Wishes

I wish I had a crying tree where I could cry my woes;

I wish I had a wishing well where I could drown my foes.

I wish I had a time machine so I could make amends;

I'm gazing at a gaping gorge without a single friend.

Algebra Amour

I have a love, hate relationship, it’s between math and me.

I have truly grown to hate it, since me love A became a D.

Those days of 2 & 2 were only 4 my childish youth.

How many more times must I do as I do?

I try to differentiate between math and emotions.

But it is hard to simplify to the final quotient.

Quad times I formulated a no, but I b² plus minused the root.

I ended up with a precalced mind, and never saw angles to be cute.

I loved math in elementary, with tags that said X=2.

Now in this grown up school all I can do is say X who?

I loved math, it was like a food.

I ate it everyday, I was always in the calculating mood.

But, one day I got a horrible sweet surprise.

I began to hate math, because they ruined my dessert with pi.

© copyright by Heather Champion, 2009

Publishing News!

Hello, all! I have exciting news for the Phoenix Rising Poets.

Isabelle Lahaie's poem "Tailor," formerly titled "With Needle and Thread," has been selected for publication in the international literary journal, "Harvests of New Millennium." It will be available for purchase in February 2011 by Cyber-Wit.net. Please support Isabelle Lahaie and Cyber-Wit.net by purchasing this edition.

Thank you for all your support!

The Phoenix Rising Poets

The Storyteller

old man,
strike a chord on your dissonant harp
draw from broken strings and voice
a story

search your calloused heart and mind
for the fire of orpheus’ songs

whisper by the fire—stories
songs of mother goddess, songs of legend

whisper with the voice of flame—burn!
light a candle, melt the wax of time

you, singer
you, song
you, orpheus, immortal

pacify the rage of hades
purify the stain of promise, broken

crackle and burn, old man!
burn with the passion of legend

© copyright by Isabelle Lahaie, 2010

Slave Story

If you be runnin, dere is a place
fa’ fa’ away. Nobody go dere anymo’.

But dey’ll catch ya, whoever dey is.
Dey always do. Why do ya tink I’m here?

Ya, dey’ll catch ya. But dey’s a place—
Dere’s one place where nobody kin catch ya.

But it ain’t easy to get dere.
It ain’t easy to get nowhere, anyhow.

Ya gotta run a tousand miles and a tousand days
an’ den you get to where the sun is risin’—

Ya gotta be heading east, ya see. Always east.
Dat’s da place where da earf and sky meet.

It ain’t easy to get dere. Dey’ll catch ya.
But once ya get dere, you kin see da sun rise

right in front ‘o you, like a sweet ear o’ corn
swaying in da mornin’ breeze.

Den, you kin climb up on da sun rays
and you kin ride dat sun all da way to da top o’ da sky

and you kin watch da earf fall away from da dawn.
If you be runnin, dat’s where ya gotta go.

But it ain’t easy to get dere. I tried.
Dey caught me, anyhow.

It ain’t easy to get nowhere, anyhow.
It ain’t easy to get nowhere but dead.

© copyright by Isabelle Lahaie, 2010