contemporary poetry
Naked Soul
POSTED IN contemporary poetry November 19, 2013
Naked Soul
Futile winds blow
through a broken heart
the vessel flawed
it’s flow fragmented
cracks wide open
Stark naked
before humanities face
feeling vulnerable
in that dark
and lonely space
self leaks out
in a stream of tears
aimlessly to moon about
in a pool
of excuses and fears.
A dark fascination
this absence of light
Love
spreads diamante’
on the cloak of night
The broken vessel
lets in a new dawn.
The smallest pond
nightly
is creation’s mirror.
from Poetryzoo. Abigael
Gael Bage
Maybe I Might
POSTED IN contemporary poetry November 14, 2013
Maybe I Might
I may live a thousand lifetimes,
but remember only one….
I may find some peace in quiet
when a busy day is done
I might be the other loving half
of someone else’s whole
In somebody else’s picture
I might play a leading role
I might take the time to give thanks
for the things life’s given me
In an indecisive moment
I may possibly agree
I might make a strong commitment
to support a worthy cause
I may learn to live each moment
even those with major flaws
I might travel with the masses
but march to a different drum
I may keep forever hoping
that the best is still to come
Life’s eternally evolving
and no doubt we’re changing too
So I just might think about those things
I may decide to do.
from Wanda’s page Poetry.org.nz
Wanda Kiel-Rapana
The Stuff Dreams are made on
POSTED IN contemporary poetry November 14, 2013
The Stuff Dreams are made on
Our journey is wasted
when we hanker for things
that might have been .
With open eyes, the dream
precedes our grit and goal.
No point in nightmares ,
lost in the dusty recesses
of the mind. Life is a one way
street , walk with soul’s dream
in the moonlight and follow
your visions stream.You will be
the first to see the new dawn.
Dreams are born in our heart.
Sometimes I write my dreams
just to discover what I thought.
from Poetryzoo Abigael
Gael Bage
Search-light to my Soul
POSTED IN contemporary poetry November 14, 2013
![Third_Eye_Flame[1]](http://www.magdalenabiela.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/Third_Eye_Flame1.gif)
Search-light to my soul
My words are a search-light
to my Soul
speaking my truth.
Sometimes they glow and shine
shaped by thoughts from others
long ago
yet deeply mine.
Some days my words glisten softly
like pale moonlight or distant stars
A silvery fish, darting out of shadows
dapples of half-light, reflecting
off its scales
flashes of truth from memory’s past.
Some days my words burn bright
I cover my eyes in pain;
there is nowhere to hide.
I take another peek – aha!
Nothing to fear
Just light.
Some days the words won’t come.
I shake my torch, bang it on the ground
So frustrated,
so disappointed.
Useless, empty thoughts
expose old wounds
that I’m not good enough
A lonely void haunts me
deep within
So then I seek Your Word
Your truth, your wisdom.
Love fills my heart
Rekindles that radiant spark
that threatens to glow cold.
And then I remember.
You have given me all I need
Gifted me
my salvation
All I must do, is believe.
“Faith need be only the size
of a mustard seed.”
For you Father, are always here
holding my trembling hand.
As we switch on the light together
And reveal such beauty there.
