That morning the sun
clothed you, Golden Adonis
robed in new daylight.
~Polly Oliver (2017)
A visceral look at modern urban poverty – with more than an echo of Dickens’ London.
Enter the cold no ones land of alone
A void stamped out with the aftertaste
of a funeral
Where a pulse rising from the grip of a knife
utters a name
Where the waking from a six o’clock
alarm clock is
rubbished into a draggled alley.
Of broken lives and sweaty faces contorting
like fingers on
a twisted sheet in a bad dream
Where a landlord dwindles back rent into a dirty
Trailing his four letter words through dim light
and sickly coughs-
Upraises a finger like a joint between two worlds.
A ghetto by the tracks where death, on pin-legs,
sentries, his utterances
Ungodly like a wakened head; chattering train
with white noses exhaling
Down into the gizzard of the city’s guts-
point of Eden
Render no share to those thick in poverty, to
those who lose by merely waking up.
Copyright © 03/22/17 lance sheridan®
Not poetry perhaps in the strictest sense but I thoroughly enjoy these deceptively simple little short comic fictions at Little Fears blog – the punning talent is prodigious! 😄 The naive drawings of the other-worldly characters resemble a child’s doodle cartoons but I find them haunting and they draw me in. Inbelieve there’s is a linked shop and when I ever make some money I shall visit. In the meantime take a look.
“Sorry to hear that, Pterodactyl” said Yuffie. “What’s up?” asked Fuen. “I just told my man I was leaving him because of his ‘Who Wants To Be a Millionaire’ obsession,” grumbled Pterodactyl. “Oh dear,” said Fuen. “What did he say?” Pterodactyl sighed. “Is that your final answer?”
A resonant and beautiful reminder to tune into the light and peace at the heart of things by Roger at rabbitlaneutah.com
In our lives, in this world, so much of what we hear screams at us; so much of what we see strains the eye; so much stimulus overwhelms our senses. So how do we sense the sublime? How do we discern the quintessential? Beauty and ugliness both surround us. To see beauty despite what is ugly requires both a choice to see, and a belief that beauty is there to be seen. For a moment, put aside religion, God, spirituality, and morality–and trust that intrinsic beauty and goodness are real. That is when you will see. My poem “Commandments” points at the difficulty of having faith in goodness, of sensing the sublime, of believing in beauty, touches on the straining effort faith requires, but affirms the reality and virtue of light, goodness, beauty, and sublimity, and their power to eclipse evil.
to hear Wren’s peep
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Slumber-dark, the room inhales, exhales,
with the shifting focus of my myopia,
to the breathing rhythm of your body-heap.
I scan the watching shadows
that see bland day-lit domestic detritus
turned to hood-cloaked guardians
of midnight’s unfamiliar realm.
I also watch.
The unblinking snake would envy
the piercing intent of my study
of your head’s side. Skin-lids shudder
as your eyes twitch and roll in pursuit
or retreat in the dreams racing
through your Tardis mind; that universe
of memories, lusts, imaginings, clustered
compactly inside that adored box of bone.
Peering at your ear,
I will myself tiny as the flea,
so to boldly journey
past embryo-curled exterior structure,
through the winding, narrowing dark
that leads perhaps,
towards the flickering kingdom
I could never dream to map.
~Polly Oliver (2017)