contemporary poetry
Ashes
POSTED IN contemporary poetry October 27, 2013
Ashes
We carry the weight
of all our yesterdays,
in large awkward boxes
with no handles,
till aching arms
force us to lift it
to a shoulder.
Pain and sorrow
are packed in the bottom
for stability and balance
with laughter and joy
on top
to try and lighten the load.
Today
I will go outside
and burn them
knowing that
tomorrow I will
sift through the ashes.
Tom Hemeon
The Green Man
POSTED IN contemporary poetry October 27, 2013
The Green Man
I am a kiss that wakes the long dead winter,
a sleepsong that rouses new heart beats.
I am air and water, the fruit on the vine.
I am tomorrow, with memory in ancient tales
that told of rainbow colour, woven in rich greens,
my roots delve beyond the painted caves of Lascaux
I’m mineral, plant and animal, with touch of divine,
the tree of life grew the column of my spine.
In thickly forested places, I am the wood – the wood
is me. In earth I am the stone – the stone is me.
Carpenters and stonemasons carve me, form myriad
faces that grin and gurn, add lustre to my mystery.
I spew forth a fruiting vine from antlered head.
My breath blows upon the wings of time. Fingers
pay homage to the great dome of the sky where
sycamore, beech and oak leaves twine
with tendrils that flourish round my face.
My wildness is the preservation of the world,
there’s no city where man will recognise my grace,
illumination comes where nature is unfurled.
From PoetryZoo.Abigael
Gael Bage
Autumnal Dawn
POSTED IN contemporary poetry October 27, 2013
Autumnal Dawn
Dawn rises to a singed
orange horizon, her beauty
a prayer hung in the air.
The sleepy valley lies
shrouded in shadow where
dark trees slumber
Sun risen, flame red
like the berries that glint
on faded gold leaves.
The hydrangeas pink
and blue colours sun-faded
to a gentle, subtle hue.
In wabi sabi garments
autumn blends in perfection
with deeps of evergreen.
Gael Bage
Two Pairs Of Socks
POSTED IN contemporary poetry October 27, 2013
Two Pairs Of Socks
“Your poetry sucks.”
“What do you mean?”
her eyebrows knitting a sweater
and two pairs of socks.
“Your poetry section, it sucks.
Not enough for a good fire,
though god knows,
most of it should have been burned.”
“I don’t pick the books,
and who are you anyway?”
“Nobody,
you on the other hand must be the duster.”
Her hand moves toward a letter opener.
“I’m sorry” I said
bringing us back from the brink,
“I have these books I want”.
“Late charges” she says triumphantly,
“that will be ten dollars.”
“I don’t want to buy the library”
“You don’t get any more til you pay.”
Stomping them back to their shelves
I peel the label from the 1946 winner,
so the Pulitzer prize is now where it belongs,
a gold medallion on the Alden Nowlan.
Out the door, no books, just two pairs of socks.
Tom Hemeon
Stone
POSTED IN contemporary poetry October 22, 2013
Stone
God doesn’t live
inside a stone,
on top of a stone
or under a stone.
God
was always
a stone.
A Sisyphus stone
rolled forever
up and down
the mountains
of the absurd.
Should we wait
until the stone
grinds down,
Ares bored
with war;
for Hades
to unchain
the universe?
Perhaps there is
another way
Sisyphus, Hades
and Ares lost;
just throw away
the stone.
Tom Hemeon
Weeping Willows
POSTED IN contemporary poetry October 20, 2013
Weeping Willows
Peace lies
along the river bank
sit quietly
under a crack willow
her bark
is coarse and craggy
leaves hang
fringing the river
in cool shade
draped all around you
wafting gently
in the summer breeze
inhale deeply
the damp and earthy aroma
electric blue
damselfly flit in the reeds
fish
rise to take a fly
kingfisher
dive to take a fish
lose self
at One with mother nature
underneath
Britain’s most elegant tree.
Gael Bage
Lonesome Road
POSTED IN contemporary poetry October 20, 2013
Lonesome Road
Mistily grown in darkness new-fallen
Whispers of silence are toiling in lees
Forgotten forever and never awoken;
Lost in the anger that silence decrees.
