Mayfly – A Poem by Nancy May
reading the tea leaves
a difficult future
for the mayfly
More at https://twitter.com/Haikuintraining.
After Niagara – A Poem by Marie MacSweeney
After Niagara
there was the dispersal,
the slower spread,
the gentling over stones,
the river flushing
to the size
of a street,
a house,
a room,
to cotton tumbling
in clear water,
to a kettle singing,
to the turbulence
of tears.
Abyss – A Poem by Ananya S. Guha
As a child
dreams were of crumbling ruins, matchless in Greece and Rome,
travelogues of the home
the clash of the sword the word of god, dreams were a river, the
Tiber, Romulus and Rome, a mind quiver
the empire and Charlemagne’s home
the myth of Sisyphus, Hector’s modus, the vulnerable heel, all like
the keel, it hovered wavered. History phased into phantom, dark and
bright,
inner light, the world mine.
I mimed, chimed.
Dreams not Jungian, not Freudian. Only livid, vivid.
Metaphors of dark horses,
meditative Norses.
History shuttled, opened and closed. Me, daydreaming.
One day put on all shutters, broke gates, threw them
into an abyss of gutters.
Echoes from the Past – A Poem by Paul Tristram
Do not let them reclaim you backwards
with their clever tricks and morbid traps,
For it is not really relevant anymore,
merely candy floss ghosts of yesteryear.
Tuck the nice memories safely up in bed,
shoo the nasty, negative ones away,
wash your hands of past unpleasantness.
Open up the attic window of your mind
and let a through-breeze spring-clean
your dusty first edition leather-bound soul.
Look back only at moments of affection,
prize-winning smiles and friendly hearts,
The times you lived so full that you
almost burst open carving your initials
into the eternal bark of youth’s wonderment.
Be kind and gentle with your memories,
select and file the brilliant ones up front.
Let the other kind drift away from you
upon the stream of experiences no longer
needed and lessons well and truly learnt.
More at http://paultristram.blogspot.co.uk/.
Brake Bellow and Roll – A Poem by Robin Wyatt Dunn
Brake bellow and roll
on the deadlight harmony
on the packed tight shift
under your drifting apartment ceiling
pack home and leave
but before you go take this:
my beat.
More at http://www.robindunn.com.
Good and Goodness – A Poem by Ananya S. Guha
Really life isn’t good
good is in those infernal depths, good in those plumbing depths, back waters
of shores, where poetry takes a dip. Spectacular
crippled waves,
no good. goodness is in the
caked moon when dreams are over. Transparent. Shadowy. Return to life
when it is good – or not.
Death of a Poem | Ananya S. Guha
If you don’t have a poem
in lostness then words
in interplay will make
a hole, somewhere a wound
will not heal, only crying birds and a whispering wind will encircle skies lacerated with shots of the enemy. This is the world we live in even as we watch Republic Day on the tele, news has come that some gun-toting people are hovering with the wind, threating the sky, holding ramparts,so that poetry is blinded into a bleeding dog panting for a little water, so that the sky will not frown, and the hills not lament,
death of a poem.
Mobile – A Poem by Ananya S. Guha
Limbs loose
I was in hospital
I asked the doctor about my
blood pressure
the doctor told my wife
I had almost died
looked for my mobile
and was told that it was
in another ICU
and, then I knew that
my mobile was my
life.
Lilies – A Poem by Nancy May
lilies in bloom
thinking of you
at Christmas time
More at https://twitter.com/Haikuintraining.
Unknown – A Poem by Ananya S Guha
Once a where
now a nowhere
he tramps among footprints
of hiatus
leaving an imprint
of silent, noiseless
legerdemain.