from justwritewithmandy.blogspot.fi
Amanda Edwards
Poetry – My Life
POSTED IN contemporary poetry November 10, 2013
Poetry – My Life
I’m in a moment on my own, just thinking how the years have flown
I ask myself what have I done – that’s brought a change to anyone
The answer comes in very clear, the one thing that I hold so dear
My friends tell me I have a gift that always gives their lives a lift
I write, and when I’m in that space, there is no other time or place
I live and breathe in poetry, the one true thing that sets me free
I think that I have always known, that depth and passion in a poem
Changes words from ordinary, into extraordinary
Inspires thoughts, expands the mind, word imagery clearly defined
Emotional, historical, political, rhetorical
Whilst trying to wax lyrical, some even are hysterical,
The darker side of life is there, tormented souls in deep despair
Some may be borderline insane, through poetry reveals the pain,
Classical, contemporary, even revolutionary
There’s those who write in torrid verse, to some a blessing, some a curse
However one may view that style, it never fails to bring a smile
Always there is that special part, exclusive to my seeking heart
Those loving verses sweet to me, found in romantic poetry
Poetic friendship never ends, I’ve made some truly lovely friends
Nurtured by our art with care, those friendships will always be there
It would be nice to really know when it becomes our time to go
Like poets from another time, we all may live on through our rhyme
My poetry gave me a life, relieved me from all stress and strife
Whatever the future may bring, I owe my poetry everything
from Wanda’s Page – Poetry.org.nz
Wanda Kiel-Rapana
Whispers Of Your Heart
POSTED IN contemporary poetry November 10, 2013
Whispers Of Your Heart
There is a quiet in my life only your whisper brings
I listen in the silence to the music your heart sings
I rest upon your loving thoughts, enjoying peace of mind
Inside that peaceful tenderness only with you I’d find
There are no hidden feelings, everything is very clear
We ride the truth together, there’s no hurry or no fear
Just living in the moment for whatever it may give
No thoughts of any other thing – the moment’s where we live
You have another life – another true reality
We both accept that’s how it is – it is the same for me
But when I need that quiet space to let my feelings roam
The whispers of your loving heart are there to take me home
from Wanda’s Page – Poetry.org.nz
Wanda Kiel-Rapana
Pilgrim
POSTED IN contemporary poetry November 9, 2013
Pilgrim
The fragrance that surrounds you
in that sacred Spot
has reached me ere your return
Sweetness before which
ev’ry rose must flush and turn
yearning as in haste
longing to be there with you.
Garnet Shaw Robbie
Flaming June
POSTED IN contemporary poetry November 9, 2013
Flaming June
Picking peas for market is back-breaking work, especially at the age of eighty six. Marie was a widow, she always wore long skirts and her clothes were invariably black.Her weather-beaten face was deeply wrinkled and crows feet splayed from eyes as blue as the sea that lapped around the island of Jersey. She was wiry and wily with nimble fingers far quicker than my inexperienced hands, I lagged far behind her. Quick as a blink, Marie picked to put food on the table and I to buy a birthday present for father. I struggled to comprehend her conversation as she spoke the old Jersey-French patois, but today her old face lit up as she proffered a floral print bonnet like hers for my head. The poke shaded my eyes and layered frills at the nape protected my neck and shoulders. Only the old women wore traditional Jersey bonnets, but I accepted one gratefully.
a seat in shade
the damp earthy smell
of crack-willow
Thirty years later there were no traditional bonnets to be seen anywhere… even in the island’s museum. I asked if they had any Jersey bonnets? The curator lifted a dusty box from
a top shelf, full of similar dainty floral print bonnets, with a poke brim and generous frills at the back. My eyes brimmed with tears, the only black floral print… was Marie’s!
Full Honey Moon –
glitter on the sea, dances
upstream to me
from Poetry Zoo Abigael
Gael Bage
Faces of the Sea
POSTED IN contemporary poetry November 8, 2013
Faces of the Sea
She invites and entices, her frothy skirts
sweep in, then retreat. A temptress , her voice
is a whisper in pink sea shells.
Light reflects sand, green and grey,
a chameleon, she blends with rainbows, banks
of cloud and the colours of sky.
A partner to sunbeams,
she dances, waves her underskirts, dazzles,
twinkles, vies with the sun.
At night in Khol-black dress
she shimmers liquid silver, mirrors the glory
of a silver plate moon.
Her diurnal tides chisel
and scrape smooth, she sculpts the coastline
to natural perfection.
A tempestuous lover she caresses
earth , enters deep caverns, waves undulate.
gyrate, peak and subside.
Grey skies or blue she holds
our memories and dreams of tomorrow,
rocks the cradle of raindrops .
from Poetryzoo Abigael
Gael Bage
Leaving a mark
POSTED IN contemporary poetry November 2, 2013
Leaving a mark
On a train journey to Glasgow
an inspector punched my ticket.
He left an unusual shaped hole;
peculiar in size and in shape.
At Stafford, another inspector
with his unique ticket punch.
Holes of different size and shape.
After Carlisle came another.
My trip punctuated by the
inspectors I met on the way.
My journey described by all the
punches my ticket had received.
The inspectors judged by the
impressions they made on the trip.
from the volume “Newbury Makar”, 2013
John Black
