poem

El Torero Cabaret – A Poem by Richard William Kirkpatrick-Thorne

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Heavy UpOn The Shoulders,
A Mountain Giant,
And From WithIn The Dominion Of Its Skull,
All Wet And Bundled Into A Carriage Of Blankets,
The Grit And Dew…
…
…
Up Above The Slope And Grade,
To The One-Eyed In Recluse And Wool,
Picking At The Meat Left In Fugal Wicker,
When At Leisure Not By The Heated Of Discussion,
Resting Its Head By A Grinding Brook…
…
When Alerted By Snouted Draft,
It Learns To Lean Back UpOn The Nearly Deaf,
A Minute For Depressions Left To ReMind,
For It To Organize InTo Romantics…
…
Chocolately Enticeing To The Immigrant,
Whose Lines Lead Out From Places Of Plantains To Tambourines,
Surrounding All States To Surrender,
Mothers Hurriedly Takeing Those Whites Off …
…
…
These Days Be As Enveloped As Be Stamped,
Cleaner Than The Ways Of Older Pushes,
Loyal To The Swerve…
…
A Riposte Over The Bulge,
Answering To The Trickle-Down,
InTo The Coded Cork…
…
…
For Twins… InTwine… In Trust To Be Not With Sleep’s Brother,
As Those Of Lacking Be Respected In Age…
…
Though It Be Only Performed In Etiquette,
Never True To The Cutlery… And Seldom Seen Parrying With The Cloth.

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

Lust – A Poem by G. S. Katz

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I love to lust
It defines me
Without lust
There is no me
Vacated
Lost
Barren
Desire is always
On my radar
Come to me
Take my hand
Follow me to bliss
With moonlight
To illuminate our path

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

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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.

Free Matadors – A Poem by P.K. Deb

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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.

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

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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

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

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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

Scattered Intent – A Poem by Shelley Nutting

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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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