Poetry Project

By: Mireya Mota

Ballad of Irma

It was a few years back,

a few years since she met her fate

a few years since she left us

Oh, if only I could turn back time, the hands reversing, clack, clack

Her name is Irma

she was kind and fair,

did nothing to deserve her sentence,

but still, justice moved with great inertia

And so it came, her death

A mess of headlights

and tubes

and awful, awful last breaths.

How could this be?

This disaster isn't real,

but only in my dreams.

Oh how I wish you hadn't left me.

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If I Were in Charge

If I were in charge of the world

I'd make some changes,

Like no discrimination

No war, and also no uncertainty

If I were in charge of the world

There'd be a way to succeed

equality, and

maybe we'd all try to understand each other.

If I were in charge of the world

You wouldn't have an empty stomach

You wouldn't have to worry about tomorrow would bring

You wouldn't have to go to sleep with a head full of regrets

Or deep dark secrets.

You wouldn't even have sisters

If I were in charge of the world

someone who was a little quirky,

a little bit different.

and was still a little of themselves

Would still be allowed to be

In charge of the world.

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A Cold Winters Day

Three heartbeats

three birds,

and a cold winter's day.

Two flaps,

and then only two birds,

and a cold winter's day.

The birds huddled close,

their soft down pressing together,

awaiting the third.

Hours passed,

and still no sign of their comrade.

The third flew on,

his heart filled with shimmering birdsong

flip, flip, flip


On and on he flew,

soul bursting with great happiness,

on this cold day

onward, onward he soared

singing his praises

his fat body crying out in rapturous glory

a sudden gunshot

and the birdsong rang

no more

as the huntsman walked away.

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