Paperweight Poetry

When it comes there will be no sifting slow like sand through an hourglass No lapping of water upon the shore methodically, until the sweetness of death steals my breath No. No. No. No. I won't let it. If there be water, let it be icy tongues stabbing into the unadulterated marrow of my soul, Death is such a wuss when it gets you at the toes, then at the liver, soon at lungs, It makes its way around but it never goes straight for the fireworks, Where the grenade is pulled and the pin swallowed There will be no guessing, I won't let it No procrastination, all fire and then nothing When it comes it will be quick, and pretentious, and brave Make a spectacle out of me For I was born a show, I lived a show, and I will die a show. -anna sluder

Charlie, you must know Old Grandma Vivienne is a wild old hoot, No more than that, she's a crazy old bat, No, no, no, a sadistic psychedelic maniac So as mother always says: Don't listen to what she says, don't take her candy when offered, and don't smell her flowers, She used to be an apothecary you know. Oh Lydia! I'm sure she's not so bad, just you wait I'm sure Old Grandma Vivienne is nice, No Charlie! Don't listen to what she says, don't take her candy when offered, and don't smell her flowers! She used to be a mortician you know She can't be all of those things, Lydia! But! I promise that I won't listen to what she says, I won't take her candy when offered, or smell her flowers Good Charlie, because she used to be a taxidermist you know. At early noon, Charlie trekked through weeds and fallen logs, Chanting all Lydia had told him: Don't listen to what she says, don't take her candy when offered, and don't ...

sometimes I see the seemingly infinitesimal horizon, seamless and stretching sometimes I see the thin paper lips of a lungless boy, trying to breathe, trying to smile sometimes I see prison bars and my words are their prisoners banging their metal cups futilely against their sides until the paper is trembling and tearing like an earthquake and the lines are streaks of sapphire in a rare stone embedded in the earth sometimes I see periwinkle veins dripping off the page until my pencil is pumping and pumping and I'm turning pages to see where the veins lead to, but they always lead back to me, sometimes I see a world of things, other times I see blue lines on a page. -annals sluder

I've never believed in ghosts But I think there is something about us that will always haunt For the markings of fingerprints always stay And our echoes, the afterthoughts of words long ago said  So there is no throwing it to the wind, for no matter how hard we try Something in us always gets left behind.  -anna sluder

Together we will sleep below the stars  and do not question their presence  instead we ask what the stars say of us are we seen as wildflowers each different in their luster  Or just one color, one pasture, one name.  -anna sluder 

And when we die we will travel the whole earth For all the little flecks of ourselves Every crushed shadow, every speck of ash Will be carved into the soles of others shoes And we will be carried along and walked upon  We will take the world  And if you catch hold of the right passerby Part of you might even take the moon.  -anna sluder