Poems and Poetry

Welcome to Poems and Poetry

I’m poet Guy Farmer and I love exploring the human condition, from the sublime to the silly, through poetry. I created Poems and Poetry to feature original contemporary poetry about the human condition by thoughtful poets worldwide. This site is completely reader supported, please help me keep it going.


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Rise Rats, Rise! | A Poem by Dave 1289

It should be a privilege to steer the ‘great’ ship,
not freewill to pillage and sell and betray.
The spoon of the privileged scoops only to gain,
like pirates they strip all our assets away

They kill off our lifeline: protection and health
and drown out the warning of social destruct.
Their privatisation is pleasing their greed,
so now we’re in need of a social erupt

‘Cause rats in battalions slay silver-spooned
stallions and now it is our time to rise!
We’ll bring down these fat cats, and make right their
wrong acts; together, we will turn the tide.

Enslaved by systemic poisonous feed,
ensuring the rats can’t get near the elite.
In black, tax-payed limos they deal for the few
as globalised greed eats up homes on our street

They just keep on pushing the unjust divide
and burn all our bridges so riches can thrive.
While building their walls to keep out the reaper,
the rats keep on racing but now we must rise

‘Cause rats in battalions slay silver-spooned
stallions and now it is our time to rise!
We’ll bring down these fat cats, and make right their
wrong acts; together, we will turn the tide.

Deceit and deception the soil for their seed
but rats cannot ask or reap what they sow:
a harvest to feed their insatiable want.
They twist at the truth to protect all they grow

The artery to the heart of corruption
and we need to block their unjustly flow…
They sell plastic promise; the price is neglect.
We must ensure that it’s their time to go.

So rise rats, rise!

Visit Dave at https://www.facebook.com/1289Dave/.

Behind the Bandages (She’s Feeling Pretty Spread Thin!) | A Poem by Paul Tristram

The burning and stinging
is excruciating
just before fresh injections.
But, they’ve chiselled a new face
out of the battle-scarred
‘Picture Of Dorian Grey’
that crawled from the wreckage
and ruin
of three Armada divorces,
which would have slain a woman
with half her constitution,
twice over.
Her soul’s on autopilot
as the medication hums and purrs,
mists and fogs
and the sickness drifts and sways.
She pricks her mind awake,
by counting monthly bank statements
from memory.
Each step away
from that childhood dungaree farm
of hand-me-downs
and ne’er quite enough to go ‘round,
forged her spirits
by trial and error,
hard-earned success,
the thrill of the kill
and the giddying high
of outmanoeuvring defeat.
She now needs a
body to match her ambitions…
it’s practical as well as vanity.
She’s forgotten that it’s the little things
which eventually make up the big
whilst at the very same time
unwittingly augmenting
the emptiness inside
to a size and mass too great to ever deplete.

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

Where Are You Donal Mahoney | A Poem by Roy Pullam

I watch the mail everyday
Your voice gone silent
The distance once interrupted
By the weekly herald
Opinions and views
Expressed in your missal
Some different than mine
Still valid discourses
That make me think
That challenge my views
In a respectful way
I miss your pen
The harmony you have
With words
And long for
The blessing
The written reminder
“You Have Mail”