21st century poets

Demurely, Night Must Swallow Day | Jim Bellamy

they must rise, make for the strange rooms
where madmen dandled with
the sadness of the coke-filled wounds
which sang and sang all night

and the mad must appear salved
by those old-type native foolish things
which don the jeweller’s hocked
and sin-beleaguered rings

and the scene was direly set
to feature fools who should not
dive in the pools (once called the lakes)-
the stage was cold and would not
darken the faces of death’s cot…

demurely, night must swallow day?

More at https://www.jamesbellamy.org/.

Till Eternity Do Us Part | Welkin Siskin

In a perfect world I shall come
With flesh not subjected to death,
And with stories untold sum
The mystery of love yet
With untarnished image,
And beget love that shall endure through time,
And cross all love hardships and maze,
And make love pure and sublime,
And smooch the eternity pledged by us
If by our passion we diffuse eternally
To come up with greater truth thus.
It’s not by virtue of things unknown truly,
But with love known—shared, tended and
cherished.
In a perfect world I shall come
With being unadulterated,
And with stories untold sum
And garner all the hearts yet.
Stages metamorphosed by purity,
Claim eternity perfected by time
And make love pure and sublime
With love subject to no deaths
but celebrated with chime.

The Nibblers | Mary Bone

This year’s harvest
could’ve fed the hungry,
if the deer hadn’t eaten the
tops off the okra stalks.
If the grasshoppers didn’t swarm and
eat every green thing I had planted,
except my cucumbers.
The potatoes stayed underground
during the blight and survived.
Several rain showers helped to bring on
more leaves on the base of the okra stalks.
We are hoping something doesn’t nibble
on the yellow blooms peeking out for a second chance,
so they can hopefully present themselves.

Anniversary | Jim Bellamy

Were we really rain that night
or did we
simply trade our words for clouds?
we were not seen
to dream of common storms
and, calmly,
as if it were wrong to scream,
gaped notes of Passion,
with skin set to war scrapes
and eyes
robed in chapel lashes

I believe our thunder was a lie
clapped
in certainties,
wailing over shadows of growth
but tending a jungle of drought…

We were never rain…
we could never have been…
but the madness of time burns deep in us
as this widow
hammers our veins…

More at https://jimbellamy.simplesite.com.

Cups | Envein

Is thy cup half empty or half full? Think! Does it really matter? For when we thirst we must drink. The wine is a distraction, its taste sweet and bold. Used to carry our attention from the chalice that we hold. Does our cup runneth over? Sure. Yet we drown our fears with a thirst for more. Got to let it go, let our thoughts be stilled. No longer to worry about all the wine we have spilled.

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