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South Eastern Queer Arts

Let Us Entertain You

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POETRY

This page is dedicated to published and unpublished  poets.  


Experience the Magic of Poetry

New Content Coming Soon!nt

We are pleased to announce that Zora Tran has taken on the position of our new Poetry Editor! Stay tuned for more info soon.

Jeremy Chavis / Charity LePoor

Jeremy Chavis/ Charity LePoor is a proud gay writer, performer, and singer hailing from Clanton, Alabama. His writing stems from years of suffering from mental health issues and overcoming discrimination. His goals are to spread awareness and positivity through visualization of memories and their link to the present.

Swingset

Back and forth, back and forth,

my legs move in the air to the rhythm of the breeze.

The clouds grow closer, so close

that I can almost reach out and grab them.

I see the trees around me, the branches like veins

carrying energy from sunlight to each tiny leaf.

There's music carried in the wind, 

the creaking of the chains, the songs of birds

flying higher than I ever could, 

the laughter and joyful outbursts of other bodies around me. 

There's peace here, in the back and forth. 

There's comfort in the motion. 

The repetitive nature of my knees bending and extending over and over, 

giving me momentum and propelling me towards the heavens. 

The motion is mimicked by the flowers, swaying with the gusts of wind, 

vivid colors glowing proudly, while they dance to the music.

I often picture myself letting go. 

Letting my body lift from the wooden plank beneath me.

Releasing my grip on the linked metal at my sides

and setting my spirit free in flight.

Singing with the birds above me 

and looking down on the trees beaming with bright green life.

The rainbows of the flowers waving goodbye.


"We'll see you again soon."


The music is interrupted by the shrill cry of a bell in the distance.

The other bodies scurry to line up at the doors of the red-bricked building.

The full weight of my body on my feet as the music ends and is replaced by excited chattering and the clunking of opening doors.

I must bid farewell to the music, 

to the comfort of the back and forth, the birds, the trees, the flowers.

 

"I'll see you again soon."


Kim Phillips-Morgan

I am Kim Phillips-Morgan, a poet from Montgomery, Alabama. The loudest voice in my writing comes from a life-time living with mental illness. My poetry also comes from a vast array of experiences, from Montgomery to Atlanta and, finally, Guatemala. This collection contains pieces including a bit of darkness, a little love, some Borderline Personality Disorder, and HOPE. I am pursuing the publication of a chapbook, as yet Untitled. Thank you for letting me share with you! 

Dancing on Eggshells

Pulling you from here to there, from black to white 

Skateboarding across a zebra’s stripes. 

Asking, asking, asking 

Never listening, 

Projecting, rejecting 

Tugging you back to me. 

This is a love song from me, baby, 

Full blown dancing on eggshells! 


There Is

There is a tree where hope lives 

And breathes and has its being. 

I sit among the branches and make my nest 

Of blue feathers and leaves of dark green, 

The fragrance of hope blooms every spring, 

And in the bleakness of winter 

I look out from my nest knowing 

Hope is flowing all around this beautiful tree. 

There is a field where peace lives, 

Lovers dream 

Dreamers love to inhale the flavors of 

Dirt and grass, sun and sky, breezes--- 

That soothe even the darkest of souls. 

There is a river 

And this is where salvation 

Flows freely, equitably. 

Its waters shape the rocks and stones, 

And time, 

Our hidden histories revealed! 

The river tugs gently, relentlessly 

Upon my simple being, 

Leading me alongside the fields of Peace 

Nearby the tree 

Where Hope lives. 


_____________________________________________________________

Steph Tanner - Louisville, Kentucky

Steph is a queer poet/fiber artist living just outside of Louisville, KY. Be sure to check out Steph's introduction and crafting creations on our Crafts / Trades page.

WE SHALL BE HERE


we shall be here

just here

here love

no matter the longing for being there 

or the remembering when it was then

we shall breathe the same air

as if we both occupy the same chest

filling our lungs with the sweetness of now

this beautiful now

we shall live in this

just this

forever.this.moment 

in between what was and what will be

until the light fades 

and we melt into what is to come

-Emma McDamiel-Ellis / Montgomery, Alabama

Emma is a trans poet, musician, writer, and the Educational Director for Montgomery Pride United. She was a member of the Huntsville Literary Association and had several poems published in their yearly chapbooks, on-line poetry magazines, and an entry in The Huntsville Times "Stories of Our Lives" series. 

Find out more

I OWN THE SREETS

When I awoke, my legs trembled

 like earth moving. 

My bench, no longer covered

 with newspapers, 

groaned as I stood,

 and my last blanket blew away.

 Yesterday's funnies and 

my horoscope

 promising better days. 

It said nothing about my nights, 

filled with looters 

and street washing machines

 flinging mud and filth. 

The streets were cleaner than I, 

but I could walk and they were still.

 I was their master. I owned the streets, and 

they gave up their treasures to me. 

 Coins, ribbons, 

little cardboard boxes smelling

 of noodles and soy. Hundreds of them

 stacked and nestled in my shopping cart, 

waiting for the right purpose, 

waiting for an answer. Playing

 the waiting game.

 My eyes are wide open, squinting

 into the bright sunlight,

 making tears

 that feather my cheeks,

but no one

 that passes by can see me.

 They have  no pupils, not that I can tell. 

Of course, I could well be invisible, 

yet I cast a shadow, so how could that be?

 I am torn and tattered

 against brick, against marble, 

against glass that mirrors someone else. 

Pennies in my pocket jingle their copper tones

 like the wind chimes 

above the doors of the Chinese bistro.

 I have money. I have power. I own the streets.

______________________________________________________________


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