Poetry Corner: Lust, seasons and self-respect


Broken English By Liam Murphy

She makes love to me in broken English, I don’t always know what she is trying to say. But when she looks at me I understand her, And when she touches me I know why I am alive.

New Season By Nicole Sharp

I await its arrival. For the season of colors. For the season of youth. The sun peeks From behind a cotton-dotted sky. The breeze plays with my hair, Circling around my head. New life sprouts from the ground before me. It is the season of rejuvenation. The season where everything is new Or has a chance to be new once again. New hope buds from trees Once bare. The smell of spring Floats along in the movement of the air. With each new flower, A dance begins with the breeze, Swaying to and fro. The warmth touches my skin.

Respect By Lauren Robeson

It’s hard to identify, The lack of respect. Masquerading as something Normal, nearly convincing Me but useless in the end.

There should be a point At which I say Enough is enough. But it hasn’t come yet, And this alone Is what scares me.

The differences over the years Have been astounding. Eight-hour difference should Not be so catastrophic. But then again I never expected it would be.

Calling it an internal struggle Is a laughable idea. Far too melodramatic for what Is actually a blend of Laziness, desire and a stunning ability to Just not care anymore. Giving up has never looked so good; To stay and fight against the idea Would make this office so much more uncomfortable.

The lack of self-respect is far more alarming than my feelings, however. You’re no one important which you very well know but rather you represent something deeper. Something that’s profoundly uncontrollable, distressing and nothing I would ever want to shout from the rooftops jubilantly or tell my friends in giggly tones that would embarrass me to no end.

And isn’t that the way it’s supposed to be?

Reach these poets at lauren.robeson.79@csun.edu.