contemporary poetry

Toss Up - A Poem by Ridley Flock - Appreciate Language and Form through the Best Contemporary Poetry

Toss Up – A Poem by Ridley Flock

It’s a toss up,
my life in the air
I fly above the swollen earth
looking for a spot to land

I am a restless space
Traveler, uncertain
of true home,
distant stars call my family
name.

John Ramm's Car Buying Experience - A Poem by JD DeHart - Appreciate Language and Form through the Best Contemporary Poetry

John Ramm's Car Buying Experience – A Poem by JD DeHart

Cursing under his steaming
breath, John Ramm is working
through piles of paperwork

None of it makes sense
to his animal mind
but the kindly little fleshy
animal on the other side
of the desk is smiling,
so maybe that is a good
sign

In the wild, when animals
draw back lips and show
teeth, it’s usually bad news,
a hard afternoon,
but here it seems to mean,
I’m doing the best I can
here, so go easy on me.

Fire Birds - A Poem by JD DeHart - Appreciate Language and Form through the Best Contemporary Poetry

Fire Birds – A Poem by JD DeHart

Together, they assault
the air
then fall into ashen bits
only to find themselves
blinking to life again,
soaring with heat.
If the heart wants to
live, it lives on; if it lies
peaceful in slumber,
it rests in the pebbles.

Unnoticed, Comes Inside - A Poem by Neil Creighton - Appreciate Language and Form through the Best Contemporary Poetry

Unnoticed, Comes Inside – A Poem by Neil Creighton

When grim old Mr. Sorrow
unsuspectingly comes to town,
his suitcase filled with pain and grief,
wearing his mournful, heavy frown,

rapping with his leaden stick
on the front door to come in,
then spilling all through house
his pain, sorrow and suffering,

there is no holding him back.
It is futile to bid him leave.
He must come in and the heart
must sorrow, lament or grieve.

Notice though how in thoughtless haste
he leaves the front door open wide
and Hope, Compassion and Empathy
silently and unnoticed come inside,

and sit in patience waiting
for old Sorrow to tire or depart,
so that they can begin to strengthen
the heavily laden, grieving heart,

and when Sorrow will not leave
they still remain quietly in the room,
growing the tender heart in the midst
of suffering’s pain and gloom

and though hearts can surely break
or darkly distort in bitterness,
from pain and loss the heart can develop
its sweet, empathic tenderness

and the heart that is too protected,
wrapped in too cloistered a cocoon,
is a heart denied the opportunity
for beautiful things to blossom and bloom.

The Drive Home from the Hospice - A Poem by Jonathan Beale - Appreciate Language and Form through the Best Contemporary Poetry

The Drive Home from the Hospice – A Poem by Jonathan Beale

As if returning from Kings Cross or Grand Central Station
The surrealist event that had witnesses the comings and goings
Of the likes of you and the other people there.
not me not us – or so we thought.

We drove back in the car somehow occupied with elephants
and capsules of words, we had failed to think of,
or just had not said. The night, just an old billiard table
full of holes where the hopes had escaped.

The drive home from the hospice. With some personal effects
That had taken on a new dimension since the ‘ending’
Thoughts, exclamations, laughter
And all manner of paroxysm, strangely absent.

The terminus: was a double ending (we’d never return)
The paths would cross we’d go on and on for forever…?
for the likes of you and the life we had leave unlived.
Not me not us – or so we thought.

More at http://www.amazon.co.uk/Destinations-Raxiera-Jonathan-Beale-ebook/dp/B018F6GWQ6/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1452199641&sr=1-1&keywords=jonathan+beale.

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