Poems and Poetry

Long Road | A Poem by Jeanne Fiedler

In tuneful rhetoric
as I watch the
changing wind
I speak to the north,
south, east and west
and follow the path
the direction leads me

Over the scarlet
crimson mountains,
the burnt orange
tree poses and sun
glaring stirs that
wallow in the breeze

The summer ends
We stretched it
out forever and
ever until it
finally stopped and
the seasons grace
us poetically with
glows of sunsets and
luminous leaves,
hurricanes raining
and pushing
until we turn our
case over once
more to the
whistling wind
and the full moons
that bewilder us
into uncertainty

Your Happiness Makes Me Beam Like A Summer Sun | A Poem by Paul Tristram

It is more than orange
and yellow put together.
This explosion of warmth
and feeling
fire-working my emotions,
serotonin my brain.
I can taste it,
it’s like… buttery Magic!
Don’t you dare stop smiling
or I’ll tickle you.
Please, tell me again
the reason for Everything.

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

Pronouncements | A Poem by Guy Farmer

I know you’re scared.
I see the discomfort
Contorting your face
When anyone gets close
To exposing who you
Really are: The broken,
Hurt being who never
Had the love he needed
And was forced to pretend
It didn’t matter,
The gentle person who
Gets trampled so many times
That he loses the ability
To feel for himself or others.
I know you have some
Fantasy about a death bed
Scene where you say the
Perfect thing that makes
Everything okay but is
Just another hollow gesture
Meaning very little to
Anyone but you.
Things were never really
As you saw them,
Pronouncements aren’t
Remotely close to compassion.

Poem Beginning with Lines from Eliot | A Poem by Eamon Cooke

Between melting and freezing
The soul’s sap quivers.

At this
The darkest time

I think of ancient lunar engravings
At Knowth, County Meath.

(Looking up they saw in the night sky
Phases of the moon)

I remember meeting Seamus Heaney
At a reading in Dublin

How he inscribed
The title page of his book

“Shine the light”
Sending me home on wings.


Epiphany morning.
A bright day promised.

Twig shadows
On the bedroom wall.

Delayed awhile
In the afternoon

(Small commitments
Mundane tasks)

But managed a walk
Before sunset.

Saw the first snowdrops
Rooks hankering home.

Jazz | A Poem by Marie MacSweeney

A straggle of middle-aged men,
instruments spread before them
and their music, one already
lighting a pipe, and the smoke spirals
in front of the flat-capped pianist
at the black piano.

The signal, a private joke,
and when the laughter subsides
the clarinet leads, tentative, wayward,
slowly finding its exquisite way.
Trombones join in, and the guitar,
the trumpet, the sax.

The room itself swayed by rhythm,
each note urging another on,
a melody, and the melody backtracking,
moving from ferment to reflection,
from motion to stillness, it is
everywhere, it is nowhere at all.

The gleaming silver drums,
the musician’s early brush strokes
like the first lingering caress
of a delicate lovemaking. Afterwards
the thunder, the turmoil, the anger
before the hush – and then the song.

The Jazz Man sings. The clarinet
is calm, and the trumpet.
The guitar sits easy on its stand.
The trombones rest, side by side.
Even the seething drums are silent
as the Jazz Man sings.

To Cool in Long Years | A Poem by Krushna Chandra Mishra

All these years
these twenty five years
earning wages more
than my work meant due
I suffer a poor man
ruined by diseases
and good thoughts
that only in their incapacity
have seen evil grow
with formidable force
to oppress simplicity
everywhere in a crookedness
that defeated chastening motives
if these any time surfaced
in the volcanic way erupting
to cool in long years after
heat and fire have done
their sure superb work.

Whom I was meant
to serve helped me
to forget me, my job,
my own interests
and theirs own
enveloped in them;

I am left to wonder
if still I am left
with anything that
would prove of use
to any here or