Poetry: Guest Post – Four Poems by Aletha Katherine

The End

inky lines of wasted art
ripped – shattered – torn apart
pen to paper, words on a page
minds in chains, worlds encaged
prophesying inexorable damnation
in the name of noble liberation
drag us down like iron around our legs
tea’s evaporated, left only the dregs
within fatal destiny’s drought
battles won and battles fought
winged, fly forth and perish swift
hearts are broken and spirits lift
so riddles the silent sphinx,
what rises eternal and eternally sinks –
caught in the crossfire of love’s design –
in the no-man’s-land between the lines?
the answer? the heart, of course
kills us slowly, without remorse
the cruel author’s pen forever writes
through darkest day and blackest night
unsatisfied, the heart yearns for more
but the author’s gone and slammed the door
it’s all a story, it’s all a farce
it’s just reality feathered with tar
and then they fade, like winter’s frost
the characters gone, the world lost
friends made forever, forgotten in a flash
paper of words crumbles in ash
the writer’s mind is the darkest soul
thrives on pain; pain makes them whole
sell their lives on reader’s tears
shivering in a fantasy of shuddered fears
money means nothing after the book’s done
just a world to be lost and a measly sum
a billion dollars won’t be enough to pay the dues
demanded by the characters, alive after curfew
the book says “the end” but the story goes on
crawls through the days like the war’s halcyon
haunting every dream, every nightmare, every breath
promising each instant a hundred million deaths
die with every “i love you” and every “goodbye”
what drug is this, what life to live by
they’ll never know what pain lies in every dime
what’s hidden behind every “once upon a time”
they’re paying for torture, paying for pain
paying to lose their sanity; paying for the inevitable refrain of – THE END

Crusin’

barrelin’ along down the i-five at fifty
don’t call me cheap, i’m just nice ’n’ thrifty
seatbelts off, singin’ a song
california girls doin’ it wrong
the grape vine’s winding ‘round like a rope
salty ocean seas and seaweed soap
tastin’ the shrimp, exoskeleton and skin
eatin’ the creatures we used to call kin
the tides surge up, sun-bathin’ on the coast
it’s empty; coast guard’s gone for a boat
twilight settlin’ in like inebriated shame
checkmate and draw, this is your last game
it’s midnight, that’s okay, still lyin’ on the sand
hopin’ the moon’ll give us a better tan
bras and bikinis and lace set afloat
sailors playin’ shepherds, we’re playin’ the goats
it’s just apple juice, but it sure tastes like wine
truth or dare? dibs! oops – you’re mine
it’s a cocktail of sarcasm, a cocktail of strength
a cocktail of some poison one of us drank
playin’ volleyball on huntington beach
sand beneath our toes, bees beneath our feet
honey, sweetheart, it’s all just pretend
darling, does it matter now? it all depends
tastes like salt, it’s just the sea
not the tears, it’s all just me
i’m sorry you ran but i’m done this time
goin’ back to shore towin’ the line
i’m cruisin’ along i-fifty faster now
back to home, back to our broken vows
hit a cop, ran all off the road
california girl can’t get back home
california girl can’t get back home
you broke her heart and now it shows
california girls will never come home.

Inferno

She steps in the dimming dusk, awaiting divine oratory
In a vain bid to espy escape from hellish purgatory
How to overcome the living demons within?
Auspices of her filthy soul’s dirty sins
Trying to find a meter; metronome’s irregular
Trying to find faith for a heart that’s secular
But all she can find is the burning inferno
She keeps a Bible and Quran by her bed
Reads the Torah, keeps it all in her head
Christmas trees and crosses and pretty dreidels
Wears all the signs, shuns all the labels
Cheeks always red with impassioned faith
They laugh at the cathedral, say she’s a fake
She tries so hard, but she’s condemned to inferno
She stopped by last week to join the synagogue
Hoping for once she wouldn’t be labeled a demagogue
It was pleasant; books clean and letters gold-limned
But she found herself missing the Methodist hymns
Missing the convent and the painted stained glass
She didn’t understand; far too scared to ask
And she knew her fate was the inferno
So today she flies across the sea to China
Sick and tired of Southern accents and Carolina
Maybe she’ll find her place at a Buddhist monastery
Riding the South China Sea on a Taiwan ferry
But it isn’t her calling; she doesn’t understand
So she turns to a religion harking from another land
Ankles burned by the heat of the inferno
Shiva and Shakti smile from their thrones
The Himalayas and incense and Bollywood tropes
Tries Confucius too, and the man called Lao Tzu
Even some witchcraft and hysteria; what’s to lose?
But it’s all for naught; she’ll never fit the archetype
Never fit in with the worldly stereotype
Condemned to the fiery inferno
So she raises her eyes to the burning underworld
Dives off the cliff with her great wings unfurled
A fallen angel, plunging into her broken heart
Past all the religions that tore her apart
They used her, one after another, left her for dead
And she was consumed by the voices in her head
Condemned to the deadly inferno
Every single one was her faith of choice
But they never believed in her.

(post)Modernists

baRe NAked souls weePing in our sleep
Painting broKen art of the secrets we failed to keep
all a game of breaking glass and Parallax
breaking all the rules because paris is wOrth a mass
wounded degas mixed with picasso levity
chArles dickens tainted by hemingway brevity
living in the era of Suicide and sylvia plath
abhorrIng the status qUO, loving thE aftermath
fenced in by the freedoms of jamEs joycE
experimenting with everything, trying to find a voice
exiling the days of wordsworth and byron
emily diCkinson’s out, vIrginia woolf thrivin’
shakespeare’s just a musty drEam of the past
it’s the postmodernists are built to last
teaR doWn the sailS from the ouTdaTed mAST
don’T know whY…just doN’t Ask
doNe with dessert, nOw let’s Fast
Don’t knoW wHy…just dOn’t asK
it’s the twenty-first cEntuRy: we’re Done with the PaSt
forever.

Alethea Katherine is a seventeen year old writer and aspiring novelist from Sacramento, California. Though she most enjoys writing novels, she also loves to write poetry and music. You can find more on her new blog, aletheakatherine.wordpress.com, or contact her for more content at aletheasm@gmail.com.

***
I can’t even say I made any critiques on these works. Alethea sent me a poem a week or two back. It wasn’t a bad poem but it was on a near-cliched theme. I said I would love to see work of hers that was weird, odd and about less exhausted topics. This is what she had. I appreciated them enough to share them here. Let her know what you think and leave a comment below, go to her page and share the love. If you want some of your work in a guest post like Alethea, submit your work to me at Writingsbyender@gmail.com.
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