July, 2013
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
A Special Day
POSTED IN contemporary poetry July 1, 2013
A Special Day
Each time it comes around I search for words,
for what is just one day in every year,
that reveals itself in several iterations:
some bring celebration, some a tear;
some can bring together lasting friends
and then surprise you when you feel them sway
your otherwise unshaken disposition;
then some will come like any other day
and make you feel you sort of wish there would
be someone, who could make it otherwise;
bring you flowers, take you somewhere special,
for a picnic with some birds and butterflies.
Perhaps they will prepare a special meal,
the one you always relish, come what may;
command your sense of duty take a rest,
allow you to indulge yourself all day.
But, come the day, when someone says I love you
and brings a cup of tea for you in bed
and says this is your day, do as you will
doesn’t this mean just as much instead?
John Anstie
