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  • Rose Dallimore

Virtual Open Mic V

young joints, or a sonnet for someone i think i know

her graceful hand, more fragile than the rain,

like a call to the angry heavens above,

more melancholy than an artist's pain,

holds soft. yet tightly. onto twisted love.

her nails are crescents like the hiding moon,

her thin fingers are lavender and thyme,

with joints that know no work and are immune

to this mad world's evil prime-time war-crimes.

she cages all her laughter in her heart,

keeps a sophisticated look always,

but palms tell truths when lips don't ever part;

those hands don't have to beg or even pray.

un-calloused, innocent and fortunate:

she bangs her fists in nonsense and regret.


the air is thick with the

silly malaise of a drunken honeybee.

i could sleep another decade,

but i sit with gnats,

waiting to be impressed.

the field buzzes with silence

as i lie among sun-bleached bones

of cattle and tractors.

the morning's fire

appears over the hills,

redder than the clay stains on my feet.

the barn almost splinters,

the ground almost splits,

and i almost laugh.

life has never been so still.

a mockingbird cries

a song i've heard before,

and i sink into earth,

filled with the wild blue of morning.

nearby, a dandelion looks up,

searching for a face in the sky.

for my mother

so now you fly.

do not be afraid,

lovely in green and spirit.

it is your turn to smile.

your hand traces mine,

filling my joints and fingertips

with lavender and a sense

of yesterday. be as you are:

beautiful. fill yourself

with deserved love.

what a brilliant product

of bluegrass and shakespeare.

don't hide behind those eyes;

sing to St. Cecelia

off the ancient cliffs of a new land.

you always did dance unashamedly.

The unanimous Declaration (a found poem)


by their Hands

in the Course of human Events.

the Opinions of Mankind

become destructive


their Safety and Happiness

now provide

the patient Sufferance of

a candid World.

all Men

become the Executioners

of their Friends and Brethren,

or fall themselves.

a decent Respect,

but not

for all.


by their Hands.




for the public Good.

Source: The Declaration of Independence: Action of Second Continental Congress, July 4, 1776

Rose Dallimore was born in New York City to two professional actors, and after growing up with intelligent and artistic people, she loves creative energy, arts, and poetry. She moved to Chattanooga in 2010, and currently attends Baylor School, which she loves. Rose hopes to go into international political relations and economic policy in the future and believes in the importance of a few good words in the pursuit of change.

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