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Played This Game Before | Scott Thomas Outlar - A Poetry Website Featuring Poems by Contemporary Poets

Played This Game Before | Scott Thomas Outlar

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I’ve been listening to this song on repeat
all day
because it reminds me of you
and the first time we heard it together.

I don’t want to do this
and it’s killing me inside
because I know this can’t possibly work
and it hurts like hell to know what’s coming.

I was fine before we met.
I wasn’t lonely until we started seeing each other.
Now my work has been affected,
my mood has been affected,
my emotions have been affected…
Damn it,
just hit repeat again
and let this whole thing play out
as it must.

More at http://17numa.wordpress.com/.

Why the Golden Plover Stands | Trish Saunders - A Poetry Website Featuring Poems by Contemporary Poets

Why the Golden Plover Stands | Trish Saunders

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I came to study the language of trees,
an ancient tongue assumed extinct,
like the Laysan honeycreeper or
shave-ice shacks on
Like-Like Highway, where Aloha Gas now sits.

I came to study koas and palms.
I found an old brick wall with a
golden plover standing motionless
beside it, though he flies
1,600 miles from Alaska without rest.

Like the plover, I came expecting more.

Silver Ball | Neil Fulwood - A Poetry Website Featuring Poems by Contemporary Poets

Silver Ball | Neil Fulwood

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He’s dragged a barstool
in front of the quiz machine
and neglected his pint,
has worn for this last half hour
the look of a tennis umpire
who hates both players.

A forefinger taps morse
on a knee jolting out of time
to the jukebox. The other hand
flexes, rises, hovers –
two fingers shaped like a pistol
shoot forward at a known answer,

bang off the touch-screen.
Half a century since he played
the fruit machines as a lad,
oranges, apples and limes
clacking into place, nudge and hold
making a smidgin of difference

if you were sharp enough,
but really all down to luck
and how much loose change
was an acceptable loss. Pinball
was better: the silver ball,
the buzzers and bells, the slam

of the hip against the machine,
a shop-floor nobody locked
into a fantasy of leather jacket
and Route 66, motorcycle
parked on a dusty strip, Chevys
and Peterbilts and neon signs.

Without Answer | Scott Thomas Outlar - A Poetry Website Featuring Poems by Contemporary Poets

Without Answer | Scott Thomas Outlar

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There is always something better
but never quite anything perfect

There is always more to do
but never enough time or the right path to reach the end

There was no beginning
and there shall be no ultimate conclusion

There will come a fire
with unquenchable flames
that no flood, no miracle, no public service department
will be able to extinguish

There is always a yawning grave
waiting with stoic patience for its body

There will always be existential questions
but never will there come an answer

There will always be hope
but so seldom does there arrive a reward

More at http://17numa.wordpress.com/.

I'd Dream about Love If I Could | Steve Higgins - A Poetry Website Featuring Poems by Contemporary Poets

I'd Dream about Love If I Could | Steve Higgins

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I’d dream about love
If I could.
Instead I dream about motorbikes and racing cars
About writing books and a sailing barge
But I’d dream about love,
If I could.

Sometimes I dream about a pretty girl
With beautiful hair and big round eyes
She dreams about love,
Well, if she doesn’t,
she should.

I’d dream about love
If I dared.
Instead I dream about sunny beaches,
About swimming pools and bars,
and very fast cars
but I’d dream about love
if I dared.

I’d dream about love,
I would.
If I wasn’t stubborn and stuck in my ways
If I wasn’t lost in a love of the past,
I’d dream about love,
If I could.

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