Sentence Deconstruction | Mary Bone
I deconstructed a sentence
broke it down to the letters
fileting the words with a knife,
somehow I ended up
with chopped suey.
poems about poetry
Beggar | Lucia Daramus
I am alone. Alone. Alone!
I’m crying in the middle of the street
and my howl is green
the madness which I am growing is black
my father kept my hand
and he said me
you will eat a bread from the place
where is your soul !
How truth and how untruth
I’m hungry
truly hungry
my soul is in poetry
the poetry fill the brain and heart
I’m writing poetry from my dark loneliness
I’m writing with blood and
and –
with my horses herd from my mind
waiting the death
as a blue- red pillar of fair
and over these the white bird
from my soul
but I am a beggar, a poet- beggar
We Will Not Go Gently | Tamsen Grace
Polite people do not become poets
We, the unmannered
offer no apologies,
for blaspheming love in our soliloquies,
scavengers of wisdom,
measuring out the world
with our metaphors,
step by step
with our words,
we can wipe out dysfunction
and create a new anthology
death will come,
someday,
for all us poets and our words,
but we will not go gently
Poetry | Chris Byrne
It’s just words written
in the right order,
random thoughts
plucked from the mind.
Unscrambled words,
mixed emotions,
put onto paper,
slowly typed.
Patience, perseverance
trying, getting words out,
ideas, ideas inspiring
words, uplifting spirits.
Brain freezes, mental blocks,
self-doubt plaguing
indecisive minds,
typing, editing.
They’re just words, they say,
words of wisdom, a lifelong
passion to inspire, to
dream, to write.
Lack of sleep, bleary screens,
long hours, tiredness,
we do it, for we
are poets.
Confetti | Ann Christine Tabaka
Paper snow
on the floor
shredded dreams
that used to be my poems
words spill onto pages
only to fly off
looking for cohesion
searching for a theme
day after day
frustration reigns
as the ritual repeats itself
a line here a phrase there
then all is lost
and once again
confetti festoons my world
—–
Ann Christine Tabaka was born and lives in Delaware. She is a published poet, an artist, a chemist, and a personal trainer. She loves gardening, cooking, and the ocean. Chris lives with her husband and two cats. Her poems have been published in numerous national and international poetry journals, reviews, and anthologies.
Metamorphosis | Judy Moskowitz
I never expected to find a torn napkin
somewhere on a beach and start to write
layers of thoughts coming from a locked box
only the wind could understand
pulling me into a magnetic field of consciousness
that would change my life
I never expected to become a poet
just in time before falling into a recliner
no longer a long stemmed rose
life worn on my face
a different kind of legacy
born and penned out of need
all the possibilities stirring within
an envelope mailed to me
I decided to open it
roar and howl
a reinvention I never expected
My Friend the Poet | Michael Kagan
My friend the poet
writes about the recent future
taking close-ups of tomorrow’s past
somewhere inside myself
the abstract speaks in vivid color
every word she says
my friend the poet makes imperfect sense
her truth rings through me
counting the kisses on dewdrops
singing a cappella with her ghosts
charming clouds to let her inside
their dreamy shapes
look down upon the folly
chaos and despair
she writes about the worth of worry
it’s lighter than the air
she writes about making peace with fear
and explains the blindness in rage
cannot see around corners
and I understand these words
my friend the poet
on cloudy occasions
writes of her own voyage
many holes on a crumpled map
waves knocking her over and over
she tells her story surfing on her belly
to the shores of solid ground
and she as a magic poet
describes it so well
you get the picture
as if you were always there