Seeker Magazine

Shannon L. Pugh

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Loss | A Goddess | The Paradox | The Waiting
Angst Died Last Week | The Two Faced South | The Late Night War

I would define poetry as the art of describing the world from a personal point of view. When I write, I think about what I really perceive when I feel. Poetry has to be personal. It has to make a connection that puts a spark in the readers' heart. We are all human, but for some unknown reason it is hard to relate to others and know exactly what they are feeling. Poetry transcends that gap. It lets you into the fear, joy, sorrow, love, and insecurity that everyone feels from time to time.

Growing up in rural Kentucky was a challenge. There were times I thought that no one would ever agree or relate to anything that I had to say. There were years that I felt alienated from society. My poetry reflects such emotions. It speaks of things that are uncomfortable and in need of being rethought. It deals with personal truths.

When I write I search for words that will give a voice to the muted. I look for reason amongst a universe of whiteout silence. I dig deep down inside and pull out what truths I've found. I hope that sharing my sediments will help people relate and understand the randomness we call life.


Loss

The cry will not be heard,
If the tears do not come,
Forget what is needed,
Just make it by

Emotional patchwork
Quilted into soul
Feelings mended with blood
Stitched to a field of pain

Death will not come,
If you are already dead,
make your way,
Just make it by

The sore soul
Will never be washed clean
Sorrow stains
And love burns

Do not cry
A million tears could not bring back the lost seconds,
Red rubbed eyes are the only reward
A lifetime of spilt tears will make no difference

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A Goddess

There was something about the girl
Nothing we call depraved
But nothing that was legitimate

She ate psychiatric drugs
She was a Goddess
With pill bottle magic
She could make it all fade away
Nothing was right with this
But then everything seems so sinful

She wasn't insane
But she got a check each month
Nothing dishonest with that
She thought it all so equitable

Happiness in a brown bottle
With pill power the world was gone
Nothing wrong with that
When everything was so wrong

She was a Goddess in her own way


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The Paradox

Twilight fallen
Gone
Here and now
Remnants still on the sky
Glittering the past reflected
Hues of gold and red linger-
Bringing an end
A sure means to begin

Darkness covers,
Cold,
Pure and sweet
Simple burning balls of light
Father gloom shining in the night
Telling us stories of our future-
A way to begin
Before the means to end

Dawn calling
Coming steadfast and sure
Bleaching the autumnal dome pale,
Bring us promise of rest
Labor into breath
Then darkness into death
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The Waiting

It wasn't the pain that I regret
The abuse stacked for years
Nor the alienation

It was the waiting-

I don't regret any love I've given
Any heartbreak I've withstood
Nor the infinite loneliness

It was the waiting-

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Angst Died Last Week

This realization of reality
Is what we call sadness
This pain is what we call life
This heart is what we call rotten
And my hands cannot fix all that I have broken
All that I have done

I say for the sake of saying
That I didn't care
Nevertheless, I cared all along
I felt the shame
I felt the pain
I stood alone in the rain while you sold me to the world
I stood above while I was down

This life is what we call death
And this reality is what we call pretend

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The Two Faced South

Southern discontent
Distant foreign wars
The complacency of the afflicted

Rise autumnal moon
And harvest the vindictive prevalence
The seasonal change is near

What face will the gentlemen wear today
Violent grins
Or murderous marvels

Pretend that the hunger goes away
Pray that someone else stops the hate
And recycle every Tuesday
Because the Graceland is swimming in trash

Hope that change doesn't come
Not in our season
Not for our reasons


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The Late Night War

I light a candle for every sin that I've committed
Now my room is full of blaze
Thinking of you and a summer grown cold
I grow into a shadow on the wall
Another jaded truth laced in white
Maybe someday, I will feel better
In a different town with a new life
Nevertheless, for now I am burning
Graven to a hell of wax and rug-burns
I will be here waiting to be understood
Like a wax figure with fire wicked fingers
Many years will pass and I will forget
The things that make me strong
Also, make me weak
I will put out a candle for each dark moment
Light candles just to put them out
Love lovers just so I won't be alone
Maybe someday, I'll treat me the way that I should


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(Copyright 2000 - All Rights Reserved by Shannon L. Pugh - No reproduction without express permission from the author)

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Letter to the Author:
Shannon L. Pugh at Aquarius0020@aol.com