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My Mother's Poem | Mike Ess - Contemporary Poetry Website Featuring Notable Poems

My Mother's Poem | Mike Ess

My mother is dying and I am crying,
well on the inside anyway.
She’s nearing seventy and I’m nearing fifty,
and I have no idea what to say.
I have not seen nor spoken with her in many years,
long ago I thought there could be no more tears,
But now she is dying and I think I am crying,
well on the inside anyway.
Before she died I flew up to say hi,
before she died I flew up to say bye.
But she never saw me, she wouldn’t see me.
She died with her husband, my father by her side,
she died with her daughters, my sisters by her side,
but she wouldn’t see me, she wouldn’t let me be near.
So she died and I never ever cried, well not on the outside anyway.

ShoeHorn |  Richard William Kirkpatrick-Thorne - Contemporary Poetry Website Featuring Notable Poems

ShoeHorn | Richard William Kirkpatrick-Thorne

It Was A Trick Of The Light,
To The Wounded Winding Of Springs,
So She Could Lift Her Eyes To The Rift,
Where Mortality Could Be Feasted UpOn,
And With The Rotateing Of Erasure,
Mouths Could Construct Epitaphs In The Corner…

Of That Room… A ChamberLess Embryo For A SexLess Sliver,
A ReVerseing Labyrinth Singing To ItSelf For A Body Politic,
Rolling InTo ItSelf To UnCorner And Be Juggled InTo Orbit With Plaster
Cherubs,
As Fertility Dug Deep To Bury The Clock’s Incessant Throne,
Ruleing InTo HerSelf To UnCover Another Jungle…

Ignorance Biteing Worth… Pleaseing Richer Ballistics,
A Stoned ForEver Swept Under The Rug To Keep Her Hands Flushed,
Insectile But Not ALone,
Cruelty Granting OnTo Its Union… A Yesterday’s Cutting Through…

For Stained Glass…


Coloring The Faces Of All Those Who Sit BeSide Her,
UpOn Arbor And Brow…



If It Is Good For The Noose,
Then It Be As Good For The Sander.

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

A Quiet Insurrection |  Daniel Klawitter - Contemporary Poetry Website Featuring Notable Poems

A Quiet Insurrection | Daniel Klawitter

Friend of my youth,
red-haired hilarious
satyr of the senses!
Kicking your heels
and burning down the fences
of our small pastures.

A first priest of poetry
scribbling incantations
into books–
plotting rebellion
in the nooks and crannies
of the town that we
abandoned.

You have drunk deeply
of the forbidden brook,
tasted the defiant fruit
of knowledge,
while cat lies lazy
in the window
with a broken tooth.

Your Byzantine rituals
of serpentine silk–
leading you to gossamer oceans
of milky oblivion.

You and I so serious
in our quest
for a quiet insurrection.

More at http://about.me/dklawitter.

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