Friday, July 31, 2009

Hi, my name is Maranda Russell and I am a freelance poet. I have been published in many literary journals and magazines such as Poetic Voices (several times), Fate Magazine, The Cynic (several times), The Short Humor Website (several times), Word Slaw (several times), Wizards of the Wind, Ancient Heart Magazine, Conceit Magazine, The Blue Fog Journal, and have also been featured in a chapbook of poetry. Someday I hope to get my own chapbook or full-length book of poetry published. Today I am sending you three of my latest poems for consideration in Record Magazine or any other projects you might have going on! Thanks,
Maranda Russell

The Art of Love
By: Maranda Russell

Deep red is for passion
and dark blue stands for trust.
Love, like art
doesn't have to be complicated
to be good.
Sometimes simple designs
convey the message best.
Too many bleeding colors,
too much crossing over
and the canvas becomes chaotic.
Curvy lines and gentle shading
keep it focused,
and more importantly,
keep it soft.

One of these Days
By: Maranda Russell

One of these days,
when I finally find my way,
I will fly.
The wind won't hold me back
and neither will the stars.
I will make my home in the heavens
and for the first time,
truly appreciate the beauty;
then I will blow a kiss to the world,
bow my head in prayer
and open myself to the fates.

But until that day,
knowing your love firsthand,
simply being near you
is divine enough for me.

Listen to the Wisdom
By: Maranda Russell

There's an old house by the side of the road,
painted pink and red and green.
It can't seem to figure out who it is,
or what it wants to be.

People passing by that place,
always lose their way;
and wander down the street confused,
until their final day.

It's best if you avoid that house
and the ground it stands upon;
but most just can't resist the lure
of such a simple con.

So if you must go, please be wise
and don't fall in too deep.
That building is a carnivore
that craves your soul to keep.

Apology In the mornings when I look Earth is overgrown with exhaustion with a sad insomnia An ocean of plastic undulates a...