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I AM SRI LANKA

by Bryon D. Howell

boomp3.com

I am sure

by now

you have seen

the newscasts

showing how the wave

pushed everything

in its wake

to a dramatic end.

The broken homes,

the totaled cars,

the screaming women,

the half-naked men,

the dead children.

I am sure

by now

you have seen

the look on my face

when you walk

by me

at the bus stop.

The awe?

No different.

** Previously published in Poet's Castle.

HISTORY REPEATING

by Bryon D. Howell

boomp3.com

Your mother

taught you

at a relatively

early age,

the value

of clipping

coupons.

It's too bad

she wasn't

able

to show you

how to find

a good man.

The coupons

wouldn't be

needed

to boost

your self-esteem.

** Previously published in Children, Churches, and Daddies.

MY ANTHEM

by Bryon D. Howell

boomp3.com

Today I despise

eagles.

They prey

on squirrels.

The first time I

fed a squirrel

by hand

without being bitten,

was the last

time

I put my hand

over my heart

to salute the

American flag.

I got tired

of sacrificing

unconditional love

for a prayer

on two

cruel wings.

** Previously published in Voices! Multcultural E-Journal.

THIS CARDBOARD HOME OF MINE

by Bryon D. Howell

boomp3.com

I pretend

this cardboard

box

is a palace for

the well-to-do,

and that I

am the wall-to-wall

carpeting.

After all,

the rich

will always

need

something warm -

to walk on.

** Previously published in Barbaric Yawp.

BECOMING ONE WITH YOU

by Bryon D. Howell

boomp3.com

I've never been able to push

the clouds away myself -

so I would pretend

they just weren't there.

I then learned how to run,

that became the thing to do -

only to be hurt again -

for all I found was fear.

I stand naked before you

exposing all my scars -

battle signs from years of abuse -

painting my soul black.

Stone-cold and hard as rock

my heart is thus to me -

living under stormy clouds

your thunder wracking in my head.

Unsure of who to trust,

unaware what to expect -

I see you reaching out to me

like the trees reach up to God.

I feel comfortable and needed -

as warm as life itself;

the thunder becomes laughter,

my scars were a mirage.

As we join together -

my coldness and your warmth,

our souls are bound, the blackness fades -

and a rainbow, just appears.

And the clouds have all rolled on.

** Previously published in Unlikely Stories.

Bryon D. Howell is a poet currently residing in New Haven, Connecticut. He has been writing poetry for a great number of years. Recently, his poetry has appeared in poeticdiversity, Red River Review, The Quirk, The Cerebral Catalyst, and The Lost Beat. Bryon is also the Editor-in-Chief of four online poetry 'zines: The Persistent Mirage, Bringing Sonnets Back, Quentin's Naughty Poetry Journal, and The Brave Little Poem Daily.

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