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.

 


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Cheers,

Guy

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Life Lessons Learned at Your Knee | A Poem by Roy Pullam

I was not prepared
For the long separation
A complete independence
I never wanted
You did not see gray
Your values
So absolute
That I often felt
I fell short
In your eyes
You had no time
For hate
Though to many
Poverty and trash
Went in the same bin
And though
You were knocked down
You never stayed down
With the feeling
That only cowards
Bemoaned their faith
That I
Should never stop trying
Should never settle
For ease
It rings in my ears
The bell of truth
The sound of your voice

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De-Shelving Latitudes | A Poem by Paul Tristram

The raft’s bindings were tied
with thesaurus knots.
Huddled beneath
a beer garden parasol,
she paddled oars,
made of wishbones,
with augmented plate-ends
of Welsh roof slate.
As the fray of the forest,
sludged slowly away behind,
the rains started, briskly.
Demented seagulls
dive-bombed
the little bamboo harbour
off to the left…
and, to the right,
a volcano bellowed
a juggernaut argument
with the dismal sky.
Weaving and bobbing,
ruddering with underside
bottom of wrist…
she darted back towards land,
in between
the caves of stagnation
and the copper fields of tomorrow.
Landing, unnoticed by all
but the Switzerland kingfisher.
Frame arched like a bow,
she reed-ran, spritely,
towards the racket
tumble-spreading outwards
from the waterfall of nonsense verse.

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Providence 1945 | A Poem by Roy Pullam

A black cloud
Hung over my birth home
No doctor available
The skills of a neighbor woman
Spare but effective
Another mouth
Added to four
He had trouble feeding
A broken down miner
His back
In a corset
In the other bed
My birth cry
Matched by
The desperate longing
Of my mother
2:30 did not provide
The only darkness
Lack of hope
Draped like crepe
Over the little house
On Lexington Avenue
Dad turned his head
Recognizing
His youngest son
Whose promise
For a future
Seemed no more
Than the son
He buried
But poverty
Breeds survivor skills
Ambition only
For the day
While tomorrow
Come with its own challenges
And so it was
An incubator of want
Devoid of pleasure
But somewhere
In the despair
We all
Found our way

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Dopamine | A Poem by Gordie Dnably

Watery damson bulbs and moons,
Birthing hairy excuses or muses.
Forgoing every limit set by mourners.
Perpetuating reform.

Braised lilac orbs and moons,
Yielding excuses or apologies.
Siphoning reaction from laborers.
Boosting oases and stamina.

Devilish… bluish… ovallish… crystal,
Erecting poor lattices for unwary creepers.
Accepting devotion and denying its teeth.
Fostering opuses then gradually melting.
Hindering brawn and conning the lawless.
Providing faux satisfaction,
Stomping complacent outliers,
Sparring with fixed morals,
Propelling thankful users into vats of filtered sap during longed-for interims.
Spanning hours of frenzy and static and gray and fever,
Perpetuating rumors of misuse and blinding clients from its double-dealing.

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