On The Mothership

I love everything about her. Not in any cliche way, For she contains both love and cruelty. So warm and inviting, Yet harsh and unyielding As a fierce sea, I both love her, and fear her - I revere her. Unshakable as the mountains, Yet moved by subtle drop of rain, She is both Yin and Yang.

Swamp lands for miles and miles - little else grows out here. Riding home from the Outer Banks, NC, we pass a homestead with barren fields, and a produce stand with a sign that says only "sweet potatoes." The stand was empty. A ways back, I saw a sign from the local wildlife foundation that said "waterfowl impoundment." I can only think of ducks and the like sitting in little jail cells singing Folsom Prison Blues. There's a whole lot of nothing out here. The land is full of nothing, save for soybeans. Some tobacco.  Alternatively, you have places such as New York of Chicago, where the streets are taller than they are long, and they are crowded. photo by my friend, Danny Allen, NY Even NC's own Raleigh or Charlotte has plenty of hustle and bustle. Out here in rural eastern NC though, the buzz comes from the bees. If you relocated someone from one of the cities to here, I imagine you would receive one of two reactions. Regardless of h

photo by Michael Buisha In the one-month wake of Big Thief's latest release, their third studio album, U.F.O.F., I would like to take a moment to talk about the band's direction with this album, track by track commentary, and what it might mean for their future albums. First off, as I started listening to this album upon its release, I wasn't quite sure what I thought at first, yet I find myself compelled to continue listening to the album, over and over again. Big Thief is one my favorite names in the indie scene, and I hoped this album wouldn't disappoint. A little less reliance on distinctive, solid melodies than prior albums, it allows the melody to play and wander. Exploratory in nature, which could be the overall tone of the album. Without anymore delay, let's get into the album. photo by Dustin Condren 1. Contact Great start to the album, atmospheric and surreal, perhaps one of the most polished tracks they've put out (polished meaning fol

I sit writing this, one week away from graduation. I have spent the past week working on a paper until I thought I was going to lose my head over it. Turned in my portfolio last night. Only one final left. The final final. As one chapter of my life ends, and another is about to begin, I find myself reminiscing on the past two years. It's amazing just how much can happen in two years. In the time I have spent at Pfeiffer University, I have evolved in my creative outlets in ways I didn't expect. I had always wanted to call myself a poet, but I felt I lacked the skill or capability to write poetry that was "good." I felt that way for years. Fast forward to the fall semester of 2017, I'm sitting in Dr. Schwalm's creative writing class, with my final portfolio proposal of a collection of poetry. Fast forward to now, and I'm sitting on a rough draft of a poetry book comprised of 42 poems. And I'm still writing. Graduating with a BA in Studio Art

Two, maybe three, small, white pills a day. I am among an ever-growing population of people whose flight-or-fight is always triggered. Whose body believes it just ran a marathon after waking up in the morning. Who won't go anywhere new without detailing a step-by-step to follow in their mind of how to get there. My mind and my body betray me every day. My mind assaults me, throwing insults and filling the quiet spaces with "what if" until there is no more quiet and the intermission between thoughts becomes the main act. Rumination should be the eighth deadly sin. My body betrays me as my heart races and my chest hurts, my hands shake and my eyes tear up. I hate the feeling when my ears burn. I don't like being called upon during class. I only like being seen when I want to be seen. Anxiety is the great con artist. It will tell you lies until you believe them, and will make you paranoid beyond belief. I don't trust people. Anxiety makes it hard to let

I am the sparrow. Small, fragile, I endure My pain is my migration Of which there is no end. I stay nervous, low to the ground As I try to get what I need. Seed, my stomach quivers As I flit from the air to the leaves And back again. I need my flock, so I know when to turn In flight, else my wings fumble And fold, as I dive Down to the trees to catch my breath I am stifled. I am the sparrow. I would fly but my wings won't work -- I am my cage. My mind inhibits me from flight. I hop from one branch to another Everywhere all at once, And I lose track too quickly Listening to my friends and lover speaking But I am everywhere all at once My mind is hopping from one branch to another The cycle, summer, winter, summer -- Happiness, hollow, happiness -- And I migrate. Back and forth North and South Winter and summer Hollow and happy, My migration is my pain. Back and forth, one branch to another I repeat -- Actions, thoughts, feelings, All in cycles T

Winter brings you, The unpleasant cell-mate. O enemy, Must you terrify? You take from me what you want And leave nothing. O blue, I needed you Yet he took you too And covered me with his grey canopy. O wind, he turned you from a breeze To a blade And I choke on my lungs. O enemy, You take from me my joys And carve my heart hollow Is there nothing you cannot destroy? I yearn for the cover of the oak, And you have stripped her, too. You create isolation and breed loneliness. You've turned my heart cold And made my skull a cell. But enemy, I am owed redemption And I will take for my own what is due. And if the devil you may be, Then get behind me.