Wednesday, March 14, 2007

Two Poems: Gabrielle Wilkon

alternating spectrums

a light
flashes in her eye
and a galaxy forever changes

spectrums from yellow to red
but the speed of light is diminished
to a halt

one scream arises from multiple mouths
and is cut by the reigning silence
of the intersection that no one cared to stop at

mantled steel and frozen expressions
are shared
among the participants

the sounds of distant crowds
with mouths agape
hide the whimpers

a wave swims to the scene
and takes the evidence

into the blue, cloudless sky
the light turns green again
but no one is left to stroll through

* * * * *

Subway Portables

She smoothly opens her door
and welcomes me into her boudoir
of orange upholstery and musky aromas

I sit in a corner near a window
but she yells destinations
and draws my attention to the space within her four walls

I open my familiar book and cautiously gaze down
but she sits her representative near me
who shows me the paper distributed to her every corner

I nod and say that I’ve already heard the news
but she continues to force me to read her publications
I guess that’s all she knows

she slowly sings ‘summmerhill’
and invites a band of silent guests
into the room

we all sway rhythmically
with the motions she provides
no one falls out of tune

her trumpet blows
at the arrival and departure
of each guest

this is why I have come
to hear
her sweet trumpet blow

~ Gabrielle Wilkon is a 23 year old student learning about the body and vigorously scribbling down words on the side. She is a co-creator and editor of a student zine and an occasional contributor to the Kinesiology paper, “The Flying Walrus.”

No comments: