Becca Conner

List Poem

Welcome to Wildwood

by Becca Conner

Waves crashing on the sand,

eating toes for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

As the sinking ingredients gaze,

bodiless heads glide.

The sun bakes as people

disguise themselves

with sunscreen and shades.

They lie on their towels,

as particles of sand

sneak onto them,

hungry for human skin.

Burnt, relaxed, jubilant,

ready for the pool.

Bathing suit, bug eyes,

and a box of music.

Important objects in demand.

How about a snack?

Ice cream, funnel cake, pizza.

When nothing matters anymore.

Hey, you’re on vacation.

Resulting all in complication,

that must be washed away.

Hello shampoo, conditioner,

soap, and body wash.

Goodbye sand and chlorine.

Hello pajamas,

finally content.

Sneaking into the maid made bed,

relaxation seeping from your pores.

Your eyelids like two bricks

as you cant help to let them fall

to awaken in preparation for repetition.


Group of Cinquains

Becca Conner

Not Over Till It’s Over

It’s just

too loud to think

clearly to write in a

productive manner. I won’t give

up yet.

Wishful Thinker

Cluttered

is my stirred mind.

Overloaded quickly

with massive amounts of knowledge,

no thanks.

Bottled Up

Drowning

in secrets not

know. Too complicated

to share to all listening ears.

Shut in.

Routine

Tired of

repetition.

Longing each weekday to

string hopelessly away from the

normal.

Strike Three and You’re Out

Floating

in the gray clouds

ready for the pouring

rain to start. Prepared to strike like

lightning.

One of Those Days

Just like

a droplet that

has reached the dome affect,

about to tower over. Please,

don’t break.

Ars Poetica

By Becca Conner

Poetry;

Its just like you want it to be.

Like genres in music,

It’s the writer’s pick.

It’s fast pace and loud,

Screaming its point in your face.

Its punk rock,

Stating its case.

Let the ink run,

Like the mascara on your face.

It’s just like emo,

Upset and out of place.

Free with no worries

Just like indie,

It’s in no hurry.

A little awkward,

Upbeat and cheery,

Its techno, with a theory.

It’s the beginning of music,

The start and basics,

Trade your lyrics for lines,

Its rock n’ roll time.

Confident and straight forward,

With great flow.

Just like hip-hop,

Make your words a show.

It’s the artist choice

So dig deep.

You’ll know its good

When you get no sleep.

Becca Conner

Free Convict

As I ran through obstacles, reaching unmanageable speeds, I finally heard the police sirens fade. Panting, as I peered through the rain, I opened my tired eyes to scan my surroundings. If only I had made the right choices I wouldn’t be in this situation. Standing there I searched for the next step.

“Find a safe house”, I told myself.

My 9 and ½ shoe slapped against the now mud puddled path. Crouching, I managed to slip by many backyards. Until I spotted the perfect safe house.

I walked to the door of the old home located on the development corner. I took in my surroundings. Peeling paint, old porch furniture, and a lonely old man sitting by a fire were in obvious sight. Finally, it struck me that I was on the run and time was indeed an issue. I rang the doorbell, like a polite runaway convict, and heard the old wooden floor creak as a man inside cinched closer.

Without the time to spill any words from my mouth, the man asks me to come in and take a warm seat by the fire. As quick conversation arose I began to get curious.

“So, what was your career in your life?” I asked.

“Well, I worked with the police for 35 years. I keep my scanner by my side and until you walked in 10 minutes ago I believed you to be a free women.”

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