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Earthly Spirits and Fear – A Poem by P.K. Deb

Quite a wrangling time it was,
“Hunt or be hunted” was popular,
while two man-made spirits fell in love
and took an oath to live together for ever
in the witness of the rising sun.
A cool breeze of emotion and instinct flew in,
made the people pregnant instantly
and a chilled “Fear” was born in hot mind,
ensnared them to be upside down
to shed down the black belongings.
The protruded eyes conducted a quick survey
of the border-line of dignity to look within,
the flying legs returned to their base
and started marching on the given track,
the long and sharp nailed fingers hid
in the safe- shelter of grip in hurry,
the night-wings rooted out the blood-sucking teeth
and the ghosts joined in the hustle at the doors
of the saloons and beauty-parlours
to change themselves into angels and fairies.

Thus, “Fear”- the blessing of the earthly spirits
solicited a cyclone and the evil–dirt was washed off,
along with the next rising sun–
the ground-floor was uplifted to the top-floor.

Of late, just a story it is to a grandson
who experiences a win in shooting competition
against an un-updated pair of spirits
maybe, over-burdened with the stacks of ages.
May God rejuvenate and empower the spirits
with the same winning weapons
as they could use before against the rivals.

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Free Matadors – A Poem by P.K. Deb

Be careful, the silent matadors are approaching again
Succeeding a suffocating life of long captivity.
They are ruinous and free of moral chain,
Hence, invincible to invade our sensibility.

Responsible they are, for wars and blood-shedding,
Capable of mincing integrity in a moment,
Compelling us to bow down to their heartless lading
And their freedom can make us morally indigent.

Either we are foolish or over-optimist in thinking,
Lunatic to discover a reciprocal state of freedom
And block head as intellectual feelings are shrinking
To realise the consequences of over- optimism.

All the noses, the suspicious critics may sneer,
The babbling tongues may become more sensible,
In shame the faces may catch with fire
But the shameless eyes glitter and remain accessible.

A rudimentary society of the previous earth
May uncover the freedom of Homo sapiens,
They were set free because of the dearth
Of sunlight, reformative knowledge and emotions.

Slowly light started flourishing with civilizations
To measure everything by their importance
And captivity was started by the rules and regulations
To resist the matadors and their bitter sequence.

Alas, again they are made absolutely chainless,
We, the hilarious, break all the fences of dignity
And the overconfident bring only the darkness
Of hurry-scurry decision to enjoy care-free liberty.

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Super Bowl Who Gives a Crap Sunday – A Poem by G. S. Katz

Another pathetic excuse to throw a party
And eat a lot of crap to constipate you
For days
My team’s not playing
And even if they were
All this fake patriotism
And high fiving
Just give me a six pack
Or a bottle of vodka
And some non Super junk food
And leave me the hell alone
In my usual misery

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LTM- Laughing To Myself – A Poem by G. S. Katz

Ok, somebody had to do it
Might as well be me
The silent protest against LOL
The assault on the norm

Lol is way overused
And laughing out loud
Can be rude
This is your alternative, LTM

Go ahead and try it
It won’t bite
Be original
You can even say its yours

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Scattered Intent – A Poem by Shelley Nutting

Words
that refuse to stay
upon the page.
They break
rank and file
to slip carelessly
from line
to line,
and loiter furtively in the margins.

Assassins of poetry

they obey no master,
reluctant to convey
any meaningful message.
Yet I am aware,
as I reshuffle
phrase after phrase,
it is often the words
not written,
the dramatic pauses…

the breaks

that tell the real tale.

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The Wake – A Poem by Richard William Kirkpatrick-Thorne

I Leave The Wheels To Machinery,
There Are Strange Things In The Clouds,
Honest And UnDieing They Could Live In The Wake,
Of New Days From The Next Deaths Of The Old,
Turning Lightning InTo Blackness And Stone,
The Wearing AWay At The Grip Of Dreams,
Erosion Of Forms And Patterns,
Blinking The Light From Entrance InTo Havens UnSeen,
Tenacity To Cling From The Swaying Lines,
To Burn And Incinerate The Dream,
To The Fragments For Spaceious Skys,
UnDoing Like ButterFlys,
Ripping Through The Membranes BeTwixt Glass And Grain,
Shadeing Lapses As I Step Forward…

Never A Division For A Partial Chance,
Empty As All Paces Can At Once Be,
Each To Lift Not To Settle,
And As I Have Stood…

Those From Such Walks Meet,
Side By Side,
To Stare Beyond The Shoulder’s Length,
Filling With Texture And Sleepless Breath,
Fingers Pressed Against The Surface,
Cool To The Touch…And Smoother Than Lies.

More at http://rwkt.blogspot.ca.

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