The Trouble with Harry | Ricky Garni - Contemporary Poetry Website Featuring Notable Poems

The Trouble with Harry | Ricky Garni

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At the coffee shop, I was marveling at how much the acorn
resembles both the pineapple and the artichoke. So I took a
picture of it and showed it to my friend. He looked at it for
a moment and then he said “You know that’s not an acorn –
that’s Harry Houdini, who was born in Wisconsin.” What
else do you know about Harry Houdini? I asked him, did
he die of a broken heart? Suddenly Harry became very
enigmatic. Perhaps a better word for it would be moist.
It was raining: the acorns had disappeared.

Meaningless Existence | Michael Andreas - Contemporary Poetry Website Featuring Notable Poems

Meaningless Existence | Michael Andreas

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i’m not sure what you were trying to accomplish
by not looking in those dark corners

they weren’t going to go away
things like that can’t be ignored into oblivion

instead you chose to live a shallow, meaningless existence
never getting close to anyone

surrounded by many unsuspecting people
all of whom would build up your unhealthy ego

the people who most matter kept at arm’s length
to eventually walk away

Father and Son Love Redux | G. S. Katz - Contemporary Poetry Website Featuring Notable Poems

Father and Son Love Redux | G. S. Katz

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Fathers and Sons: Love Redux

My dad wasn’t wordy
I can’t remember affection
He never told me he loved me
If he did, I don’t remember it

Strong silent type he was
I grew up quiet
Till I started to speak more
Then everyone wished I’d shut the hell up

My mom told me my dad loved us very much
I wanted to hear it from him
On my wedding day he said it
Collectively in a toast he pronounced his love grandly

I always wanted more from him
I wanted his knowledge, his craft
He’s gone 20 years now
I’m still trying ……

In the Dead of Night | Mark Andrew Heathcote - Contemporary Poetry Website Featuring Notable Poems

In the Dead of Night | Mark Andrew Heathcote

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I’m an oak with rings ingrain
My heart is a woodcut carving
My soul a gnarled wooden cane
No longer prevents my falling.

I’m a mountain-pine-forest
A field of flattened wheat:
A no-man’s-land, a gauntlet
Thrown, down in beseech

Of-war, of-madness or friendship
Take your pick; I am ready, for all.
I have sharpened and whetted,
Sheaved my blade; heeding its call.

I have vanquished-my-enemies
One and all to see them lonesome fall
I have rewritten they’re own parodies.
In my turn stood, equally tall.

I have ignited into blossom,
And unfurled to catch sight
Every flower my breath can bosom
Hold to itself in the dead of night.

More at https://www.ctupublishinggroup.com/mark-andrew-heathcote.html.

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