The First Lullaby

Catch the fairy of the soul

Clasped within the polished bowls

Place it in the hazel round

And hide it under jealous thorn

Stitch a thread of love and life

Through the forests of whitened branch

Draw a line of hollow breath

On skyward stems and languid leaves

Plant the seeds of slender down

Long or short, either is well

Let raindrops fall onto the bloom

As long as they’re not bitter, but sweet

Paint the berries cream and gold

Glaze in silver, cover in silk

Dot spots on the hill with truffle and spice

And powder it off with shimmering dust

Let gold streams flow between each strand

Running through kaleidoscope falls

Make the wandering sun plant a kiss on the path

Its butterflies painting trails of pink

Listen for cries of the buried mountains

Hear the hum of hooved travelers

Blind the fliers but see their wings

Guiding fires towards the sky

-Jeanne Polochansky

Indigo/Crimson

I can open both of my eyes

Yet while one sees, the other one cries

Looking past the shoreless sea

I spot capsized rafts awaiting me

I peer into mirrors to find what’s amiss

But I end up blinded instead of blissed

I hear voices that say the key

Is something that I cannot see

Don’t wear tinted glasses – surreality lies

Pink isn’t always the colour of skies

The dark is your friend, as should be your ears

Since invisible silence causes great fears

Water can’t help and neither can you,

The stings have pierced all the way through

Once you’re here, there’ll be no wound to tend

All that’s left is to wait for the end

Forget the colours of your breath

They’ll be gone soon, inviting death

Trade irises for rose bouquets

There’s nothing to see here anyways

They’ll wrinkle and whittle if you watch for too long

Your nectar will dry with the hummingbird’s song

But you sent a seed on its brittle wings

Don’t fret, lest you lose the garden it brings

Perhaps in the depths of the greenest waves

Meadows of coral cover the caves

I don’t know for sure of this faraway bloom…

…are they growing for me? (Only fools would assume!)

Petals, like paint strokes, dapple her hair

One day she’ll find out they grew everywhere

For now she believes she’s accursed with this view

Alas, she’s mistaken – she’s blessed with it too

-Jeanne Polochansky

On my way to the bus stop

on my way to the bus stop this morning

the sun was just beginning to rise.

it dawned above the brick red row houses

as well as the sturdy, leafless trees

that line the avenues of my city.

as i emerged from the serene sidestreets

the streetcar whooshed down the main road

and commuters hurried and crammed

into those small steel crowded cars.

i crossed the road, strolling down another avenue.

now the sun was alive and glowing

shining in rays of peach pink and bright amber

shimmering over the blue in my eyes

leaving traces in my copper red hair.

the walls of my fantasy world

began to scale straight into the sky.

suddenly the webs of my wallowing turned loose

unspooling and breaking the locks of my truth.

i was no longer fearing for the future

nor beating myself up over the past

instead fixated on the dogs barking by

or counting the kids with toques on their heads.

i reached the end of my journey

where row houses grew into grey coloured mansions

yet the light still simmered in the same way

when i first set foot into the sleepy morning.

the sun had fully risen against the sky

and all that’s left to do

is to wait in the seas of wonder

nestling into the peace

of my once chaotic mind.

-Owen Merskey

Magical Place

I’ve found a magical place, where I can be free

Where children laugh where no one can see

I’ve found a magical place, where no one’s asleep

Where everyone's equal, there is no black sheep

It is a small world, as the city of Omelas

But the passengers here are a big mass

A big mass of joy, that forgot the world around

A big group of voices that makes a loud sound

A sound that is heard, but not understood

A sound that screams: “we are alive!”, and the mood,

A mood of belongingness that brings anyone out.

Out of their fears, their depression and drought.

Their fear, of doing the wrong thing

Their fear, of not knowing how to sing

But the rules don’t apply here, you can do what you want

You can try a new thing, or help someone out

Each day is different, we’ll build a new world

And we’ll build it together until we are old

We will sing, write and perform

We will lock ourselves in and make the new norm

We will speak in rhymes or not speak at all

We will run around screaming until fall

We will play games and forget the rules

We will forget the rules and become fools

WARNING

The voice, my voice that I found

My people helped me to pick it up from the ground

They built the pieces, and I glued them all

And we held them together, in hopes they won’t fall

I held theirs, they held mine

We made a big chain, we were all fine

WARNING

Each time I came back, my voice became stronger

Each time I left, the world around became wronger

As the glue would weaken while I was away

But I was so sure I would come back to stay

WARNING

New faces come to replace the ones who leave

I don’t want to do it, but I’ll feel like a thief

A thief who stole a chance to come here

From someone who did not yet hear

WARNING

I am a fool that forgot time exists

But the world around continues and insists

On turning around the sun, and making me leave

Their voices become weaker and I can’t deceive

WARNING

What they are saying anymore, I want to hold on

Hold on to that feeling that feels like it’s gone

WARNING

I am losing something important

WARNING

Why can’t this place be a constant

WARNING

I don’t want to live alone again

WARNING

I am holding to everything, but in vain

WARNING

I’ve walked away

I am a passenger so I cannot stay

To rebuild the world, I brought only one thing

And now, I know how to sing

-Evdokiya Mazhurina