Patience, O laughter, questions recallen,
Wasted one chance to follow a way
To a goal never mine in a place to be broken,
Yet that wasting was painful; the shadows are grey.
It is in me to mention in passing this way
That anger’s a virtue, instilled in deep fire;
I am Druad; my work is to heal,
Be healing a weapon, or wielded in ire.
Cromloch is the centre; the tall stones are grey,
The cairns for the wind-lorn or candles of grief,
The forests forever to desert’s limn weal
Their domain succumbed to spring’s cool relief.
Each thereby entered, each portion true
To add to the whole, the balance there find
With oceans dislimn, with winds howling through;
Bring hope to the Forest; ‘tis work of the mind.
Blessing of music in order’s relief,
There lies the trust, ne’er trusted the thief
Who plays her sweet flute in works convolute
And enters each hymn an eulogy of grief.
Now is the watch-fire, filling the wintered air
With such promises bold as we see the high glade
Crossed with the oaks, boughs seven tiers there
And upon the high ground the lodge is well made.
Logs laid lengthwise, layered and long,
Boulders bared, broken, laid crosswise betwixt
The higher lean limbs, the high roof is strong,
And together the lodge is cunningly fixed.
Now is the knowing, the work we share
Now eternally good, twixt evil and good
The balance is true, and heal everywhere
The forest renewed, greenheart’s wood.
Yet life alone gave me no pleasure
As filth besmirched our dearest land
But now we arise and take bold measure
To bring this chaos well in hand.
‘Sombrely beautiful, and yet so light with thoughtful smile
If patient, then patiently waiting, impatient all the while
Open to honest candour, gifted foresight to succour,
Bereft of sin’s insincerity, filled with wisdom’s light.’
I’ve lived and died a million times
In duties far and near,
I’ve lost my loves a million times
Yet I crave to hold you dear.
For I’m the Fool who’s lived and died
In greater service to our Lord
Danced away from star to star
To bring just peace and sweet accord.
But now I’ve wearied of all the tryst
That seems the lot for me;
Dearest soul that here my soul hath kissed
Would you share my eternity?
For at last I find the work is done,
I’ve settled the every score,
And home again I go to God,
To rest for ever more.
The Pilgrim dressed in sombre black
Gave hope eternally,
But now must rest his staff with God,
In his own eternity.
Richard Jones
Tree Sisters
POSTED IN contemporary poetry October 20, 2013
Tree Sisters
Dancing joyfully on new
paths we learn to consume
more mindfully, balance
taking, with gifting.
Follow heart’s passion.
Know we are never alone,
for the sacred feminine
is woven in the whole.
Woman power wears down
our divisions, flows, eddies
and ripples precious drops
to seal relationships.
We gather acceptance
to find nature’s balance.
Daughters of mother nature
and sisters in abundance.
We embrace our shadow
and shine a bright light.
Like water we just flow,
no need for any fight.
Grounded in earth’s ways,
we know our health depends
on earth’s planetary wealth.
Tree Sisters – Earth’s friends.
Gael Bage
Lost
POSTED IN contemporary poetry October 19, 2013
Lost
I lost another poem
this morning
in the early air
between my home and my car
I failed to net it
put it in my poem jar
it flew away
over there
will it be around
when I get back?
D E Navarro
The Poet’s Way
POSTED IN contemporary poetry October 19, 2013
The Poet’s Way
Pages filled with inspiration
Sprinkled with a smile
Taking time to make it rhyme
And serve it up with style
Poetry, like life itself
Keeps changing every day
We that know, go with the flow
To walk the Poet’s way
Love is in the air we breathe
In whispering of sighs
In looks across a crowded room
When lovers’ eyes meet eyes
Poetry like love itself
Is worth the price to pay
We that know, go with the flow
To love the Poet’s way.
In the beauty of the dawn
The mystery of the night
In rivers, seas and forests
The power of birds in flight
The passion of all Poets
is to write our lives away
We that know, go with the flow
To live the Poet’s way!
Wanda Kiel-Rapana
