The Puzzle - A Poem by Roy Pullam - Dive into the Depths of Contemporary Voices

The Puzzle – A Poem by Roy Pullam

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With a yellow pad
And a funeral home pen
I struggle with words
Lining them up
To give meaning
To thought
I have not clearly defined
A line of clarification
So many attempts
Stacks of crumbled yellow
Projectiles that do not reach
The overflowing trash can
I struggle
Stopping to read others
Whose hands is guided
By an intellect
I do not possess
I leave the cross-outs
Starts and stops
Then abandoned pieces
I hope to return to
To give order
To rank and align
Metaphors and similes
Until I please me
Some thoughts
Will not let me go
They come back
In various forms
Scolding me
To find my way
From the dry docks
Where my ambition
Is moored

Four Feet Walking Up - A Poem by Gareth Culshaw - Dive into the Depths of Contemporary Voices

Four Feet Walking Up – A Poem by Gareth Culshaw

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We went a couple of times.
Taking our weight up loose scree.
Our lives had spread and circled
so we brought our tongues together

for another crack. The heaviness
was in your back. I watched you bend
like a golf flag pole in low wind.
You carried so much I never thought

we would reach the top. Both of us
are two of the same breed.
But the walk down is where we differ.
I pick up speed and reach new heights,
you seem to slow, and bring the mountain

with you, as if you’re scared to feel weightless.

It Is What It Is - A Poem by Roy Pullam - Dive into the Depths of Contemporary Voices

It Is What It Is – A Poem by Roy Pullam

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My fare is basic
Plain bread lines
Water the only beverage
Peasant ramblings
With no interest
In cloth napkins
And finger bowls
The smooth language
Of couplets
Of iambic pentameter
That takes away
From the message
I long to leave
My yarn
Visible without finesse
Is not for everyone
It is bone and marrow
Nothing
To ponder
To find signs and signals
Half-hidden images
Among the cuteness
Of word juggling
I am
Open and available
Exposing
The pure nakedness
Of thought

Juggernaut - A Poem by Ishani Srivastava - Dive into the Depths of Contemporary Voices

Juggernaut – A Poem by Ishani Srivastava

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The wind picks up grains of sand,
Lets them dance
For a while
And idly watches them fall
To the ground
While greys and dank blues
Flow in the sky.

The sand watches too.

She keeps her shoulder to the wheel
And toils on
Through the unrest
Little regard for those lying, discarded, in her wake
As if they were ants.

The ants toil on too.

None who try
Can stop the Juggernaut.
But if they looked away
Would it choke, shrivel and die?

Harvest Time - A Poem by Roy Pullam - Dive into the Depths of Contemporary Voices

Harvest Time – A Poem by Roy Pullam

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I saw her work
The coal stove red
Sweat pouring from her face
She wiped her forehead
On her apron
Turning again
To the boiling apples
Apples fresh from the trees
In the field
Up from our house
How their appearance
Has changed
From the morning
A No. 2 washtub
Filled with water
The fruit floating
I reached in
Grabbing a red one
Spinning a knife
Directly under the peel
Ribbons of covering
Extending between my knees
Finally falling
Into a bucket
A dessert for the hogs
I spun the winesap
In my hands
Expertly slicing
Separating the meat
From the core
Filling the pan
Carrying it to Mother
She had put the fruit
In a ball jar
Sealing it
Setting it aside
Dumping the new white slices
In the canning pot
Beginning the process again
How good they would be
In the winter
When fresh fruit
Went with the falling leaves
Fried pies
In the iron skillet
The cans carefully placed
On the shelves
In the closet
Among the quarts
Tomatoes, beans, peas, peaches
Strawberry, peach and plum jellies
A perfect garnish
For a cathead biscuit
On a cold winter morning

Rise Rats, Rise! - A Poem by Dave 1289 - Dive into the Depths of Contemporary Voices

Rise Rats, Rise! – A Poem by Dave 1289

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It should be a privilege to steer the ‘great’ ship,
not freewill to pillage and sell and betray.
The spoon of the privileged scoops only to gain,
like pirates they strip all our assets away

They kill off our lifeline: protection and health
and drown out the warning of social destruct.
Their privatisation is pleasing their greed,
so now we’re in need of a social erupt

‘Cause rats in battalions slay silver-spooned
stallions and now it is our time to rise!
We’ll bring down these fat cats, and make right their
wrong acts; together, we will turn the tide.

Enslaved by systemic poisonous feed,
ensuring the rats can’t get near the elite.
In black, tax-payed limos they deal for the few
as globalised greed eats up homes on our street

They just keep on pushing the unjust divide
and burn all our bridges so riches can thrive.
While building their walls to keep out the reaper,
the rats keep on racing but now we must rise

‘Cause rats in battalions slay silver-spooned
stallions and now it is our time to rise!
We’ll bring down these fat cats, and make right their
wrong acts; together, we will turn the tide.

Deceit and deception the soil for their seed
but rats cannot ask or reap what they sow:
a harvest to feed their insatiable want.
They twist at the truth to protect all they grow

The artery to the heart of corruption
and we need to block their unjustly flow…
They sell plastic promise; the price is neglect.
We must ensure that it’s their time to go.

So rise rats, rise!

More at https://www.facebook.com/1289Dave/.

Behind the Bandages (She’s Feeling Pretty Spread Thin!) - A Poem by Paul Tristram - Dive into the Depths of Contemporary Voices

Behind the Bandages (She’s Feeling Pretty Spread Thin!) – A Poem by Paul Tristram

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The burning and stinging
is excruciating
just before fresh injections.
But, they’ve chiselled a new face
out of the battle-scarred
‘Picture Of Dorian Grey’
that crawled from the wreckage
and ruin
of three Armada divorces,
which would have slain a woman
with half her constitution,
twice over.
Her soul’s on autopilot
as the medication hums and purrs,
mists and fogs
and the sickness drifts and sways.
She pricks her mind awake,
momentarily,
by counting monthly bank statements
from memory.
Each step away
from that childhood dungaree farm
of hand-me-downs
and ne’er quite enough to go ‘round,
forged her spirits
by trial and error,
hard-earned success,
the thrill of the kill
and the giddying high
of outmanoeuvring defeat.
She now needs a
body to match her ambitions…
it’s practical as well as vanity.
She’s forgotten that it’s the little things
which eventually make up the big
whilst at the very same time
unwittingly augmenting
the emptiness inside
to a size and mass too great to ever deplete.

More at https://paultristram.blogspot.co.uk/.

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