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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Guy

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The Voter | A Social Justice Poem by Daipayan Nair

Moments, when the cradle receives jolts and shocks
In it, the little life rocks
Figuring later, happy earthquakes are politics
Which does to a child the very thing the child wants
Sweet lullabies, those imaginative rides,
Those playful hidings, mischievous goodbyes are all politics
Feeding the new child with bribes for gaining
The most sadistic pedestal – position
The parent who lets his child grow on his own
Is a risk taking politician
The child will either be a vote bank or a voter

House in my absence built over those dead, from those dead
Still living a life of royal distempers is an excellent vote bank
Becoming surely silent with my unsure silence
Vote bank which sacrifices its all to follow the unknown
Vote banks are either with a candy packet or none at all
Excellent digesters of child toffee politics and child toy politics

“He who has served himself has only served his master”

Vote banks as slaves to none,
Except being ultimate slaves to the one
The one, if turns a dictator,
Is loved like a bastard’s legitimate son
They now know, daddy has learnt to divide Daddy has learnt to rob,
Manipulate a mob, be a cunning heartthrob
Swag dressed in gifted hollow packs
Just to increase our candy sacks

“Oh dear daddy, you’re a true saint
You’re sacrificing a lot, a lot of red flesh
For the much promised love
How much pressurized demands of gold From my golden brothers
Have you happily fulfilled”

Vote banks blackout all reasons when it’s their ideal father
Vote banks dig out fresh reasons when it comes
To killing the fellow brothers
Vote banks like to have things their own way
So they honour kill, honour burn, cash kill, cash burn
Crimes with inbuilt lawyers
Poor vote banks of little children finding
Contrasts in the black, calling for big daddy to settle
He sees who’s before the cattle, who’s after the cattle
That certain dresses hide weapons for battle
Daddy would create, daddy would destroy
It would be daddy, setting his own inspections, his own investigations,
His own rules to recreate and ploy
The elite vote banks superficially kill, beneficially burn
Candy packets were too much or too less
Apetite was over fed or famine dead

A young girl with baked skin is public circus,
Running trains being made a dead snake of limited public effection.
One rises only when it’s about daddy
Once God had worshippers, then thinkers developed fans
Once celebrity moms had fans, now government dads find devotees
Murders declared ‘good’ by the majority,
Murderers declared God by them
Whose wishes were fulfilled, were greedy to multiply
Who didn’t wish, grew in themselves
Blasted like bombers

Vote banks increased, voters didn’t
Voters never really got a chance after the cradle earthquake
I’ve always questioned, why I’m here
I’ve been answered, ‘for nothing’
Somewhere, I refused being political and diplomatic
I refused being a fool creating fools
Fools making one colored tools

I knew from then on, I was the equator in an earth of partitions,
I would always be the voter, voting for his own existence
In real, voting his own existence out
I knew I was in a group of thousands if not lakhs

I also knew, growth of a tenure isn’t manipulated by time,
It’s as old as its patience
I’m an eater of time, I vote so that they allow me to eat
It makes me a ‘voter’ in today’s world
With a ‘satisfied’ choice.

Visit Daipayan at https://daipayannair.wordpress.com.

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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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