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FROM POETS AND PEERS
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Papercut Memories
By Carla Pappas
Memories searching,
reaching,
digging deep;
trying to find what memories to keep.
Hidden deep inside my mind,
not sure what’s real,
from what’s left behind.
In this steel cage of a brain;
hoping, trying to find the cure.
It is okay,
not knowing everything;
memories hidden,
maybe there is a reason.
Papercut memories taken from the brain;
papercut scars never the same.
Memories hidden,
locked away with the pain;
papercut memories never the same.
Real or fiction,
feeling or fact;
papercut memories stuck in the back.
Learning, undoing, tracking the pain;
take those papercut memories out of your brain.
Recycle them, turn those scars into something new;
you will be able to help others,
when you are through.
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Twisted Vines
By Carla Pappas
It’s nice to just sit
and look out the window;
nothing to do,
just be mindful.
Watch how the vines tried to choke the trees,
but did not succeed
and came tumbling down,
arms outstretched.
The bare trees
are winter;
it’s nice to come back to the present.
Why do I waste time worrying?
Vines untangle and fall down;
nothing will choke the life out of me.
All the twists and turns,
of the vines; creating artwork,
as they climb and bend
and break free of my mind,
from too much striving.
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Cherry Pie
By Carla Pappas
Cherry Pie, sweet, rich and fragrant;
the light in my daughter’s eye,
when offered a sweet cherry pie.
The light in my daughter’s eye,
when she dances, up on toes, perfectly pointed.
The memories of a toddler,
clumsily pirouetting across the floor.
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Vacuuming
By Carla Pappas
If I were vacuuming
I would suck up the memories
that no longer serve me.
I would roll over the negative thoughts.
I would pick up the hairs of self-doubt and
then I would empty the bag.
If I were vacuuming;
I would suck up white supremacists;
I would roll over racism;
I would spit out the dirty truth of our history
and fill their ignorant minds.
I would wait until the carpet was bare,
collecting the heavy lint of hatred in the bag;
like a cloud of dust never to be experienced again.
If I were vacuuming;
I would suck up crippling diseases.
I would roll over struggles;
I would spit out the roadblocks
and fast track the clinical trials.
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Questions?
By Carla Pappas
​
Inspired by the questions that come to me as I live with muscular dystrophy​
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Will the burden become too great as my body fails me?
Will my body riddled with disease, repulse you?
Will you be embarrassed by my struggle to move,
or my lack of movement?
Will your time be eaten away by my needs for care?
Will the weight you have to lift as a caregiver,
outweigh the love you have for me?
If you stay, will you be okay as I fade away?
Will my memory carry you through,
until the next chapter begins?
​
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My Answer
By Nicholas Pappas
​
In response to, Questions, by Carla
My heart started beating when I met you;
I can’t promise it won’t stop,
when yours stops too.
Until then,
my heart is yours,
it beats with you.
And, I can promise,
to always be there,
with my love for you.
It is no less then what you do for me.
When I need comfort,
I come to you.
When my body shakes,
it stills in your quiet embrace.
When my hands tremble,
they calm to your soft touch.
And, when I get lost in the storm clouds,
that frighten me;
you tether me back to the reality that is us.
It is no less then what you do for me;
my greatest happiness is doing for you.
​
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NEW POETRY
​
Watch Me Row
By Nicholas Pappas
From Phoenix Rising – Volume 7, Issue 2
My recovery journey began with an important discovery;
there it was, hidden under a rock, self-compassion.
It’s easy to forgive others; I’m really good at that.
Everything is okay, you don’t have to say a thing.
But forgiving myself; why is that so much harder?
Why do the memories linger? Why do I attach myself to them?
Why can’t I look at who I am now?
Look in the mirror and give a knowing nod.
Say I have learned from the past and today I’m a better person.
Doing better things with my life. Letting go. Letting go.
Making room for tomorrow. Letting go. Letting go.
I am so worth it. Look at the river in front of me.
Look behind, see how far I’ve come.
Look ahead, see the turbulence and smile.
Say, I’ve got this. Watch me row. Watch me row.
August 14, 2023
Forests Edge
By Nicholas Pappas
From Phoenix Rising – Volume 7, Issue 2
My reality becomes distorted
when my coals turn red,
and I can’t hear anything;
I don’t know what you said.
How much is real,
how much is altered,
when all you see is dead?
Walking the only path you know,
deep into the dense forest woods.
The path you’ve traveled so often,
trampled on with heavy boots.
Killing everything underfoot;
the hope you held within.
Are there other paths to take;
new places to explore?
Something different offered,
something more,
than the same path you’ve taken,
every time before.
Can you deviate from the footprints,
right in front of you.
Avoiding the pull of what is easy and hard;
all you’ve ever known.
Not falling back on old behaviors,
or repeating past mistakes.
But blazing new trails,
untraveled and new;
to the forests edge,
where there is a whole new world
in front of you.
March 4, 2023
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Lonesome Tree
By Nicholas Pappas
We went for a ride up Skyline Drive
and there standing on a mountain
in all its glory was a lonesome tree.
We were drawn to its beauty,
stark, like an old black and white photo;
the one you discover at the bottom of a drawer.
It looked forgotten and in need of company,
which we provided.
Its leaves had left and stopped returning long ago
and were we imagined living in the valley below.
Its limbs, contorted by age, were pulled in every direction,
most notably towards the fall sky, as if in prayer or deep meditation.
They were a site to behold for anyone whose eyes were open.
As I stood before it, I wondered to myself;
why do we leave those who grow old?
Why do we stop listening to their stories told
and learning from their lessons lived?
Why do we leave them to weep alone,
silent tears that fall into the earth?
And fail to see the beauty in the cracks in their bark
and the trunk that stands and observes?
And what of the fallen trees, who still breathe,
waiting for passers-by to acknowledge their presence
and sit with them for a visit.
Imagine a world where we found wisdom in unexpected places
and in the silence right in front of us.
Imagine a world where we listened to trees.
November 14, 2023
Trying to Write
By Nicholas Pappas
I am trying to write; trying too hard. The harder I try, the harder I try. Until I am left with a well that is nothing but dry. It’s me and my pen and words that won’t come or won’t go where I want them to go or flow where I want them to flow.
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So, I sit in our bedroom in the chair in the corner. The door closed, shutting out the noise. The window curtain, shear, letting in the gray light on a drizzly fall day. And me in my vault finding fault with whatever I write. And so, I try not to try and just let the drizzly fall day fill up my well and drink the words in, with my eyes opened wide.
November, 2023