
“Womb” by karmic katha
in a world plagued
by too many words
and too little grace
poetry is inevitable
“Womb” by karmic katha
in a world plagued
by too many words
and too little grace
poetry is inevitable
“Untitled/Structurae” by Pablo Saborío
stream of consciousness
battles unfold in grammarian wars
pitting syntax and colloquy
czars chuffed and vying for reign
words pour forth in waves
toward the mouths
of great critical guns
cannon fodder they fall
indiscriminately
wounded lexicons bleeding
from usage disaffected
emotional concepts that fail
their appeal to assassins who
operate rules of engagement
that favor concealment
cold critics the snipers
correctly political fitted with
tunnel-trained cultural gunsights
to pick off brave soldiers
devoted to oaths
of aggressive linguistics
the audible structures of honesty
take their formations
defending the rule-bending
word-coining
never-before-applied
phrase-turning
free verse expression of life
of its living and dying
the bayonet nibs of their rifles
keep coming sworn never
to take up retreat
from bohemian charge
at conventional hearts with
their orthodox staid sensibilities
freedom is all
and it’s worth fighting wars
to the death
for in death it subsumes and
outlasts all the ink ever written
on militant paradigm pages
the free words of free men
explode upon history
giving humanity
all that it needs to
immortalize
glory attending our fearless
brief combat to win
occupation of minds
From my books Bullets from Bones and Legacies (vol. 1)
“Placid” by Briana Sutton
(It’s Good)
between poems
placid moments
a weightlessness
feathers the mind
words become
unimportant
no turn of a phrase
begs attention
no theme
demands focus
it’s good
just the breathing
From my book Onionskin
“The Surreal Books” by Jonathan Wolstenholme
authors are despots
every book a cruel
tyranny of words
pulling minds with
cunning persuasion
to viewpoints and
falsely built
historiographies
rendered in ripe
propagandas of prose
leaning into desire
for some better ideas
some new answers
to questions that
rise discontented in
unanswered prayers
of a desperate mind
From my book Pieces of Wine
“The Yankee Pedlar” by Thomas Waterman
itinerant verses
drawn down
from the muse
of white mountains
eclectic selections
come rolling their
clip-clopping
wagonload way
to the song of
the poet the peddler
the tinker the trader
the merchant of words
the vendor of idioms
passing through
ancient-spoke forest
to learn from the
narrative traces of trails
that descend and declaim
of green woodsides
the lakewater uplands
that overlook
travelers through
literate valleys
the landscape where
cognitive homesteads
aspire to acquire
intellectual implements
artforms of function
a wherewithal
shiny with language
and prized dialectic
that vies for the eyes
of those minds
who would think
in eccentric new
shapes of the world
and the manifold ways
it might best
be experienced
willing to haggle
hawked prices
of metaphors
set within syntax
to satisfy even a
freeform aesthetic
“Reunión en el Pentágono I-V” by Oswaldo Guayasamín
small caliber words
war comes in rude packages
bomblets of sound bites
delivered by tinhorn tongues
exploding in tinhorn ears
“Clouds” by David Mensing
the best poets will
conjure apt words that describe
the clouds to the blind
“Im Schatten” by Ute Laum
placid headwaters
spill down through conscious cascades
finding confluence
teeming with jumbled language
swirling into coherence
(originally posted October 2013)
“Shell Essay 6” by Harold Davis
I have nothing left
nothing more can I give
but my words
a mere bag of shells
little vessels
where my pieces once lived
hollow chambers now
each with
its incomplete echo
a trifle of memory
sounds with no sense
having no present tense
until given
one final arrangement
a lasting impression
in verse
Illustration from Montblanc website
words on a page
all things possible
everything anything
real or imagined
the flesh of the mind
given elegant signature
smooth blue inscription
by rhodium chased
gold and platinum nib
deep articulate ink
in svelte reservoir
cogently charged
with ideas and beliefs
all the thoughts
ever thought
ever thinkable
ready to feed capillarity
erudite patient
yet eager to make
of themselves authored
words on a page
Writer Lynne Sargent
Poetry Puttering by Pax & Company
Sometimes everything has to be enscribed across the heavens so you can find the one line already written inside you. Sometimes it takes a great sky to find that small, bright, and indescribable wedge of freedom in your own heart. David Whyte
"drink from the well of your self and begin again" ~charles bukowski
no dust here
Looking ahead, without looking back (too often)
flights of fancy from New Zealand
You're never alone, if you've something to share
All you touch and all you see / is all your life will ever be
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I am where the valleys are deep, the mountains are high, and the wind moans through trees...
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