A Lot Of The Same Rooster But No Chicken by Erin Yu
Multimedium
Day After Day by Mariam Fuzail
Poetry
the morning dove forgot to wake me from my sleep
i didn’t hear the flutter of her wings, the cheep cheep cheep
or the scratch of her beak and the cadence of her prayers
instead she let me sleep away the
morning
i forget that it’s winter and the birds have gone away
yet my soul cries a little when i wake upon the day
so excuse me, ma’am, if i may turn a little late
i was down beneath a canopy
mourning
the midnight owl did not bring me any rest
not but an eerie echo and a stirring in my chest
and a particular comment that i hope was made in jest
but at least she won't be there tomorrow
morning
i forget that its winter and the birds have gone away
so if i hear their music, well, then i’m probably not sane
or else my mind has something it really ought to say
else a particularly fatalistic
warning
the midnight sun forgot that i would like to sleep
for if harvest makes hunger, then what is there to reap
and if for all my work, i gain only sweat upon my cheek
i really should have sunk my plow this
morning
i forget that it’s winter and the birds have gone away
so i’ll make no mistake and assume nobody stays
i would make amends but i know no other way
and for that loss i’ve been forever
mourning
it's the end of times and winter fades to fall
from fall to spring and summer not at all
for time is a circle slowly coiling on its back
life seeks deaths so what's the use of
mourning
i forget that it’s autumn and the birds will start to leave
as they sing for a god that’s impossible to please
and for my omission i beg to be reprieved
as the sun erupts in epic hues of
warning
i didn’t hear the flutter of her wings, the cheep cheep cheep
or the scratch of her beak and the cadence of her prayers
instead she let me sleep away the
morning
i forget that it’s winter and the birds have gone away
yet my soul cries a little when i wake upon the day
so excuse me, ma’am, if i may turn a little late
i was down beneath a canopy
mourning
the midnight owl did not bring me any rest
not but an eerie echo and a stirring in my chest
and a particular comment that i hope was made in jest
but at least she won't be there tomorrow
morning
i forget that its winter and the birds have gone away
so if i hear their music, well, then i’m probably not sane
or else my mind has something it really ought to say
else a particularly fatalistic
warning
the midnight sun forgot that i would like to sleep
for if harvest makes hunger, then what is there to reap
and if for all my work, i gain only sweat upon my cheek
i really should have sunk my plow this
morning
i forget that it’s winter and the birds have gone away
so i’ll make no mistake and assume nobody stays
i would make amends but i know no other way
and for that loss i’ve been forever
mourning
it's the end of times and winter fades to fall
from fall to spring and summer not at all
for time is a circle slowly coiling on its back
life seeks deaths so what's the use of
mourning
i forget that it’s autumn and the birds will start to leave
as they sing for a god that’s impossible to please
and for my omission i beg to be reprieved
as the sun erupts in epic hues of
warning