free verse poetry

The Year I Graduated: a Poem

With a concept from kiki_poetry, I am using a line of poetry from an Asian-American or Pacific Islander poet in honor of AAPI Heritage Month.

This line comes from a poem by Hieu Minh Nguyen, “The Study”. As per kiki_poetry’s instructions, I will italicize the line from “The Study”.

I took up many hobbies that year.
I suppose many people did.
I know of people who began baking
out of boredom.
Some started playing word puzzles.
Others, in their isolation, turned toward
the solace of family and friends,
but
when I think of that year,
no one has a face.
I went to school and came home.
The only ones I remember truly
are the ones that really mattered.
The ones that I saw every day.
The open faces who taught me the things
I needed to know
and the ones I loved.
But most were a phantom.
Just strangers posing as friends.
Colleagues pretending to be more.
And those I passed in hallways
who now are nothing more than whispers.
These were voices
but are now forgotten.
Faces
now anonymous collages.
Something I thought I built
now collapsed.
It was a year of hard work with nothing
to show for except a piece of paper
buried underneath a pile of books.
Nothing more to show for except
a pile of names like obituaries
and memorials of the dead
in a year of a pandemic.

Isabelle Palerma

Whole & Perfect (as Us): a Poem

With a concept from kiki_poetry, I am using a line of poetry from an Asian-American or Pacific Islander poet in honor of AAPI Heritage Month.

I do realize I’m late to the month’s theme, but I hope to make up for it in the next few days.

Today’s line comes from a poem by Sarah Gambito, “Yolanda”. As per kiki_poetry’s instructions, I will italicize the line from “Yolanda”.

I gazed upon you, and you were
a divine feast,
flawless in your imperfections
and everything about you shrieked
neediness.
We were so far from what we came from –
godliness and purity,
and yet,
nonetheless, when we made love,
weeping with each other’s blood
in our eyes,
we stared
and witnessed one another
as whole
and perfect.

Isabelle Palerma

Poet Spotlight on: Odessa Grimm

Odessa Grimm, in their own words, is a poet who writes from the places people usually avoid – the quiet, heavy corners shaped by memory, trauma, and heartbreak.

Their work is raw and honest; sometimes, according to Odessa, it can be “uncomfortable” because they don’t believe in softening the truth to make it easier to hold.

When did you realize your writing voice had developed into your own?

It wasn’t just a single moment – more like when I noticed I stopped asking for permission to write and be myself. I realized my voice had settled in when I could read something and recognize it as something I was actually proud of.

How do you decide what goes into a poem and what to leave out?

I try to keep what carries weight and brings emotions out. If a line is only there to sound pretty, it usually goes. If it hurts a little, I leave it in.

What would your younger self think of your poems?

I think my younger self would feel seen – maybe a little exposed. Probably surprised the things they tried to hide became the very material I write about. There might be pride there but also a quiet kind of grief, realizing that the reason why I’m writing is because we lost our best friend.

What is a line from a famous poem that haunts you?

A line that stays with me is from Emily Dickinson:

“Tell the truth, but tell it slant.“

It lingers because it understands something essential about poetry that truth can be too sharp to face.

Angling it, shaping it doesn’t weaken it. It makes it survivable, and sometimes, more honest.

Do you believe poetry has the power to shape the world we live in?

I do think it can shape the world we live in but not in loud, immediate ways. It works slower than that. It changes how people see, and once perception shifts, choices follow.

A poem can name something someone didn’t have language for before, and that alone can alter how they move through life.

girls like me stop blooming
when we are told
your anger is unbecoming
your brightness is too much
your mouth is a threat
so we grey
quietly
& rot
elegantly.

-Odessa Grimm

Isabelle Palerma

The Woman who Couldn’t Die: a Blackout Poem

A prompt from Maureen Thorson.

“Write your own blackout poem. Maybe you’ll find something of interest in the Internet Archives.”

According to Claire McNerney, from The Writing Cooperative, “blackout poetry is a form of found poetry where the poet takes a text and removes words from it, creating a new text”.

Here’s mine:

She looked like a goddess,
no doubt,
in another way,
she seemed very much a woman.
She was primitive,
casual
in her childlike uncovering of her body,
in the unconcern of the eyes of others
when she bathed.
She knew that she was beautiful;
and she had knowledge of the power
of beauty.

She watched a wild goose fly overhead,
watched it as it disappeared from sight.
“Tell me,” she said, “where did I come from?”

Needling of apprehension through my body.
How much she should be told
was not easy to determine.
“From across the sea.”
“It must have been long ago.”
“Yes. It was long ago.”

Isabelle Palerma

Mourning: a Poem

A prompt from Maureen Thorson.

“Write your own meditation on grief, with a middle section in which a question is repeated with different answers given.”

We dressed our mirrors in black,
hiding our reflections from even ourselves.
Our songs turn to lamentations,
our eyes wet with tears.

How do you mourn your dead?
You speak their name
so they will not be forgotten.

How do you mourn your dead?
You find their symbolic language
and look for them
every day.

How do you mourn your dead?
You don’t mourn the loss.
You celebrate the life they led.
You wear colors so bright
we look like confetti.
You dance under a full moon
to songs that feel like worship.

We visited cemeteries
and talked to ghosts,
whispered prayers to candles.

How do you mourn your dead?
We celebrate the days we shared
and forget the ugly rot of death.