Poems and Poetry

Almost Home | A Poem by Donal Mahoney

Rolling down the highway
from Chicago to the farm
Bill the barber’s almost home.

The ride is smooth until
his entourage leaves the highway
and draws closer to the farm.

There the road gets bumpy
as the hearse takes on Dead Man’s curve
and goes past the farm to the cemetery.

The road is hostage to the weather,
cattle, plows and happy kids with
cane poles heading for the river

to hook the big one Bill missed
on his occasional vacations.
Bill loved that farm as a boy

but he had to make a living.
He cut hair for 50 years
and now he’s almost home.

Visit Donal at http://booksonblog12.blogspot.com/.

Mackerel Skies | A Poem by Paul Tristram

It feels strange to frown
at the heat and brightness
exploding through
my kitchen window.
August was after all
so very bleak and grey.
Great Admiral’s dance close by
and the mackerel skies outside
pull my thoughts and mood
to them magnet-like.
I find myself memory walking
upon a beach in Bude,
barefooted, relaxed and carefree…
Scooting blim burns
off my bare chest,
weaving a cider lollypop
into my easy daydreams.
As I stand like a Serviceman
saluting the deep, blue sea,
watching the small bobbing boats
become a living bathroom watercolour.
‘Oh, this will never do’
I yank myself back out
of my thoughts by the scruff.
I was meant to write a short story
about a man who cuts his own foot off.
But all that can wait, I guess,
whilst this weather will not,
I’ll be in a seaside beer garden
a couple of hours before early evening.

Visit Paul at http://paultristram.blogspot.co.uk/.

Gunk | A Poem by JD DeHart

stuff of age and life
and moving,
unable to quantify,
unable to move forward, simply clogging up
the mechanism

listen to the choking
sound of an engine
that’s got the colic

welcome to the system,
(I hope you like it
the gears they don’t
work sometimes
and the smiles you see
are only blinking lights
on the surface

nevertheless the machine
moves on
to a destination we don’t
have pinpointed yet

Visit JD at http://jddehartwritings.blogspot.com.

Things Could Be Worse | A Poem by Wanda Morrow Clevenger

more and more
I think on how
far is too far
how much
too much
at what point
is pinpointed
where the hogs
eat the cabbage
how satisfying
it would feel
to scoop up
all the things
could be worse

happy half-fulls
and hurl that
at the closest
brick wall
to see it
flail the air
then splatter
drip and drain
to the ground
left empty
to evaporate
between glass shards
to show
what worse
looks like

Visit Wanda at http://wlc-wlcblog.blogspot.com/.