We love to read your poetry and, even though we receive over 1,000 poems per month, we always take time to read every single one.
A few of the poems we especially enjoyed and which were selected for publication in our Journal are reprinted below.
For more information, please see our Submissions page.
The Dreamer’s Song
We wish, we worry, we long to conquer things,
but is the world stage ours to impose on like
perpetual star gazers, never satisfied or content
with a spinning planet that needs our care?
What is it about the wild storm inside? Fuelling
our edginess, we seldom look below impetuous feet
to notice the ground that nourishes with food, beauty,
colour, intrigue, adventure, and, yes, survival. Bogged
down in myriad issues, doom and gloom prophecies,
some spew frustration and angst in their wake like
fearful creatures clambering for the spotlight. But a
fresh and generous outlook could turn things around:
bring the world into graceful balance until it resembled
an elegant slow dance.
My Angels don’t answer. They never do. Sources disagree
on how many each of us has, but often have I pleaded
for mine to show themselves or leave at least some evidence.
Never a whisper or sign, no sudden ruffling air on a windless
day, no bright light at the end of the bed, not even a feather.
Am I abandoned then, uncared for? Has it always been this way?
I listen to the chat-show voyants claiming your favour, but how
you live untouched among the victims of hurricane and wildfire,
in the aftermath of rampage, they never say, or what the guardians
of rapists are up to, how many billions you are, if like us you sleep.
I wait here with an open mind, an open heart, but there are times I feel
I’m sinking, flailing in this heavy swell of silence as night closes in.
Find me, Angels; somehow speak. Let me know the day will come
you guide my tainted spirit to the light. (Then I can erase this poem.)
More Guest Poems
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The Race The others had quit the track, I had no choice, I had to step up now. It was like a fight. I grabbed the baton in my shaking hand and clutched it tight. I hadn’t trained for this, and the race was tough, circuit after circuit on rough uneven ground. A jeering...
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