Poetry Section: Potent Poems

When a writer is in tune with the self, poetry is at its best. When poetry is at its best, the finished product looks very similar to the works produced below. Grab a nice cool beverage, kick back, and enjoy the works of poets Jenna Blumenfeld, Fatima Jakoet, Timothy Curran, and Nicholas Mascia.

Jenna Blumenfeld
An accomplished writer and artist, Jenna Blumenfeld keeps a vegetarian blog called OvenZest (www.ovenzest.blogspot.com). She recently graduated from Indiana University with a dual degree in Modern Dance and Communications and Culture. Jenna is currently a freelance writer in Connecticut, and has a strong affection for hummus.

Nag Champa

Rain, Nag Champa and Night Romance
Fuse lit. A single star, solo
In a sky of
Walls, ceilings and windows.

Seeps slow in streams
Curling upwards, engulfed
By invisible air until
Incense smoke twists itself present.

Who knows what happens
When hazy lines slice slow?
Spirits summoned? House cleansed?
Or simple smell stick, .15 cents at Wal-Mart?

Just Add Water

The birth of Heirloom Tomato,
Nestled in its milk-carton box,
Calls out to drooling mouths.

Seedlings lead me on
Though planted mere moments ago.
Water them please, more Water.

And though this morning is beautiful,
Blossoms bursting from all boughs,
I think of the day
when Heirloom Tomato grows.

Light catching,
From the half-empty bottle.
Wine from last night.

Fatima Jakoet
Fatima Jakoet is a vivacious young woman who inspires every South African young and old. A graduate in Chemistry, she explored the field of forensic science for six years to become one of the few young female South African Forensic experts to specialize in both toxicology and narcotics. As a pilot in 2005, she was appointed as a First Officer at South African Airways.Her talent further extends into writing and poetry which is evident on her personal blog www.jakoet.com . She was featured in the brand South Africa Blog late in 2009 and taken on board as one of their contributors www.brandsouthafricablog.com.

A New Beginning

As the snake sails away from its shed skin,
Never looking back, nor returning
It leaves behind what’s no longer needed
For it has served its purpose.

Now it’s time to do the same,
Make a change and start anew,
and leave behind the elements,
that stagnates and disturbs the soul.

Don’t be too concerned,
For the rain that pours down on you now,
is the promise of life,
for it nurtures the soil so flowers bloom.

Don’t waste another minute,
Find your rhythm and dance in the rain.
Life is a promise of the best, so lay your claim.
You are the master of change, a new beginning.

My Space

My thoughts, my body, my soul,
As I close my eyes, this is my reality
As I feel the sun, kissing my cheeks,
My soul breaths the sounds that surrounds me.

Slowly, stretching my arms out wide,
The soulful sounds of nature’s orchestra,
Sends me into a hypnotic, euphoric state
This is where my soul is most content.

As I float in my paradigm,
A smile moves across my lips,
For beyond this contented soulful space,
Tranquillity overwhelms my being.

I am the owner of this space,
An equilibrium of my thoughts, my body, my soul.

The Crossing

Left or right or straight ahead.
The confusion lies within,
Ponder for not too long,
For the moment has arrived.

The road you took to get to this crossing was not merely a coincidence;
Those you met along the way,
The wise and the foolish,
Enriched your journey with a thousand words of wisdom and laughter

There is much to discover on this journey.
For straight ahead might be the answer,
But right or left could be more exciting!
Which way you choose it will be the right way for you…

Timothy Curran
Tim is a graduate from Loyola University Maryland. He really believes in the written word and can talk your ear off about them.

Watching Wheels
People say I’m crazy doing what I’m doing
Well they give me all kinds of warnings to save me from ruin
When I say that I’m o.k. well they look at me kind of strange
Surely you’re not happy now you no longer play the game

People say I’m lazy dreaming my life away
Well they give me all kinds of advice designed to enlighten me
When I tell them that I’m doing fine watching shadows on the wall
Don’t you miss the big time boy you’re no longer on the ball

I’m just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round
I really love to watch them roll
No longer riding on the merry-go-round
I just had to let it go

Ah, people asking questions lost in confusion
Well I tell them there’s no problem, only solutions
Well they shake their heads and they look at me as if I’ve lost my mind
I tell them there’s no hurry
I’m just sitting here doing time

I’m just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round
I really love to watch them roll
No longer riding on the merry-go-round
I just had to let it go
I just had to let it go
I just had to let it go
This is re-written to become more personalized to myself. This is merging music with poetry.

Nicholas Mascia

Nicholas Mascia likes to write stuff and is the winner of the Academy of American Poet’s Prize 2010.


I do not remember here.
Me (as a wanderer along the creek) pausing beneath
the tree for shade, an ear
to roots, a berry raised with fingers to teeth.

I (photographer by profession) never made a spear.
I never built a farm
or raised a single sheep with hopes to shear
the ewe’s wool to keep my arms warm

through the coming winter. Was this my home?
I can use my camera; pull back
the viewfinder to roam
the universe beyond the stars, to traverse the black.

Even with my camera’s magnification, I miss
where the creek evolves into a river. I’ve forgotten all of this.

I Can Keep a Secret, Photographer
I am the Loch Ness Monster
and I can keep a secret, photographer,

as you snap your photos from the shore:
a picture where gray waves wash

over me, a blackened sea
creature part of something real:

the silver sunlight, the slate waves of Loch
Ness, life not unlike the fish.

I will keep your secret
because I am only floating wood and submarine.

“We’re Carrying the Torch,” I Tell Him

“Can I ask you something? he said.
Yes. Of course.
Are we going to die?
Sometime. Not now.”

-Cormac McCarthy, The Road.

I re-steady my foot
in broken gravel, the night obscuring
the road. The pebbles
neither click nor crack, the sound slips between.
The glow of a torch reveals
a face, a face much younger than mine: soot-sacked
eyelids and shivering lips. The boy
glimpsed a body: sandy blonde hair whipping in the wind.
The boy’s afraid. “Papa.” He follows
with: “Why, Papa?”
God left this place long ago. But there’s still light here.
“We’re carrying the torch,” I tell him.

3 Responses to “Poetry Section: Potent Poems”
  1. Great site. A lot of useful information here. I’m sending it to some friends!

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