Poems and Poetry

Bipolar Observations from the Flight Deck | A Poem by G.S. Katz

Relating to women the way I do
Maybe it’s me that’s bipolar
Have to get back to you on that one
When I figure out who will be doing the talking

Ran into my neighbor in the supermarket
She’s a flight attendant
Just back from Portugal she says
She always looks good in a perpetual jet lag haze

Sleeping in the living room the past few nights
Got the whole sofa bed to myself
Feel like a visitor in my own home
Maybe I’ll do some tourist stuff just to see what’s what

Vocabulary Lesson | A Poem by JD DeHart

It’s not often you learn
a new word after a certain time,
but I’m finding there’s always
room to learn

Even after teaching for years,
even after taking various
degrees, even after reading
and reading more,

The mouth can still form a new
word, the mind can still shape
a new concept.

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

An Invitation | A Poem by Daniel Klawitter

Yes, as everyone knows, mediation
and water are wedded forever.
-Herman Melville.

Come, you soft-shelled poets filled with sea-water.
Come and leak your speech on thirsty beaches!
Come and christen this hour the necessary source.
Come and sing the ocean’s primal power.
Come and listen to the seas—the rivers—the lakes.
Come and bring tribute to the tributary.
Yes, come and find your calling; your true vocation:
The marriage of mind to cherished hydration.

Remembrance | A Poem by Ananya S. Guha

Mother, the poetry that I write today is a whistling blowing song,
discovered in the wind that ruffles my surroundings. Yet it was at
your behest that I recited verse moved by music and the sonority of words. I did not possess stage fright as I recited poems written by others.

Yet today poetry has a special making, a deeply troubled voice as I
reach arcane depths to discover voices, my voice: protest, anger,
sadness like a gladiator sparring. Yes, Mother, poetry is what you took me to, adventurous, when I was just five. And, today at fifty nine, poetry stirs the everyday nuance of my soul. Not water tight, but a deep breath, disabling stoic beliefs.