‘Ballelejuah’, ‘A Long Way To Go For A Turing Reference’, ‘27.99’ & ‘Molt’

Juan Sebastian Restrepo(zeb) is a Florida-based artist known for his paintings and drawings that explore the interplay between memory and storytelling. He holds an MFA from Southern Illinois University Edwardsville and a BFA from Pratt Institute. His recent exhibitions include “intersections” at New World Gallery (2023) and “Hybridity” at the Edwardsville Arts Center (2018). Upcoming solo shows include “No Further Expectations Beyond this Night” at The Art and Culture Center/Hollywood (2024) and “multitasking” at [NAME] Publications in Miami, FL (2024). Restrepo also teaches as an Adjunct Faculty member at Florida International University and Miami Dade College.

Ballelejuah

It's bally in here, today
Warm, with the scent
of axe and gym socks
The gymnasium
With it's once polished floors
And steady, irregular thumping
of basketballs, like thunder
It's early enough
The girls haven't arrived yet
with their volleyball
passing games in their ring.
The kids playing wallball
in the corner,
can't get along.
That One kid, and the other one
playing horse at the hoop
raised nearly to the ceiling,
out of the way
The herd grows with every air ball.
A swish, from half court
Nobody saw or heard.
Ballelujah

A Long Way To Go For A Turing Reference

I understand that contemplating
The mind of God is fruitless
Nonetheless I persist.
(we're commanded to put
aside our first fruits)
Objectively, prayers unanswered
are likely God's dearest gift.
Pondering deeper
(The depths of a pond)
I believe God's immense silence
to be cause and yet effect
of harmonic cancellation.
"Dear god, let our team win"
Uttered from fervent
but utterly opposed hearts.
Does God have the luxury of chance?
A holy coin flip, Eeny Meeny Miny Mo?
Mayhap, perhaps, divine consultation
With a machine, or Alan Turing
(whose accomplishments in math
FAR outweigh his harp virtuosity,
Though he probably could hit
Those high notes!).
Gods fingers too large for one of those
Folded paper fortune teller things,
He whips out his god sized cell phone
and texts Saint Cajetan, his delegate
in matters of arbitration

27.99

Thank you for your service
For the years and money you spent
In pursuit of your teaching degree
For feeding my son, my daughter.
Thank you, for making them feel seen.
Thank you, for braving dirty hands
And snotty noses, and coughs
That never get covered.
Thank you for buying all that stuff
You share with my kids
Even when i should have provided it.
Thank you for spending long nights
And early mornings, and weekends
Reading a thousand papers
That all say the same thing,
And treating each on like a work of art.
Thank you for being their friend
When they're sad, or scared
Or just plain mad at the world.
Thanks for always keeping your chin up
When they blame you for children
Who never hear "no" at home.
Thank you, for being willing
To stand between our kids
And a man with a gun, and lots of bullets.
That will be $27.99.
I'm sorry, we don't offer
An educator discount here,
But perhaps you were in the military?
Willing to die or kill for ‘Merica?
No? I'm sorry, the total is $27.99
But, thank you for your service....

Molt

If I squint past the beams
Of light flooding through the window
I see the discarded husks
Of who she was once
Strewn about the dust.
I wonder, do they give her
Pause.
And whether she knows,
Or cares that she is now
Just a bigger monster.
No kind words or whispered love
But a mouth full of rot
And venomous fangs.
More Shelob than Charlotte
Her visitors litter the sill
Tribute to her
And unheeded warning to others
Here, there be monsters...

Peter Cooke is a newish poet who works in a middle school library. Cooke also facilitates an after school poetry club for kids. He has been recently accepted for publication by Skrews Syndication and Rising Phoenix Review. He started seeking publication mainly as a way to "lead by example" for his middle school poets.