contemporary poetry
The Stalker
POSTED IN contemporary poetry June 15, 2013
The StalkerLoneliness is an unwanted stalker,
Hidden just out of sight.
I stumble through my day
Aware he is there, somewhere,
Waiting for the time to be right.When I least expect it,
He taps me on the shoulder,
Slides his dagger between my ribs,
And whispers, “I’m still here,”
Each day becoming a little bolder.I seek safety in a crowd,
But even there he’ll find a way
To remind me he is always near.
Watching my every move,
He keeps my inner peace at bay.When I am alone,
Prepared to confront him
Face-to-face,
He remains hidden
Until I’m weary, then he strikes again.He loves the darkness,
It gives him more places to hide
And he can move in closer,
Waiting patiently for just
The right moment
To slip his dagger into my side
And whisper again,
“I’m still here.”by Phil Ray Jack
USA
Freedom is ignorance …
POSTED IN contemporary poetry June 15, 2013
Freedom is ignorance
Love is pain
Knowledge enslaves
Unity enlightens
Contentment transcends
Astonishment transports
Nothing is aware.
As I lie with my head on my pillow …
POSTED IN contemporary poetry June 15, 2013
As I lie with my head on my pillow
I spread my great wings and I soar.
I go where the winds of my Beloved
Are wont to carry my soul.
What ambition could ever be better
What goal could bring more delight
Than rising and moving and singing
and knowing it’s good and it’s right.
When you go to sleep at night …
POSTED IN contemporary poetry June 15, 2013
When you go to sleep at night
Open your heart up to all that is right
Think of those things that will bring you delightWhen you go to sleep at night
You’ll be receiving much more that you’re leaving
And you will find there’s a great peace of mindWhen you go to sleep at night
Open your heart up to God and His Might
He will protect you all through the nightWhen you go to sleep at night
When you go to sleep at night
If my soul could speak …
POSTED IN contemporary poetry June 15, 2013
If my soul could speak, and you know it can,
Just as it can see and hear
It would tell of a wondrous world
That is near, so very near.If it knew, and you know it does,
It would say what to do, just because
Of the love it bears
For me and you.If it could hear, and I’ve said it could,
It would listen, then burn away pride
Draw its mighty sword and divide
Light from darkness, bad from good
And strive toward what it knew it should.Until Nirvana’s gates stood wide
And it was asked to come inside
The world of oneness, to bow at the feet
Of Him whom it has come to meet.With gratitude and grief for the past
Reaching that gushing font at last
Feel the wind through its hollow reed
Escaping both ambition and need.Here is the shore of the ocean I named
It is just as close as before
But there is still a ladder to climb
Still another door.Even poetry can’t describe
Those things that still lie hid
If my soul could go, and you know it did,
It would see these, too.
Heyoka Drum Song
POSTED IN contemporary poetry June 15, 2013
hear you my name
then you see me
See you name me
you don’t see meIn tree dancing
stick be holding
calling you out
setting you freerising slowly
dropping quickly
cry your laughter
laughing your painShun me, love you
Catch me, empty
Hold me, away
Follow me, notHopeless, answer
danger, safety
empty, blessing
nothing, rewardTurn-in side-out
poor you be rich
poor to riches
richly poor become on back child
New Tale to tell
laugh-up sitting
crying out louddrum you with me
dance you with me
sing you with me
one beat we be
http://garnetrobbie.wordpress.com/
How to travel forever
POSTED IN contemporary poetry June 13, 2013
How to travel foreverHave conversations with people you see
and those you imagine. Position yourself
so the light bounces off the man’s glasses
and opens worlds back to you. Wear clothes
that make everyone you pass shadow you,
hours later they’re still whispering about them.
When you appear in a dream you have tallied
the signposts, traveled far. Eat cinnamon,
it will ooze from your skin like cookies.
Worry the Metro ticket in your palm. In
your pocket. Remember how you came up
the steps into the light, stood at a bar
and had coffee, the branches outside
stirring a soft orchestration upon your face.
Listen to old music, touch his hand.
The sum of you greater than each of you
unmatched, expand into the sky.
TOBI COGSWELL
from the volume LIT UP
Understand Understood
POSTED IN contemporary poetry May 28, 2013
This jostling has warn me out
these are not really the things I have to share
these are but your expectations for your care
playing the puppet on the string
for your simplified enjoyment
searching for your sense of pity
I have been playing with you
there are deeper things I have to say on every matter
from the nature of the stars to collecting city litter
but I have been quiet on such subjects
owing to the opposition I might face
owing to the fact you never asked
I’ve spent a long time waiting
for these few moments when we can get down to the gist
and forget about all this foreplay I thought you’d miss
but I was trained to it you see
to think that coddling was the key
to arriving at some conclusion
Now I see it will never end
this gentle coaxing of your security to rid you of falsity
has turned into a lifetime occupational propensity
and I’ve been sapped to the bone
praying for an impossibility
to show what I need you to see
I am not who you’ve assumed
there is in me a reality deeper than you can measure
it offends me that I must be silent for your pleasure
and now it is my turn to speak
I see you for who you are
you are the same as me
Uncivilized
POSTED IN contemporary poetry May 28, 2013
News of another lover
of unspecified gender
(a generational glitch
in the eclectic dreams
of ageless cappuccino debutantes
and aromatic swashbucklers)
and barely hidden terms
of rapturous agreements,
under the guise
of open-mindedness,
are dealt out over a table
in a double-handed tryst,
while nutmeg and cinnamon,
nestled together
in frothy delight,
conceal incantations
wafted into fetid air
of diametric oppositions,
and social commentary
acquires a neon glow,
reflected in panes
of hard-boiled silicon,
marking the outer limit
against the primitive fringe:out here,
where hands
beat drums
to frighten Pharoah,where tongues
chant prayers
to raise the dead,where feet
move dust
upon the earth.
The Macbeth Tree
POSTED IN contemporary poetry May 8, 2013
The Macbeth TreeTallahatchie County, Mississippi
Lightning-struck
and prematurely twisted
in the middle of fallow land
with no camouflage
stands a Devil’s bargain,
its knobbed and threadbare
branches reaching up
a plea for deliverance.Naked and black-burnt
lesson in deformed
humility, with no safe
surface to carve initials
in a heart or rest a weary
back, these witch
branches left to smolder
in an open field,
a silent prayer of witness,
thin as a hag’s finger,
warning the sky.
(Crack the Spine, June 2013)
By TOBI COGSWELLUSA
