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Retaliation | P.K. Deb - A Poetry Website Featuring Poems by Contemporary Poets

Retaliation | P.K. Deb

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Amazingly, the ball is flying back to me,
my protruded eyes witness
its dreadful spinning and speed;
and the haughty heart shrinks and realises
a ruinous sequence is to be ensued.

A few moments back…
my high-strung racket stroked
the ball and posted it
to the inaccessible address of the rival.

As over-powered I was
by my pride and contumacy
so was over-confident on my skill
and was over-optimist too to obtain
the last achievement, the game point.
My body, mind and soul were prompt for
the hilarious clapping and warm felicitation
and blissful too in watching
the Samba of day-dream around me.

Suddenly, a pin-drop silence paralyses
the tumultuous environment
and I am landed back from the fantasy to the reality.
My sensation and perception are astonished by
the retaliated ball which is repelled
and addressed to a tough corner of my court.

“Oh God, please save my game,”
a bubble of importunity comes out of my heart–
almost haunted and blocked too,
still tempts me for the last effort.
Tighten my loose grip, raise the racket,
jump over to the ball to reach beneath and blow.
my eyes shut their doors,
maybe, ears also reluctant to hear
the consequence of my last struggle for existence.

Bitter Sweet | Anthony Cannon - A Poetry Website Featuring Poems by Contemporary Poets

Bitter Sweet | Anthony Cannon

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Can you taste this?
They wanna know how I feel about it.
How I feel about holding back my pain and thankfulness for so many
remorseful years.
I account for the misery and woe in my bed sheets,
All of the nights of losing sleep and waking up feeling so
incomplete.
But then again…
The times I’m glad I’m still in God’s favor,
Still sitting on my throne over a pristine spotless temple.
Not ashamed of the tread of my feet I trod.
This potent wine I spill from my abode freezes solid-
Hard as rocks as they drop to deliver panic and unnecessary
persecution!
This is bitter sweet.
I’ve been picked over, left for dead, dissed at and forgotten,
They say my time has ran out,
But how could I believe this nonsense I’m reciting to you?
Can you believe this?
I rise up and stay above it,
Thinking to myself I’m on my own island of continuation…
That this lonesome, dark, pitch black nightmare will never end.
Go all the way to gehenna and back and still ceases to not exist.
This is bitter sweet.
Like how I’m ecstatic but it breaks my bones and crushes the marrow.
As I put my heart in this,
I love the sweet,
But I despise the bitter.
Thank you for tasting my bitter sweet.

Sports Day and Exploitation | P.K. Deb - A Poetry Website Featuring Poems by Contemporary Poets

Sports Day and Exploitation | P.K. Deb

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Hip- hip- hurray–
The suppressed hearts must bloom today
as the bloodless lips get back their lost smiles,
Let’s play, the annual village sports day is on today.

Hip- hip- hurray–
The exploitation is on leave and departed
with its ugly blood sucking oppression
and grants a relief to the exploited today.

Hip- hip- hurray–
The blissful minds are absolutely unmindful
to their plough, cattle, sweating, low-wage,
poverty, indebtedness and illness today.

Hip- hip- hurray–
The indigents witness the annual smile
on the face of the landlord fortunately
instead of regular reproof and frowning today.

Hip- hip- hurray–
A rare competition is to be contested
among the feeble who are already
defeated and receded under compulsion today.

Hip- hip- hurray–
an amazement is to be ensued definitely
as the heartless hands are preceded
for the poor’s heartfelt enjoyment today.

No more hurray, that’s all for today
as the village sports day is almost over
and the poor’s are to be refaced the demon-
the exploitation with its oppression from tomorrow.

Invisibility | Danny Faragher - A Poetry Website Featuring Poems by Contemporary Poets

Invisibility | Danny Faragher

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they call them the ‘wee’ hours,
but when enveloped in their dark cover
one breathes the severed solitude of the ‘I’
the bed creaks under my rustle and turn

a dog barks in the neighborhood,
sharp spears of sound pierce the night.
do keen ears detect an intruder?
perhaps he fears invisibility,
dreads disappearing into the inky gloom
and is announcing to the universe
a confirmation of his existence –
‘I bark therefore I am’

I fight the urge to open the window
stick out my head and
join my canine friend in primal cry

The Brother | Gareth Culshaw - A Poetry Website Featuring Poems by Contemporary Poets

The Brother | Gareth Culshaw

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He is one of the lads,
all ciggies and beer.
Debit cards in a line on a
windowsill in a pub lavatory.
He goes on holidays
and days out with the lads.
One of the names you have
on your mobile. If you see
him, he comes over to chat.
There’s a quietness though,
like his life is paused.
People like him, listen
to his words. He keeps
his hands in his pockets
so his body doesn’t fall apart.

But I know a family member.
They say he never turns up
when needed. How his
brother has been in hospital
for hours. While his sisters
tend to him, bring him home.
Sometimes they see him
at Christmas. He drinks
beer rather than their words.
I know she is upset with him.
Using the term ‘Our’ before
his name. As if it is best
to mention him in third person.
Ignoring the other two sides
of who he is.

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