contemporary poetry
Crafted in Love’s Forest
POSTED IN contemporary poetry September 23, 2013
Crafted in Love’s Forest
Strength and beauty lie naked, urgency
of bodies share in ancient whispers
of understanding. Together they create
notions of love to flow in the void.
They touch peace, each one a desired
being, is crafted from a lifetime’s
tenderness and discovery. The divine’s
reflection on the canvas of their skin.
Animated and yet art-like, they share
that which is universal, yet remain
as one. Each unique, in a secret place
taste life’s incomparable mystery
of soul. Each one plays the other like
like a stradivarius. Hot lips sear lips,
weave meridians of fire, ruby and gold
flames leap higher, explode a supernova,
heavenly bodies fall into a lake of bliss.
Gael Bage
Dead poems
POSTED IN contemporary poetry September 22, 2013
Dead poems
I see the birds of hunger today,
gliding toward me,
headed straight my way.
They cackle and caw and cry for carrion:
meat from the bones of my dead poems.
Garnet Shaw Robbie
The Visit
POSTED IN contemporary poetry September 22, 2013
The Visit
Her eyes sparkle
As she
Takes my arm
And leads me
Through the memory-filled
Museum of History.
“This is the guy
Who writes that column!”
She proclaims.
We are greeted
By smiles, handshakes,
Nods of appreciation.
We sit,
Surrounded by artifacts
Left behind by
Warriors,
Explorers,
Adventurers
Who faced the challenges
Of uncertain futures
With courage, vision,
And conviction.
“People don’t often
Take the time to express
Appreciation,” she explains.
“I like what you write.
You write from the heart,
And there is love
And Truth
In your words.
You don’t know
How many people
Are touched
By what you say,
And I asked you here today
So that you could see
That what you do
Has meaning.”
Phil Ray Jack
Teacher’s Lament
POSTED IN contemporary poetry September 21, 2013
Teacher’s Lament
“If you really loved teaching,” the senator said,
“You’d do it for free.”
I replied, “And if you valued education,
You’d be willing to pay me.”
Our actions show our values.
We spend more
On what’s important to us,
Whether we spend
Time or money.
Teachers are paid
For the time we spend in class,
Not for the hours
We spend preparing,
Grading papers,
Counseling,
Comforting,
Encouraging,
Learning,
Trying to inspire.
That time is spent
Because we love teaching.
“You’d do it for free”
Shows how much
Value is placed on education.
To him, the work we do
Is worth nothing.
Phil Ray Jack
The Old Saddle
POSTED IN contemporary poetry September 21, 2013
The Old Saddle
The old saddle
Carries the smells
Of well-worn leather,
Horses,
And the dusty
Scent of history,
Of countless
Rides across
Empty prairies,
Among the foothills
At their edges,
And along mountain streams.
The cowboy
Who owned it before
Left the stamp
Of his independent spirit,
Quiet solitude,
And inner strength.
When I sit
In that saddle,
I feel the connection
To the past,
To my horse,
To the land,
And to the truth
Of who I am.
Phil Ray Jack
Gentle Morning
POSTED IN contemporary poetry September 21, 2013
Gentle Morning
The gentle cooing
Of mourning doves
Greeted me
As I stepped outside
Into the warmth
Of the Colorado sun.
The pale blue
Skies are clear
This morning,
The late spring
Snow nearly melted.
I enjoy the peace
Of the moment,
Letting tranquility
Seep into the
Dark crevices
Of my wounded soul,
Knowing the quiet
Will soon be
Driven away
By the
Cacophony of life.
For now,
It is enough
To be standing
On the gentle edge
Of comfort,
A cup of coffee
In my hand,
Letting the peace
Of the morning
Wash over me.
Phil Ray Jack
The Open Plain of Possibility
POSTED IN contemporary poetry September 17, 2013
The Open Plain of Possibility
I inched up life’s rock-face
held on by my fingertips
out of a treacherous ravine;
I climbed to a safe haven,
a plateau where days unfurled
in tranquility, in the flow.
Times past, I have climbed
huge mountains of creativity
worked life’s simple joys into
troughs and peaks of ecstasy.
come, share our rich diversity
with those who crest life’s edge
yet know that the common touch
is a true measure of our humanity.
How I love to roam out there,
beyond the confines of myself.
exploring the vast open plain
of life’s infinite possibility.
Gael Bage
Why some poems are sad
POSTED IN contemporary poetry September 15, 2013
Why some poems are sad
“I like it when you write
Happy poems,” she said.
“Why don’t you write more?
Why are some of your poems so sad?”
I seek truth when I write,
And my poems
Are signposts that mark the way.
Sometimes I walk
In the bright sunlight
Feeling its gentle warmth
Against my cheek,
And my spirit soars among the clouds
Of ocean blue skies,
My heart filled with joy.
But sometimes my path
Takes me through
The darkness of
Sadness, sorrow, despair.
I have to face
The razor-sharp edge
Of loss that seems
To slash my heart
Into ribbons,
The fear that if I try again,
I’ll be hurt again.
I write about the darkness
Because it, too, is true.
And in so doing, I discover
That hope shines more brightly
In the darkness of despair,
That courage can only be found
When we face our fears.
That we cannot know true joy
Without understanding pain.
Phil Ray Jack
Soul burst forth sweet
POSTED IN contemporary poetry September 15, 2013
Soul burst forth sweet
Soul burst forth sweet
music that heart composed
with power to mesmerize
and gel in memories hide.
His varied repertoire
intricate and complex,
surprise change of tempo
to stretch high notes and low;
An artist who poured
all into the setting sun
through twilight hours
piped song to starlit sky
his voice transparent
pierced the covert night
In the nightingale’s song
a natural gift takes flight.
Gael Bage
“Go Back”
POSTED IN contemporary poetry September 13, 2013
“Go Back”
Reminiscences of a reluctant shepherdess.
A sheep sits huddled in a corner
of the paddock, as the rain pelts down
sinks lower in the sodden grass,
desperate to escape the all-seeing eye
of the working dog.
I yell in vain as Biddy rounds up the flock
turning them round and around, this way
then that way – no closer to the gate
confused by my conflicting commands:
‘Go back, go behind, no, no … back, good dog,
no, let it go, stay … for goodness sake, go back!’
Pregnant ewes cough and pant as they
race like horses on the track
but “they must be moved” and my heart
takes on a wild beat
as the sheep whirl faster and faster;
In despair, I scream at Biddy
with all my pent up frustration.
She looks at me in disbelief.
You sorry shepherdess you … have you no clue?
Just let me get on with it.
Stop shouting, pointing, cursing, running ….
You are no dog … let me be, I’ll do my job!
I wipe the muddied droplets from my eyes
shrug in hopeful resignation and decide to trust;
trudge in squelching footsteps through the mud,
to coax the Stubborn One to her feet.
She sees me coming, tries to get away
but I discover she is nearly cast,
one leg half gone to sleep.
I roll her over
support her as she sways from side to side;
relieves herself in one grateful, steaming stream
then staggers off blindly towards the flock.
My dog comes running, her wild streak roused
the main mob forgotten, for here is One alone,
an easy prey, a chance to tease and torment.
In fear I shout, “Leave it, leave it … go back.”
With some reluctance Biddy returns,
her flock now calm,
pouring like cumulus clouds through the open gate
I slowly follow, jogging this way and that,
to guide the prodigal one back to the fold;
then pat my collie’s head for a job complete.
Amanda Edwards
