Best of Write from Wrong: Poetry

Poetry is defined by the eyes that read it. Poetry is written by the souls that define it. Poets Ricky Garni, R.L. Greenfield, Raina Fields, Desmond Kon Zhicheng-Mingdé, Amanda Jimenez, Robert Wexellblatt, and Conor Ebbs have graced the issues for our first year with their wonderful poems. We hope you enjoy our top picks as much as we did choosing them.

“Each of these poems seem to capture a particular ineffable quality that a successful poem possesses, making use of sharp diction and well-chosen linguistic devices, as well as appropriate meter and rhyme (or lack there of).”- Siobhan Watson, Managing Editor

“These poems have rhymes and rhythms and many different structures that make them look and sound pretty, which makes them pleasing to speak aloud. But when you stare at them long enough, and look through them instead of at them, another picture emerges.” – Hayley Battaglia, Fiction Editor

Robert Wexelblatt (5th Issue – Powerful Poetics)
Three Legs at Sundown

The spectacle of sinking spectral light,
this oozing slick on a deliquescent
horizon, yields no deduction a fist
might grasp, though there’s a crumb of dignity
in standing erect and facing west.

Conor Ebbs (3rd Issue – Pocket Poems)
Weeping Waterfalls

Braided streams of smoky sand
Dance in time by the water’s edge
Hissing as they pass
Dressing my feet.

Cascading cliffs yield their stocks
Weeping waterfalls of mist and stone
Unveiling the future
With past designs.

Desmond Kon Zhicheng-Mingdé (4th Issue – Polished Poems)
“a haiku and auden’s unknown citizen”

john updike died
this week when I moved my bedroom
to the balcony

struggling to fly
past the sun
the poets fell their good wings

picked up my clothes
walked naked
to the lawn and stayed and slept

Amanda Jimenez (7th Issue – Promising Poems)
Learning Salsa
for Papi

Your feet shuffled back and forth,
front to back, your nose in my hair.
I was swaddled on your left shoulder,
limp with new life.

You put a hand on my head,
rested the other fingers lightly
on my soft back.
When I grow up we will dance
and you will remind me to arch my back slightly,
step back, and hold my partner’s hand
high because salsa is form—
strength against your partner’s push.

You closed your eyes, felt
my lashes on your neck slowly drop to sleep,
and the needle played on that same track,
traced the song’s line over and over,
until the music stopped
and you could either flip the record,
or let the song repeat.

Ricky Garni (11th Issue – Power Poems)
Sub

There I go again
using the word
WHOM correctly

a thousand leagues
under the surface
of the sea

where the men are
oily, swarthy
and quite frankly
do not give a darn
if I say who or whom
and do not shy away
from telling me so

in fact, they rather
enjoy telling me that
they do not give a darn
which one I use

When they die, I will
miss them. When I die,
who will they miss?

R.L. Greenfield (8th Issue – Pristine Poems)
getting it right

people talk all
the time about

how the words
describe living

& know so much
more than the body

can ever possibly
state concerning

what is going on
behind the façade

of itself
i believe we

are talking
about nothing

all the time
unceasingly

because we
haven’t lived yet

& in all probability
never will

but we have
heard rumors

Raina Fields (3rd Issue – Pocket Poems)
21st Century Poet

In 2000, I made a huge mistake:
I turned 14, grew five inches and fell in love.

Who has time to stop and look at a calendar?

No one could hear my head banging
against the toilet.

Unless you live in a dome,
you know how a fire is so hypnotic,

how it swats away sunshine
like so many mosquitoes.

Everyday it’s different.
Everyday there’s something to talk about.

If you change any part of the journey,
I wouldn’t be here now.

Fatima Jakoet (2nd Issue – Potent Poems)
“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.

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