contemporary poetry
Longing
POSTED IN contemporary poetry February 20, 2014
Longing
A seagull dives and wheels along the shore,
Adjusts its wings in calm and measured flight.
Brief skiffs of rain paint shadows on the lake,
A boy holds fast his wild and frenzied kite.
I long to leave this place; soar with the gull,
But something pulls me down and won’t let go.
A distant voice that speaks in ancient tongue,
Not yet, not yet, there’s more you need to know.
I turn my face toward the coming storm,
Still my heart and count in measured beat.
Comb my trembling fingers through my hair,
Refuse to let my mind admit defeat.
Amanda Edwards
“And Night Illuminated the Night”
POSTED IN contemporary poetry February 9, 2014
And Night Illuminated the Night
I watch you holding one cut stem,
three thorns, no blossom—
night, a shade of red
your teeth trace on my lips.
Everything I touch and all I am
is thirsting.
When the rain falls
it won’t ask who you are—
a statue, or the blind man
who sees by feeling.
Rain won’t forgive us,
it doesn’t know our names
Alex Dimitrov
The Trouble with Poetry
POSTED IN contemporary poetry February 5, 2014
The Trouble with Poetry: A Poem of Explanation
The trouble with poetry, I realized
as I walked along a beach one night —
cold Florida sand under my bare feet,
a show of stars in the sky —
the trouble with poetry is
that it encourages the writing of more poetry,
more guppies crowding the fish tank,
more baby rabbits
hopping out of their mothers into the dewy grass.
And how will it ever end?
unless the day finally arrives
when we have compared everything in the world
to everything else in the world,
and there is nothing left to do
but quietly close our notebooks
and sit with our hands folded on our desks.
Poetry fills me with joy
and I rise like a feather in the wind.
Poetry fills me with sorrow
and I sink like a chain flung from a bridge.
But mostly poetry fills me
with the urge to write poetry,
to sit in the dark and wait for a little flame
to appear at the tip of my pencil.
And along with that, the longing to steal,
to break into the poems of others
with a flashlight and a ski mask.
And what an unmerry band of thieves we are,
cut-purses, common shoplifters,
I thought to myself
as a cold wave swirled around my feet
and the lighthouse moved its megaphone over the sea,
which is an image I stole directly
from Lawrence Ferlinghetti —
to be perfectly honest for a moment —
the bicycling poet of San Francisco
whose little amusement park of a book
I carried in a side pocket of my uniform
up and down the treacherous halls of high school.
Billy Collins
Sunflower
POSTED IN contemporary poetry January 25, 2014
Sunflower
I stretch and stretch
thirsting for light
your love
quickening, quivering
through my veins.
My seed glows gold
with the passage of time
beating for you my love
half tempo rhythm and blues.
I open wide
search for those last rays
a memory of you
embossed upon my heart.
Oh lord, where are you?
Why do you leave
this pale shadow of yourself
in my night sky?
I bow to you
curl around my emptiness
and cry.
Amanda Edwards
Touch me
POSTED IN contemporary poetry January 25, 2014
Touch me
We curl round each other
like fragile fronds,
safe in our womb of darkness.
Feathered finger tips
explore the surface of our skin,
trace each worn trail gently,
smoothing and moulding;
we relax into wordless sleep.
Somewhere in our dreams
we stir once more,
a tendril of fear uncoils
in the darkness,
threatens to divide us.
A whimper escapes my throat;
you nuzzle me and I press
into your warmth, loving
the shape of you,
stroke the nape of your neck,
Belief in my power restored.
Amanda Edwards
Man and wife
POSTED IN contemporary poetry January 25, 2014
Man and wifeWe lay together underneath this tree.
The willow branches shade our skin, so fair.
We listen to the shrieks of youngsters, free,
Unshackled from the burdens that we bear.
It’s simple here to let our troubles ease.
Relaxed, replete I watch you drift away,
Enchanted by the shadows of the leaves,
That dance upon your face in joyful play.
I slow my heart to beat in time with yours,
and shed a tear of happiness for us.
For in this magic place we find no flaw,
Our lives of imperfection are suffice.
Just now we leave behind our family strife;
our souls connect once more as man and wife.
Amanda Edwards
Finding Comfort on the Back of a Horse
POSTED IN contemporary poetry January 20, 2014
Finding Comfort on the Back of a Horse
There are times
When the vast emptiness
Of the prairie
Reflects a hollowness
I feel inside.
When the sound
Of the wind
Echoes in the vacant
Chambers of my heart.
Finding Comfort on the Back of a Horse
There have been times
When I have sought
Solitude,
Longing for the gentle peace
Of the quiet land,
But sometimes
The silence overpowers me.
I seek comfort
In the saddle,
Feeling the harmony
That can only be found
On the back of a horse,
My spirit matching
The rhythm,
Of the hushed beat
Of her hooves
As Rose dances
Across the prairie.
Her spirit
Speaks to mine,
Setting me free
From the shackles
Of loneliness
And self-doubt.
On the back
Of a horse,
My wounded spirit
Finds shelter
From my inner tempests.
Phil Ray Jack
A Besoin
POSTED IN contemporary poetry January 19, 2014
A Besoin
pour son existence
une aiguille a besoin
d’une veine
le tonnerre a besoin
de la foudre
un artiste a besoin
de la douleur
pour son existence
les religieux ont besoin
du doute
le diable a besoin
d’un ange
le pécheur a besoin
d’un saint
pour son existence
les poumons ont besoin
du souffle
j’ai besoin
de ton amour
du volume “Roll the Dice”
Glen Alexander
Words
POSTED IN contemporary poetry January 19, 2014
Words
We are so interconnected,
not just you and I,
but everyone in the world,
that most of the time
our words interfere
with those connections.
In our silence,
we recognize one another,
no matter
where we live
in time or space,
no matter
our personalities or cultures.
In our words,
we create names
and assign quantities
that veil us from one another.
Garnet Shaw Robbie
Games of Solitaire
POSTED IN contemporary poetry January 18, 2014
Games of Solitaire
Amid the salmon and the apricot
dipped in a bowl of midnight ink,
Your tongue cuts to the quick
spelling out the fable upon which
you tell me I have set the table
of my life’s journey:
You speak of mysteries beckoning
an audience with me
but my dreams line games of
solitaire between orange moons
hung stealthily in the african sky:
I wonder which equinox it was
you first discovered my soul sleeping
soundly on the slatted kitkat bench
and moved on into the silence
so as not to wake a sleeping universe?
I remember your passing
this way once before
It was a twilight heart of Cabaret Voltaire
The dish had runaway with the silver spoon
and I midstep
a Cha-Cha with Appolinaire
caught your shadow kissing Time
and heard you whisper
“she.
is mine!
Guillaume and I played cards till morning
and found a sunrise dressed for War!
The blood cycle
left front doors well-dressed
and troubled.
Minds and art fled to meagre exiles.
Fixed on other tongues
You forgot her name
and caution:
blood thirst monologues
drove you underground
a warlord ravaging your soul
A Tale of Two Cities,
shredded across your bed,
raided your enemies
trivia hunted you down in
a fine-fisted cranium full of threats.
but the memory sat cross-legged
upon your heart and the dearth of uneasy slaughter;
her seagreen eyes reflected piecemeal
arrows in your soul: melancholy stole the text
and read to you
of an undressed Sargasso Sea
wherein you saw her again
play games of solitaire with an ancient man
they used to call Apollinaire…
redroom.com/member/renee–sigel
Renée Sigel
