Poetry

Modern Poetry | Post-Modern Poetry | Love Poems

Modern Poetry

Working Still Life Classes

Working Still Life Classes

I don’t want my depressions taken
from me – taken too seriously;
rather fodder for endless jokes &
no hatreds revealed
but rage & rats cause bitter smiles to blossom
into joyous things;

Release

Release

after years I understood that I
am not the great hero of my
own poems; all failures &
cruelties are mine & belong
to me – all weaknesses of the world
are the weaknesses I own

Submission

Submission

I am tired of submitting to your beauty
as I am tired of submitting to the endless
magazines online nothings & hand-stapled
dreams
& their editors
careless with their editing

Carry

Carry

such beauty;
it yearned to be a poem –
it wanted to travel with me,
& in me,
& witness for itself,
its own beauties

Talkin’ Bouquet Blues

Talkin’ Bouquet Blues

roses are only beautiful because
they are weak
& you are not weak
but filled with the ghosts of a thousand lover’s bowers
you have outlived a thousand roses

Self-Reflection

Self-Reflection

poets; happy to tell you
you have a broken smile
& they’ll keep you from splints
& medicines
so they can tell you over
& over again

Writing Verse

Writing Verse

why did it work on you?
never even mentioned it
when you smiled, laughed
at cruel humour –
touched your fingers
to my arm

Loch Earn

Loch Earn

had I known, then? arriving
the breeze come burning
& guiding mighty storms from seas
I knew come shuddering drugs
& clenched the teeth to bite
the sleeping waters

Rouen

Rouen

cigarettes & two words –
le bel! Le bel!
shouted over the water, momentary
madness our bondage
freed in chains, exultation free in
passionate strings;

Sparrows

Sparrows

she watches over
even the sparrows
you said
so why didn’t she watch over me
am I worth less than
the innocence of a bird

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Modern Poetry

Poetry is one of the last great refuges of the 21st Century. Modern poetry spins and crackles in the air; modern, traditional, post-modern poems move through our brains and mellows, enrages, burns and blows on the wind. All poems can enhearten us, devastate us. Poems can be a clever turn of phrase, a wry smile, an evocation of any emotion – poems are one of the only art forms which can actually provide us with a framework on how to live our lives.

And now, by forcing it to perform in pixels and on screens, I’m destroying modern poetry. I don’t want to. I want to glisten like a modern poet, to smile and move and turn on the spot like a poet. These poems aren’t really poems – I don’t know if it’s possible for somebody like me to write poems. They are an attempt at modern poetry.