Agnes Vojta: “Everybody Likes the Person who Brings Muffins”

 

 

Everybody Likes the Person who Brings Muffins

She is baking to keep
the darkness at bay.
A loaf of bread
will render her worthy,
a pie loved.

She bakes herself
a place in the world.
Bakes acceptance,
a purpose for being
measured in brownies.

As long as she’s baking,
she’s got something to offer,
to trade for your time.
Most people prefer
cookies to poems anyway.

 

About the Author: Agnes Vojta grew up in Germany and started writing poetry as a child. She spent a few years in California, Oregon, and England, and now lives in Rolla, Missouri where she teaches physics at Missouri S&T and hikes the Ozarks. She is the author of Porous Land (Spartan Press, 2019) and The Eden of Perhaps (Spartan Press, 2020), and her poems  have appeared in a variety of magazines.

 

More By Agnes Vojta:

Legend

Sisyphus Calls It Quits

Flotsam

 

Image Credit: “International baking powder. Manufactured by Queen City Chemical Co., Buffalo, N.Y.” G.H. Dunston, Lith., c1885. The Library of Congress (Public Domain)

Agnes Vojta: “Legend”

 

 

Legend

Before the battle,
every warrior
put a rock on a pile.

Returning,
the survivors
each picked up one stone,

then built what remained
into a cairn
to honor the fallen.

 

About the Author: Agnes Vojta grew up in Germany and started writing poetry as a child. She spent a few years in California, Oregon, and England, and now lives in Rolla, Missouri where she teaches physics at Missouri S&T and hikes the Ozarks. She is the author of Porous Land (Spartan Press, 2019) and The Eden of Perhaps (Spartan Press, 2020), and her poems  have appeared in a variety of magazines.

 

More By Agnes Vojta:

Sisyphus Calls It Quits

Flotsam

Vineyard in Dresden

 

Image Credit: G.W. Rice “English cairn on P.E. Cary Island, July, 1881” (1881) The Library of Congress

Agnes Vojta: “Sisyphus Calls it Quits”

 

Sisyphus Calls it Quits *

To walk away
from what was your purpose
for all this time,
to simply let the boulder lie
and say: I am
punished enough,
to turn your back, and not stay
any longer with the impossible

is the impossible.
We have imagined
you happy
with the struggle
towards the height,
or rather tried
to imagine how
it could have filled your heart –

now depart
from the mountain
without backward glance
and dance
on the bones of the gods
who never deserved
your obedience
in the first place.

*The title of the poem is inspired by a painting by Greg Edmondson

 

About the Author: Agnes Vojta grew up in Germany and now lives in Rolla, Missouri where she teaches physics at Missouri S&T. She is the author of Porous Land (Spartan Press, 2019). Her poems recently appeared in Red River Review, Minute Magazine, Nixes Mate Review, The Blue Nib, As It Ought To Be Magazine, Former People, Thimble Literary Magazine, and elsewhere.

 

More By Agnes Vojta:

And on the Seventh Day

Flotsam

Vineyard in Dresden

 

Image Credit: Titian “Sisyphus” (1548) Public Domain

Agnes Vojta: “Vineyard in Dresden”

 

 

Vineyard in Dresden

The path between the ivied walls
is paved in standstone. Grass
grows from the cracks. I follow
the trails of childhood. 

The cobwebbed door
has not been opened in a long time,
but someone cleared the steps
leading to it. I climb 

the stairs into the vineyards, 
breathe history, mine and the land’s. 
Lush and green, the grapes 
promise a rich harvest. 

Below, the river sings a love song 
to the city that is no longer mine.
Eighteen years change
a person and a place.

Not even the trees
are the same; the drought
felled the old oak in the clearing
we called the witches’ dance hall.

But the hills and the river
are still there, and dearer
to me than the castles
and cathedrals that lure the tourists.

And the summer light 
through the maples remains 
unchanged, as all else 
grows old and distant.

 

About the Author: Agnes Vojta grew up in Germany and now lives in Rolla, Missouri where she teaches physics at Missouri S&T. She is the author of Porous Land (Spartan Press, 2019). Her poems recently appeared in Red River Review, Minute Magazine, Nixes Mate Review, The Blue Nib, As It Ought To Be Magazine, Former People, Thimble Literary Magazine, and elsewhere.

 

More By Agnes Vojta:

And on the Seventh Day

Flotsam

 

Image Credit: Eugène Atget “The Old Château, Sceaux” (1923) Digital image courtesy of the Getty’s Open Content Program.

“And on the Seventh Day” By Agnes Vojta

 

 

And on the Seventh Day

God had finished his work and thought
a rest day would be a nice change.
But he didn’t have anybody to play golf with,
because Satan was busy.
After the thrill of creating,
He wondered
what to do to amuse Himself.

So He figured,
let’s give those humans free will
and see what they do with it. Perhaps
watching them will be
a fun pastime.

And He settled down to watch
civilizations rise and fall
and humans slaughter each other,
and when the same stories played out
over and over again,
He became bored and
wandered off to
create another universe.

This time, He thought,
I’ll make one
without people.

 

About the Author: Agnes Vojta grew up in Germany and now lives in Rolla, Missouri where she teaches physics at Missouri S&T. She is the author of Porous Land (Spartan Press, 2019). Her poems recently appeared in Gasconade Review, Thimble Literary MagazineTrailer Park QuarterlyPoetry Quarterly, and elsewhere.

 

More By Agnes Vojta:

Flotsam

 

Image Credit: William Blake “Ancient of Days” (1794)

“Flotsam” By Agnes Vojta

 

Flotsam

I shipped my past to this continent
in a box I open rarely. In it,

my mother’s amber necklace
and my grandmother’s silver cross,

a dried flower from my prom bouquet,
ribboned letters from old lovers,

notebooks with poems written
thirty years ago in another tongue,

a brass key that opens no lock I know,
a photograph of the house on the hill

that stands now empty, where my voice
still echoes, unheard,
five thousand miles away.

 

About the Author: Agnes Vojta grew up in Germany and now lives in Rolla, Missouri where she teaches physics at Missouri S&T. She is the author of Porous Land (Spartan Press, 2019). Her poems recently appeared in Gasconade Review, Thimble Literary Magazine, Trailer Park Quarterly, Poetry Quarterly, and elsewhere.

 

Image Credit: Marion Post Wolcott “Child bringing home suitcase on sled, Franconia, New Hampshire” (1939) The Library of Congress