What’s the Matter | Nate Maye
What’s the matter
he asks
but we know
we have heard him
speak and spill
his insults
guffaw at his own
dark jokes
knowing what is wrong
with this world
is attitudes like that.
lack of empathy poems
Easy Topics | J.K. Durick
Talk about peace, talk about war
Imagine either, imagine both
That’s easy enough to do
We watch them on television
Watch them discussed
Whenever it suits the speaker
Fits the audience and the time slot
We turn on and off to their tune
Half the world is burning
We watch children crying
Real children crying – half a world
Away from us, not next door
Those children never cry, never die
Never feel the true force of our words
Talk about peace, talk about war
Imagine either, imagine neither
Distance makes it easier – we talk it
Others get to live with what we say.
Suburbia | Guy Farmer
The number of days
I was awakened from
A peaceful slumber by
The roaring din of
An angry malcontent out
To satisfy only his own
Needs at the expense
Of others’ well-being,
Unable to care for
Anyone, including himself.
A blustering cacophony of
Insecurity,
Barely contained rage,
Immeasurable
Unhappiness,
Typical suburbia.
Doing Something | Guy Farmer
Always doing something
To annoy someone else
For the sheer pleasure of
Seeing him or her suffer,
A perversion of caring,
Outside reflecting inside strife,
Unable to do anything
But be unpleasant,
A stain that won’t come out.
More minimalist poetry at https://www.unconventionalbeing.com/.
Diversity | Cattail Jester
Shame when diversity
Only comes when pushed
And then only
A bare surface scratched
A superficial compliance.
Turn on Each Other | JD DeHart
I remember my father’s
hands reaching between snapping
snouts of fighting dogs
and spreading them apart
and I remember the thin
stream of blood spread across
the hairy thatch of his hand
I have seen the snap
and bite and growl of people
and noticed how they treat
their perceived territory
at least the creature
is more honest in its delivery.
LORCA | Stefanie Bennett
Not even the dream hand
Unknots you. I stretched it out
Never to placate you but
Take the wanton aback.
In your blind state… blind
Of a different kind
I fingered nose, eyes, mouth
And the ear’s sounding tribunal.
Your heart I felt. I wanted
Its telling above others.
The roar it gave forth – worse
Than any air-raid. The manning of guns.
I surmised the pulse of your being
Should be aligned with hollyhocks.
I surmised
A free flighted bird.
I surmised
Storm clouds parted –
But there, on your brow
Something painted
A peal of bells
Where your mind struck five times
Not hours spent, never the dream hand,
Neither my grace or its own
Beguiled wretchedness could impede
What was, or isn’t, there.