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Going In |  Marlena Nicole Guzman - A Poetry Website Featuring Poems by Contemporary Poets

Going In | Marlena Nicole Guzman

That little room in the corner,
That little room where they hold your hand but move so quickly,
every time I enter a flush of fear runs into what I know is coming,
Swift,
It’s fast,
I cannot complain about their brevity,
they’re good and practiced but now it is my turn again,
again and again,
in and then done!
I always wake with the dizzy confusion but standing comfort that for
today…it is done,
what had brought me to this?
Electric shock for my mind but devastating trauma to my soul,
Until tomorrow then

Wave of Perfume |  G. S. Katz - A Poetry Website Featuring Poems by Contemporary Poets

Wave of Perfume | G. S. Katz

My dog is sniffing pee from a male dog
Left on the side of a tree on my street
Patiently I wait for for the activity to conclude
When she walks by leaving behind a trail of perfume

It doesn’t matter who she is
Though urban history tells me
The lovelier the scent, the prettier the wearer
Though some might challenge that theory in part

Wordy as this has been in my first two stanzas
Nothing pleases a man more than a wave of perfume
In the early morning of a crisp autumn day
Scented air gives this dog all the promise and wonder
of the journey ahead

I Wonder... |  Anuradha Fonseka - A Poetry Website Featuring Poems by Contemporary Poets

I Wonder… | Anuradha Fonseka

When it rains with thunder
I wonder if he ever remembers
The little girl hidden in his warmth
If he ever remembers that she was afraid of thunder
If he ever remembers she used to feel safe with him
May be he does not, for now she is replaced with another
A prettier one from a prettier mother
Yet he does not know in the girl’s life
He is not replaced (And will never be)
When it rains with thunder
She has nowhere to hide
She’ll be brave and sigh

The Numb Generation | Andrew Darlington - A Poetry Website Featuring Poems by Contemporary Poets

The Numb Generation | Andrew Darlington

my grandfather marries in 1915
plants a son, goes to France
and never comes home…
Len grows up among doting women
who wipe his tears, care and cosset,
always there for his pleasure…
until after the second war
he meets my mother in 1947
to plant his own son…
no post-traumatic stress disorder
for his numbed generation
no support counseling in a
bewilderment of stunned peace,
becalmed in the unreal aftermath,
they just go for a pint at the Crown,
Yorkshire puddings with lots of gravy,
on Sunday hoe the allotment,
hear ‘Forces Favourites’ on the Light
and never talk crawling nightmare,
be Kenneth More or David Niven,
never betray the heroic narrative,
keep your silences to yourself
don’t betray your screaming dreams
with night-sweat horrors of the dead,
cry for Churchill, even though he
advocates shooting 1930s strikers,
as their darkest terrors retreat into
‘Dad’s Army’ and ‘Allo Allo’,
watching their longhaired lout
children dancing free love
drugs and revolution…

More at http://andrewdarlington.blogspot.com/.

Aryabhata's Predicament |  Richard William Kirkpatrick-Thorne - A Poetry Website Featuring Poems by Contemporary Poets

Aryabhata's Predicament | Richard William Kirkpatrick-Thorne

The Oaf Is On A See-Saw,
Flipping His Wallet Up InTo The Air,
Swinging It On A Chain,
Catching Stares As He Jerks Them Towards His Gapeing Face,
His Eyes Pointy And Dumb,
He Sits Tight And Fat… Rideing Each Bump Like Its His First,
While He Borrows A Friend To Dive The Totter Up And To Shake The
Teeter Down…

Droplets Of Noon Sweat Arc Into The Marshmellow Sky,
It Is Business Class All The Way,
To Hell With Milk Money Like Molasses And Jackie Onassis,
There Is A Genuine Cause For Concern Among The Marble-Jetters
As The Rusty Stress Of Congress Begins To Squeal,
An Orbital Leverage Was Once What Held The Playground Up,
But As Greasy As The Bolt Could Be… EveryThing Falls…

To Bullets And Ballads,
Stomping Chubby Feet Minute After Minute,
Chomping-Simple Machine Wired For The Suspension Of Polarity,
Jaw-Slacking Pulley System To Link The Mind To Its Beauty-Sleep,
With One Thumb In A Thimble And One Pot To Watch Boil Over…

Keeping An Ear On The Music… The Borrowed Friend Now Disengages From
The Tired Game,
Bored Of Dieing… Now To The Swings He Saunters Sullenly…

The Alpha Male Saddles Up,
To Put The Program To The Test And Check Breaking Points,
His Mother’s God Put Fuzz On His Cheeks… Youth Fizzing Right Below
His Nose,
It Is Done So He Remembers His Turn On The Ladder,
And He Grips The Bar And Heaves Up…


The Oaf Smiles And Sits Drooling… For A Split Second… Before He
Releases Tension,
Giving His Best Attempt To Rub Out The Metal’s Curve,
Though It May Take Several Attempts For The New Guy To Come Down,
And He Will Eventually Admit Defeat… From Some Niche Near Sun-Dogs
And Space-Trash,
But Not Before A Shadowy Recession Hits The Land,
And EveryBody Notices How Heavy Buddha Got On The Ride Home.

More at http://rwkt.blogspot.ca/2014/10/aryabhatas-predicament.html.

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