By Ashley Crisp
To Ryan Grazulis, on his 23rd Birthday
It’s not every day that a
Birthday falls on 11/11/11
Only for a special someone and
That special someone is you.
A man who cares for me
When I’m sad and
Lifts me up when I am down and
Encourages me to get back up to succeed.
A man who puts me first and
Makes me feel like I am the only person
In a crowded room and
Constantly makes me feel pretty.
A man who’s laughing
Blue eyes I could
Dream about every night and know I’m the
Lucky girl who is the glimmer in them.
Thank you for making my life beautiful and
Filling it full of love and support
While this year is extra special
Every year with you remains golden.
I love you always and forever.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Life is No Monet
By Ashley Crisp
Lilly pads float
seamlessly upon the brisk pond.
Bashful pink flowers
emerge from their center.
Pastel blues and greens
dance across the canvas,
blending the paints together.
Strokes of the brush
create a scene where
viewers wish to escape reality,
to a land of Easter colors,
where skies are never grey,
and it’s spring year round.
There’s never harsh winter
snow to freeze our lives,
but ice rain pours when
we are content,
turning our once vibrant lilies to
brown, rotting paper bags.
Lilly pads float
seamlessly upon the brisk pond.
Bashful pink flowers
emerge from their center.
Pastel blues and greens
dance across the canvas,
blending the paints together.
Strokes of the brush
create a scene where
viewers wish to escape reality,
to a land of Easter colors,
where skies are never grey,
and it’s spring year round.
There’s never harsh winter
snow to freeze our lives,
but ice rain pours when
we are content,
turning our once vibrant lilies to
brown, rotting paper bags.
Cyber Space
By Ashley Crisp
Fingers punch the
keypad viciously.
Your emotionless face
hiding behind the computer screen.
Instead of punching and
kicking your,
weapons are cuss words,
digs,
low blows,
cowardly words of hate,
hidden behind technology.
The tears
depression and
anxiety of
unsuspecting victims
pass through your conscience,
absent of compassion.
As your thumb
smashes enter a
grinchly smirk
curls at the corners of your
chafed mouth.
Harming others is the only
solution for you to
maintain high self-esteem.
Unfortunately you can't
hide forever behind the keys.
Fingers punch the
keypad viciously.
Your emotionless face
hiding behind the computer screen.
Instead of punching and
kicking your,
weapons are cuss words,
digs,
low blows,
cowardly words of hate,
hidden behind technology.
The tears
depression and
anxiety of
unsuspecting victims
pass through your conscience,
absent of compassion.
As your thumb
smashes enter a
grinchly smirk
curls at the corners of your
chafed mouth.
Harming others is the only
solution for you to
maintain high self-esteem.
Unfortunately you can't
hide forever behind the keys.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
A Flash Back Through Innocent Eyes
It's 3 am
the constant clangor
of the phone is routine.
Mom laments to Dad
with a sniffle
here and there.
She needs us to rescue her.
My brother and I awake
from our bunk bed.
I grab
my brown blanky
the only solace
in this time of confusion.
I slip on
my velcro light up shoes and
dart out the screen door
into our blue Ford Aero Star.
Half asleep I watch
Dad's vigilant, yet somber expressions
through the front mirror.
He catches my glimpse and
slips a grin to reassure me
everything is ok.
We get to downtown Canton and
veer into the desolate
Save-a-Lot parking space.
From the horizon
Mom staggers to our mini van.
Sliding doors swing open and
hard vodka accompanied by
mossy Jon Tu' perfume
converge into the frigid air.
A brown bag partnered with a
plastic Speedway cup
Retain her jaundice hands.
A marble of black and blue
paint tragedy across her canvas.
Although I am only six
I know my mother has a problem.
the constant clangor
of the phone is routine.
Mom laments to Dad
with a sniffle
here and there.
She needs us to rescue her.
My brother and I awake
from our bunk bed.
I grab
my brown blanky
the only solace
in this time of confusion.
I slip on
my velcro light up shoes and
dart out the screen door
into our blue Ford Aero Star.
Half asleep I watch
Dad's vigilant, yet somber expressions
through the front mirror.
He catches my glimpse and
slips a grin to reassure me
everything is ok.
We get to downtown Canton and
veer into the desolate
Save-a-Lot parking space.
From the horizon
Mom staggers to our mini van.
Sliding doors swing open and
hard vodka accompanied by
mossy Jon Tu' perfume
converge into the frigid air.
A brown bag partnered with a
plastic Speedway cup
Retain her jaundice hands.
A marble of black and blue
paint tragedy across her canvas.
Although I am only six
I know my mother has a problem.
Grandma Z.
By Ashley Crisp
You were always there
to take care of me
when Mom was gone.
Your house became my home:
Fixing my hair before
school in the morning,
and hearing my rants and raves
about the lumps after
you’ve finished my braids.
Every Thursday taking Dennis and I
to McDonalds before your
Tops meetings.
Running to pick me up
from school when I was
claiming to have swine flu.
Coaxing me on the phone
when I am sobbing over ex-boyfriends,
always telling me the right words.
You are the only one who
handles me when I’m
sad,
happy,
mad,
or just lonely.
No one could ever take
your place in my heart.
Who says Grandma's can't be mothers too?
You were always there
to take care of me
when Mom was gone.
Your house became my home:
Fixing my hair before
school in the morning,
and hearing my rants and raves
about the lumps after
you’ve finished my braids.
Every Thursday taking Dennis and I
to McDonalds before your
Tops meetings.
Running to pick me up
from school when I was
claiming to have swine flu.
Coaxing me on the phone
when I am sobbing over ex-boyfriends,
always telling me the right words.
You are the only one who
handles me when I’m
sad,
happy,
mad,
or just lonely.
No one could ever take
your place in my heart.
Who says Grandma's can't be mothers too?
Venus of Willendorf
By Ashley Crisp
Curvaceous limestone
Lumpy to the touch
Wet earth
Protruding breasts
Sagging to the bellybutton
Thick hips
Made for childbearing
Bootylicious
Representation of Fertility
Sacred vessel
Mysterious purpose
She is what you want her to be
Whether it be to worship
Or envy.
Curvaceous limestone
Lumpy to the touch
Wet earth
Protruding breasts
Sagging to the bellybutton
Thick hips
Made for childbearing
Bootylicious
Representation of Fertility
Sacred vessel
Mysterious purpose
She is what you want her to be
Whether it be to worship
Or envy.
Cravings
By Ashley Crisp
You tempt me
in the wee hours of the night.
My taste buds tingle for
a smidge of you,
caressing against my tongue.
Each time I pass you,
I must fight the urge
and resist temptation.
Eventually,
I fall victim to your spell,
smash open the fridge door,
rip you from the container,
scooping you into the bowl.
Mint and dark chocolate morsels
journey through the air
as I lift you into my mouth.
After digesting this delicious treat,
I hit the treadmill,
feeling guilty for
devouring all 450 calories.
You tempt me
in the wee hours of the night.
My taste buds tingle for
a smidge of you,
caressing against my tongue.
Each time I pass you,
I must fight the urge
and resist temptation.
Eventually,
I fall victim to your spell,
smash open the fridge door,
rip you from the container,
scooping you into the bowl.
Mint and dark chocolate morsels
journey through the air
as I lift you into my mouth.
After digesting this delicious treat,
I hit the treadmill,
feeling guilty for
devouring all 450 calories.
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