contemporary poetry
Seduction
POSTED IN contemporary poetry July 16, 2013
Seduction
Beckoning cliff’s
wind-raked tip
edges against sky so blue it
sings. Stone jigsaw at the base.
A whistle of wind
shoots fog up the cliff
like smoke from sudden fire.
I want to dislodge heavy feet from earth,
break into tiny pieces, disperse
on wind with the fog, spread out
across sky, embrace it
with endless arms, going all those
places nature has been
tugging at my sleeves, whispering
in my face, gathering me up
in woody tendrils and
fat vaporous arms of clouds,
pushing, pulling,
insisting that I go.
Nature inhales me, and I sail off.
Teresa McNeil MacLean
Still in Song
POSTED IN contemporary poetry July 15, 2013
She has a silver star
She has a silver star
sunken in her eyes
(I didn’t know it was about stars
I would write whose suns
cast a warmer light
from those tranquil places
which are her eyes than the ordinary
glass cold twinklers in the starry mass
sourrounding surrounding the usual sky.)
The rare glow
like her own motioning and highlit hair
kicks up spots of dynamite drama
(I remember those eyes
when she was a child. The star
was showing then, too, in the landscape
of undying invitations.)
One good contact stare into that soul struck
into by the silver star in her eyes
pours in something none of us knows about
Heavenly orbs. For age there is none.
There is a lingering attachment. There is a
fixed but dancing
artisty that laughs at death
and heats my solitary sky-whipped heart.
Marcia Goldberg
Love is a Diamond
POSTED IN contemporary poetry July 15, 2013
Love is a Diamond
that sparkles with a million facets
gifts tastes to delight our palates
and roses that bloom in perfection
scented with the perfume of heaven
it’s the rainbow, promise of sunshine
and rain,for luxuriant growth sublime
it’s love we bestow on all of our children
our compassion and kindness to people
the passions we gift to one another
and selfless devotion of each mother
on earth’s breast we’re all nurtured
to darkness and light all are turned
love is the wonder of our universe
in our galaxies arms lovingly nursed
Gael Bage
Sea Change
POSTED IN contemporary poetry July 15, 2013
Sea Change
The seas horizon stretches
and changes with the hour
clouds merge with its edges
a millpond or raging power
seen silvered by the moon
or wintry blue steel girder
the darkness of a monsoon
at times obscure and mistier
fired by the setting sun
monochrome on a grey days
silhouetted when day is done
etherial as dawn light plays
to capture it in sketches
lies far beyond my power
the oceans horizon stretches
in an endless rainbow shower
Gael Bage
the plot:
POSTED IN contemporary poetry July 15, 2013
the plot:
how long will this apple tree sustain the wither
gnarled limb unattended
hung in sad fruit
once loved tender
not a member of any orchard
never was
standing by itself
loved all the same
now casting thinnest of shadow
over farmer and wife
father and mother
as if misplaced
field creeping inward
bramble and bush
withering ages unseen
how long i wonder
inhaling idle cigarette
walking to car
how long i wonder.
George Gekas
The voices of water
POSTED IN contemporary poetry July 15, 2013
The voices of water
The voices of mountain water
slide down slope, shying at shallows,
circle through sandy-bottomed sinks,
shifting stones. “See,” they sing in unison,
“We shelter fish, sift gravel, sail fallen trees
off to shore somewhere else,
satisfy thirst and soul, make things grow.
We are a Sierra stream.”
But at night they disagree: Creek, Stream, River?
Rivulet, Waterway, Snowmelt, Rapids?
The shared sound they sashayed downstream with
disappears as sunlight does.
Stars appear in eddies; Stream takes off its mask
and it’s every splash for itself:
arias, arguments, yarnspinners and baritones.
Valkyries, lovers, distant mothers and owls.
Ghostriders, clowns. Hounds and whistlers.
All night the voices of water dance naked on the boulders.
They push and shove, bellow and bark.
They do-si-do, squeak, hoot and hum.
In the morning they whisper in unison.
They know how to look
like a small mountain stream.
Teresa McNeil MacLean
SAVE ME
POSTED IN contemporary poetry July 15, 2013
Save me
Rescue me
from the demons in my head
Save me
from the creatures
I have fed
Rescue me
from the church of Rome
Save me
to find my way home
Rescue me
we’ll never be alone
Save me
when the end comes near
Rescue me
we’ll have no fear
the biting rain
the sting of pain
a thought unchained
a runaway train
nothing to gain
the blackness of the night
covers me
thoughts of you
saved me
rhythms of the night
moved me
hypocrisy of the world
sickens me
lies of the church
disgust me
someone to blame
nothing but shame
the pounding rain
the screams of pain
a soul unchained
Glen Alexander
Unbelievers believe …
POSTED IN contemporary poetry July 6, 2013
Unbelievers believe …
Unbelievers believe they are right
Based upon a lack of insight
Speaking only of what they see
Disclosing its very paucity.An inner life they can’t describe
Is greeted with a diatribe
A wholesome fear of being misled
Frightens them away from what is said.Mistaking faith for blindness
Only fools show kindness
Images appear
From the things they see and hear.Courage to engage in symbolic thought
May give them a glimpse of what they sought
When truth was found in denying
Things they had not seen for trying.
Raymond Joy
A poet is a dandelion
POSTED IN contemporary poetry July 4, 2013
A poet is a dandelion
The dandelion
Sends out its seed
on parachute wings
drifting, noticing,
catching the breeze
a twirling fairy dance
spreading magic to
the Universe,
taking root amongst
us with confidence
and ease
Amanda Edwards
If I were a button
POSTED IN contemporary poetry July 4, 2013
If I were a button
If I were a button,
What button should I be?
Perhaps a little pearly button
To show the magic side of me.
Maybe a chunky button
Which can’t quite fit the hole
No matter how you twist me
I’ll never fit the mould.
A bobbly little button
So frivolous and gay,
Alas you’ll lose me often
With your rough and tumble play.
Square or round or oblong,
Big or small or plain,
Snaking down your shirt front
Not one of me the same.
Or rattling in a button jar
With all my button friends
Waiting to be picked by you
To fasten your loose ends.
Amanda Edwards
New Zealand
