Tag Archives: Guest poem

the disappeared…

poem, Poetry, ,

A brilliant poem from SLPMartin:

Read Between the Minds

that shack’s
got no electric
nor
inside plumbing
as far as we know
nobody
visits 
that old man
most folks
say
he’s
a crazy old fool
only thing
he talks about
when he steps foot
off
his property
usually
just
to go
to the general store
is
the haints
in the swamp
the swamp’s
just beyond
his back door
at
night he burns
sage
and
holy impepho
covers
most of his face
in
soot
from
the cedar
burnt in his fireplace
as a child
i once
heard him talking
to
my uncle
said the swamp
holds the souls
of
runaway slaves
freedom fighters
and
soldiers
who thought
freedom
was theirs
because
they fought
in
the great wars
guess
the sheriff
and
town folks disagreed
their bodies
got swallowed up
by
the swamp
no
area 6 burial
for
them
i’ve been thinking
lately
that
he might not
be
all that crazy

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Missing – poem by Sarah Connor

humour, philosophy, poem, Poetry, Science Fiction Poetry, speculative poetry, , , ,

A fantastic poem from Sarah that tells of a strong feeling I didn’t really know I had –until I read this. Enjoy!

Fmme writes poems

What I miss is aliens.

Not aliens, exactly, but the though of aliens –
descending in their shiny spotless spacecraft,
making first contact and humanity responding –

love and peace? Maybe. A realising
that we’re human, all of us together,
that we’re adrift on this blue spacehsip
but we can reach out –

grappling hooks and handshakes –

learn from others, find new ways to live.

I’m missing Captain Kirk.

That clean ideal of boldly going out
into the great unknown,
sharing the best that we can be.

Maybe I miss my own naivety.

Maybe I miss the feeling that we can be better,
that we can all reach out –
all those old cliches, building bridges,
building bigger tables, building love

when all we ever build are walls

and maybe it was never there –
maybe I’m yearning after something that I never had
and never lost.

Maybe it’s…

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The Experiment

astronomy, Life, philosophy, poem, Poetry, Science, speculative poetry, , , , , , , ,

Some very interesting thoughts here from the Night Poet:

nightpoetry

“We are like butterflies that flutter for a day and think it is forever.”

– Carl Sagan ~

Digitally enhanced image created from an original photo taken in February 2020.

© 2020 nightpoet all rights reserved

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Friday Poem: The Tide Rises, the Tide Falls

Friday Poem, Life, poem, Poetry, , , , , ,
The tide rises, the tide falls,
The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;
Along the sea-sands damp and brown
The traveller hastens toward the town,
      And the tide rises, the tide falls.
Darkness settles on roofs and walls,
But the sea, the sea in the darkness calls;
The little waves, with their soft, white hands,
Efface the footprints in the sands,
      And the tide rises, the tide falls.
The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls
Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls;
The day returns, but nevermore
Returns the traveller to the shore,
      And the tide rises, the tide falls.

 

 

By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

When they came……(For Holocaust Remembrance Day)

philosophy, poem, Poetry, , , ,

First they came for the Communists
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a Communist

Then they came for the Socialists
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a Socialist

Then they came for the trade unionists
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a trade unionist

Then they came for the Jews
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a Jew

Then they came for me
And there was no one left
To speak out for me

 

Martin Niemöller

 

For Holocaust Memorial DayHolocaust_Memorial_Day_logo

Father And Son

children, Life, poem, Poetry, , , , ,

Another wonderful poem from Glenys about family life. Do go and check out her poetry, she tells such great stories so well….

lifecameos

On Christmas Day after
the excitement of presents
Dad lies on the living room floor
on his side, head on hand as
baby brother leans backwards
and forwards rocking to and fro
on his chubby bottom against
Dad’s stomach, absorbed in his
new playskool toy with a
rolling barrel, levers to push.

He thumps on one lever, laughs
at its loud ringing noise, stares
in fascination as the barrel rolls
and rings, thumps the lever again,
murmurs excitedly to himself.

Dad watches as baby brother
plays, grinning broadly at this
intent little fellow, so engrossed
in his fabulous new toy.

Previously posted March 2017

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APART-IAL EXPLANATION

humour, Life, poem, Poetry, , , , , ,

Oh this is good… from Lou Faber

an old writer and his words

It is all to often debated
what sets humans apart
the other species, and that
will not be agreed any time soon
(which a cynic would note
is one such thing itself).

Freud would claim it is only
our ego, our sense of self,
which may explain why people
are so capable of being self-
ish, and I suspect he was
certain he was wholly correct
but I would give him only partial credit.

It is far simpler than that: record
your voice, record a Sandhill
crane and play them back
and I assure you that you
will say you sound nothing
like what the recorder heard
while the crane will nervously
look all around for his unseen kin.

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and we become (the thing that we denied) a refugee

Life, poem, Poetry, , , , , , , ,

Please read this powerful poem from Frank Prem. We may all be refugees soon:

Frank Prem Poetry

the thought I had
was a refugee

I’ve had these thoughts
before

once in a boat
upon the waters
wide

sometimes
as a thought
in the sky

but lately
I’ve been watching flame
licking at the leaves
on the trees

bringing darkness
when the sun
should shine

and I see photographs
in my newspapers

I see pictures
on the TV screen
of mamas
holding it together
the best way
that they can

of papas
crying

like the world’s gone
mad

and I count
the creatures
that aren’t where
they should be
and my thought
is just a prisoner
to the knowledge
that the world has changed

there’s no koala
there

there’s no blue-tongue

no wombat and
no kangaroo

I can’t see
a magpie

the kookaburra
isn’t laughing

no brown snake
or tiger

where is
the fairy wren

the wood ducks I remember
as a score

are there any left
I…

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