the war began

and bombs fell from grey skies

as dust settled amongst the cries of the wounded.

Newspapers sang of the death toll

as she waited to see his name

buried among the obituaries

or for the day

she would stop receiving tattered letters

scrawled in cheap ink in his damaged handwriting.

They’re saying the war was unjustified,

she felt so too.

And she waited for him to come home,

and he did

one day, long ago

when all hope dissipated

from her azure eyes.

And she waits for him again now

at the side of the hospital bed

but the wheels on the wagon don’t work like they used to.

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Chupacabra ~ Samantha Rose

MORALITY PARK

Obsidian melts off my glinting fangs

as cosmic rivers gleam down rippling spines.

I lurch out toward the rolling emerald pastures,

brush struck naked under the cut of my tail.

Goats, unaware, feed off the land below.

Crickets silence and scatter as my claws crunch

the dry leaves, like brittle, crackling bones licked dry

by smelting flames.

Closer now.

A bubbling odor creeps off my scaly flesh,

filling the desolate earth from the ground

as murmurs stretch louder,

echoes gurgling up in the gut of the valley.

Until

silence.

Tomorrow they will find

punctures buried in the fur caskets

of blood-drained bodies,

my hunger satisfied

for one more night.

© Copyright Samantha Rose 2018


You can catch more of Samantha existing at her blog, Existential Poetry.

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Purple Senses ~ Samantha Rose

MORALITY PARK

[Ode to Albert Camus]

Purple smells like

The passing of ages,

The time-singed edges of a secret journal

full of bleeding ink from tear stains and coffee spatters,

Crinkled old newspapers with melancholy stories,

Bonfires on the beach in the thunder and pouring rain,

Dewy lavender swaying in the wind,

And fear in the unknown and confidence that it’s all we have.

Purple sounds like

The echoes of nostalgia,

The creaking wheels on an abandoned childhood wagon,

The bone-like crunching of fallen maple leaves underfoot,

A sad song playing on an old piano for no one in particular

accompanied by the steady drum of heartbeats

pattering like rain to the sound of their own revolt.

Purple looks like

The depths of absurdity,

The amethyst rainy hay-daze

outside the cracked and dusty window of an abandoned farmhouse,

Pumpkin patches with tattered straw scarecrows shrouded in twilight,

The dog-eared pages of ancient philosophies,

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High Desert ~ Samantha Rose

MORALITY PARK

Salmon sunset cracks open

the celestial skull of the desert like an egg,

pouring light in the empty space

that kisses the mountain ridges.

Sagebrush grabs pools of glittering sand

between its greedy roots.

Droplets of sunlight leap from the ground

as if violently repelled by earth’s core,

filling up the atmosphere

like a golden goblet, as the bolting,

ethereal silhouette of a jackrabbit

drinks up the drops of light like fine wine.

Here, emptiness has more gravity than matter,

vacuities ablaze,

vacancies illuminated,

voids dazzling brilliance.

Light exists solely in cracks and crevices,

spaces unpossessed by mass,

uncontaminated by substance,

let alone by presence.

So we drain ourselves of sorrow like a sinkhole

and abandon baggage on the dusty trails.

And with nothing blotting out the path before us,

we race the sun on the long drive home.

© Copyright Samantha Rose 2018

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