Paperweight Poetry

There is a grenade in the sky,   What everyone titles the sun,   The pin is pulled at dawn,   Which is why night breaks out into a run.           -anna sluder 

She asked me if we want to meet, Down by the hanging tree, Perhaps we could find a seat, In the crowded knoll so grassy, Watch dead legs swing, As the stool falls free, But when she gets there to see legs swaying, The stool falls and she drops to her knees, For the person that is hung is me.         -anna sluder       Inspired by the song The Hanging Tree.

Smile for the camera Don't you be afraid The button that I click Won't set off a grenade. -anna sluder  To learn more:  http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3019198/Heartbreaking-moment-four-year-old-Syrian-girl-surrendered-photographer-pointed-camera-assumed-gun.html

The sky is blank paper tonight  Just like a page in my heart  I don't know what to say or what to write So I choose to shred the white apart I wonder if the sky feels the same It doesn't know whether to smile or to fret  So I'm not surprised when it bursts into orange flames Burning its paper feelings into the sunset.  -anna sluder 

I find that the people you love most, Are the people easiest to hurt and pain, But at least they see the real you,  The one with both thunder and sun in the rain.  -anna sluder 

There is some horn  Then some wheels Clicking along some rails  Circling around our little orange town Like curls of black smoke  The train orbits around in a circle And I wonder why the town built A train track that only goes in a circle Revolving around and around          And                  around A caution sign, the smoke around  And around our little orange town  With orange people and orange signs The black train crackling and purrs  As it rotates around us And I cannot help but see  The train losing tangibility Becoming a black ghost in the air And our orange signs spark Our orange people ignite And I soon wonder  As the smell of oranges in the town Turns burning That the black veil around us  Blurs my eyes hot and wet And how could I have never known This sensation on my skin The taste of ash in my mouth ...

there is no why to this that I do yet still you ask, why it is me you love? but it is like asking a bird with wings to soar and pursue  why do you fly O you winged dove?   -anna sluder