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Out There - A Poem by Marie MacSweeney - Appreciate Language and Form through the Best Contemporary Poetry

Out There – A Poem by Marie MacSweeney

Grab any day and it is not enough.
We are unbearably alert,
afraid that there is nothing else out there,
yet hopeful as skies darken
and earth calms down enough
for us to search out what might lie hidden.

There is a slight stammer when we speak,
which we must always own,
carried casually, like spindrift,
into the warp and weft of an early morning horizon,
sluicing through a swarm of stars.

We heard The Big Bang linger
as dust settled into the shape of us,
a bit of buff and sparkle
as we warmed up,
clusters of maverick molecules
becoming question-making machines.

Was it a special sprinkling
which formed itself into longing,
that lonesome pleading with the universe
to whisper possibility along its fault lines,
cracks cackling with mystery at the edges?

This is not hubris. We do not search
for a creature who will scan
the iris of our eyes,
probe the shape of our lips for truth.
We do not need a canary-yellow caged mind
that will latch on to ours.

We need to know only that they are out there,
sweet sentient scraps in an ignorant universe,
almost like ourselves, but with the strut of magic to them,
that we are not incurably alone in the crisp after-cold,
a wayward excess of that first scorching swirl.

Vist Marie at http://mariemacsweeney.com.

Oblivion - A Poem by Ananya S. Guha - Appreciate Language and Form through the Best Contemporary Poetry

Oblivion – A Poem by Ananya S. Guha

I am moved by death in many stubborn ways:
some news, an obituary, an in memoriam; but it is moving,
a slow passing into dying deep embers,
where the wound is unhurt,
uncut, only in oblivion.

Poems as a Child - A Poem by Ananya S. Guha - Appreciate Language and Form through the Best Contemporary Poetry

Poems as a Child – A Poem by Ananya S. Guha

Words toss me
hassle me into
some writing, some thinking
and some meditation. But,
poetry is a sum total of all
and then words are reduced
to ashes which burn, at
mention of words.

I knew as a child how words were mesmeric
as I stood on stage to recite poems of rhythm,
poems which scanned mind
and brain, poems that I learnt by rote, poems that the Radiant Reader in school brought peace to soul, poems of dignity, indignity, poems that were balladic, epic, nomadic. Poems where words escaped mind’s eye wrought
into worlds of laughter, sadness, madness.
And then, words fleshed them into spin-offs.

Wilderness - A Poem by Ananya S. Guha - Appreciate Language and Form through the Best Contemporary Poetry

Wilderness – A Poem by Ananya S. Guha

Today is spring, someone
announced, I never knew it
had a date, or birth, or death I only know that fruits
of earth are sown here, mesmerized by an unflagging wind. Spirit of
dominance. And springtime’s cherries will open, wilderness of skies.

Truths - A Poem by Ananya S. Guha - Appreciate Language and Form through the Best Contemporary Poetry

Truths – A Poem by Ananya S. Guha

I must leave this
wilderness of thought
grass growing, head cracking
splintering forth,
a country is burning
the dead are buried long
ago, they will resurrect
only at the raucous bark
of a dog. I haven’t travelled enough to know
that the writing on the wall
is only a slur to all actions.
Shoot them out and twist
history into contorted truths.

Rustic - A Poem by Ananya S. Guha - Appreciate Language and Form through the Best Contemporary Poetry

Rustic – A Poem by Ananya S. Guha

This springtime reminds
of autumn’s wind
and decadent roads
will smell the tar once again
as roads need to be repaired
in this season only
with the brush of the rains
lacing them with wetness, muddy. I stand or walk
precariously as the roads
are prepared once again for torrid rains, the monsoon’s blues, and the fang-bearing winds.
In this hill town I breathe freely. Rustic.

Travels - A Poem by Sunil Sharma - Appreciate Language and Form through the Best Contemporary Poetry

Travels – A Poem by Sunil Sharma

I will take you to where moon is
Or, other some such place where
You hear the Amazon singing at her tenor full.
The Niagara falling falling falling like tumbling $
Or:
The ancient Nile being travelled by a young Cleopatra and Antony
And recoded by the Bard for the King’s Men, 1607.
I will take you to the spot where a sensitive Keats first heard
The nightingale and composed his immortal paean
To the humble bird, a source of inspiration for others.
Come with me; fly to the orbiting lands imagined/real/imagined.
It interlinks —
The creative imagination-language-context
Called Poesy, now poetry by the stiff purists insisting on
Colloquial speech and modern terminology.
Call it any name, dear poetry creates something new
And, handcuffs us subtly
Both you and I
In this strange mental journey.

More at http://www.drsunilsharma.in/.

There Is Nothing Called Love in a Country... - A Poem by Ananya S. Guha - Appreciate Language and Form through the Best Contemporary Poetry

There Is Nothing Called Love in a Country… – A Poem by Ananya S. Guha

There is nothing called love
in a country where the despair of
those forgotten is a religion.
Love walks in shaded fear of oblivion
as flags of martyrdom rise in
rasping voices.
Discontent is another name,
another voice.
Love is the ghost of untruth.
We believe in the law of lawlessness.
History takes a turn in decimated voices.
Mute. Love stands clandestinely like a widow
wearing a veil of pretence.

Though There’s a Thundercloud above My Head, My Fantastic Heart Still Is Full of Magic - A Poem by Paul Tristram - Appreciate Language and Form through the Best Contemporary Poetry

Though There’s a Thundercloud above My Head, My Fantastic Heart Still Is Full of Magic – A Poem by Paul Tristram

With Mercury in my left hand
and Neptune in my right
I’m punching holes in those
ordinary, mundane walls around me.
Filling the gaps up with colourful,
creative light and shining twice
as bright as a freshly-birthed phoenix.
Cautions and warning signs
are traps to my free-falling soul,
I pay no heed as I excite faster.
The only thing that can stop me is me
and I’m far too busy
patting myself energetically
upon the brilliant back today.
There’s not enough time left
and far too many things to be done
but I’m all over it like a rash.
There’s magic miracles
and artistic mayhem
2 of cups-ing
and pulling
the tarot’s fool card together.
The glorious pathways
and golden opportunities are endless.

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

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