Abandoned Treasures
Rural Enjoyment
Our spaces
Stacked and stored
Elevated to our
Highest degree-
Encased in gold
And sparkling with treasure
Dug up from
Private’s store
Beneath our untouched
Nugatory landscape-
We were the outside
Thriving in our minds
And in our streets
Growing perfect out of sight
Of growing king
Who screamed for acceptance
And shared tantrums
With his group
Of faithful followers
An ego unparalleled
On those paved streets-
Where the gold they saved
Turned dirty with pollution
And became hum drum-
While those out of sight
Of ever changing rules
And the overturning guard
Continue to flourish
And send dreams
And hopes
Full steam ahead
Towards the continuation
Of a civilization
Unseen by the patriarchy.
The beauty of abandonment
Is the ability to thrive
In own space
Without the overbearing
Eyes of the beast
Glaring down your neck
Awaiting your meal
So they can eat it too
And leave you the scraps
Of the unwanted.
Hide behind your trees
And relish in the quiet
Of a world untouched
By the others.
Your pirate treasure
And fairy gardens,
Your mermaid filled oceans
And your jewel encrusted flowers-
Protect at all costs
The life you have created.
Katrina Thornley is a nature poet and novelist that resides in Rhode Island. She has two poetry collections currently published, a novel, as well as a short story anthology. Her poetry collections "Arcadians: Lullaby in Nature" and "Arcadians: Wooden Mystics" were inspired by a local park and life in her small rural town. You can find them on Amazon now!
Also, be sure to give her a follow on Instagram (@seekatwrite) and Facebook!
About the Creator
Katrina Thornley
Rhode Island based author and poetess with a love for nature and the written word. Works currently available include Arcadians: Lullaby in Nature, Arcadians: Wooden Mystics, 26 Brentwood Avenue & Other Tales, and Kings of Millburrow.
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Discriminate
Authors note: I originally published this with no explanatory note, after a conversation with my partner in which we both agreed that no one would think these were my views, it was sufficiently over the top for it to be evidently a caricatured collection of some of the "microaggressive" things that can be said by people of one race to those of another. And lets be clear, I had in mind a white man talking to a black man in a country in which white is the majority. I wrote this after a conversation I had at work about the idea of microaggressions, in which we thought about who they were micro for - for the speaker, each of these comments may feel "micro", for the receiver, maybe not. I chose some of these lines carefully and deliberately, most of them are things I have heard said. But I wanted to come back and make absolutely clear that this is not a poem representing my views. We thought I didn't need to, but perhaps its not actually so very over the top as a caricature. Perhaps its a little too close to the bone. Perhaps that I would assume otherwise is in itself an illustration of my privilege.
By Hannah Moore7 days ago in Poets
Clinging to Childhood
The playground is empty, as it should be past sundown. There is a warm breeze, and I can see everything despite the late hour. What time is it, anyway? It could very well be past midnight. I can never keep track of time, especially in the summer. A prickly piece of popcorn hides like a stowaway in the left cup of my padded training bra. I stuffed the tissue in last minute— a decision I’m beginning to regret, based on the events that are unfolding rapidly before me. To my left, laying non-chalantly on his back, is my date for the evening. He is two years older, could probably grow facial hair if he wanted to, and drives a secondhand Honda. He may as well be a Man. I, on the other hand, feel like a fraud with my too-short short-shorts, sparkly lip gloss, and makeshift push-up bra. I keep my arms pinned to my sides as I feel the dreaded circles of sweat beginning to manifest on my brand new Abercrombie top. I cup my elbows with my hands and stare down at my hint of cleavage, praying that the tissue doesn’t pop out like a white flag surrendouring my lack of womanhood.
By Marti Maley7 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
This leads my mind to a bee hive! One person sees one thing, the other another. Important point is it makes us all think and feel! Thank you.