Resident Poets

Thanksgiving Poem

by

Thanksgiving

I’m thankful for
this brown carpet
with human fuzz
the sound of feet above me

the winds howling outside
me warm inside
alone but sheltered

the womb warmth
of my own soul energy
and of those I’ve gladly known
our cascading colors of light
happily perplexing
in this fluctuating perpetuation
of life

2.

the intensity of youth
the sharp, edgy freedom
spending time

coins with their edges rubbed off
that’s what it’s like
to be older

3.

I was three quarters
and felt everything
more than it should be
my hands colder than snow
the wind the howl of the artic
I shivered with Christmas hymns
all the way back to Santa
in the magical frightening world of child
I tingled with glad, knowing numbness
then I was transported
connected to every atom in the cosmos
I was cold and warm
I was there and I wasn’t
I knew and I was innocent
I loved and I was vacant
I was human, vegetation
and the swirling forces
blackness and pure light
then I realized
everything is infused with soul
I am a seed and I have grown
I am a part
I am whole

Thanksgiving Poem by Belinda Subraman
If you like Thanksgiving poem you may want to read Belinda’s Cinco de Mayo poem .

Thank you for your visit.

George Washington Poem by David Michael Jackson

by

IDEA OF THE WEEK

the dollar lies on the table
a crumpled george stares

steadfastly at me

as I write my critique

to a poet

who someday may need no critique from

some no one

such as

I

A crumpled george stares

back

he looks to be still troubled by those bad teeth

after all these

years

Ah george, get off my case I say

I told her the best I could

you smile the best you can

don’t you, George

you smile the best you

can

***

When next i am to sleep again poem by Edy Benjamin

by

when    next i am to sleep again
will    you be there with sheepish grin
i    will not brush nor turn away
see    you not in yesterday
again    we make the figure 8

bells    go tingling in the night
books    unwritten taking flight
candles    dim but light is longer

midnight    come and we will go now
dawn
noon
dusk

the nightmare came strongly to a him repulsive kiss
before he half collapsed
his arm over her shoulder her arm around his waist
she would find him a hospital bed medical help
white nurse offensive
fat lady without compassion (expected)
phones had secret codes
who were patients non discernibile
over an hour she supported him
walking thru a maze of hallways
once she woke and remembered
all her nightmares took place in hospitals
falling back asleep she was there
still seeking hospital bed and help
“ok” her self said, “wake up”

coffeed and tobaccoed

the hopes and fears thru all the years
rest in autumn peace
the struggle with no resolution
put to rest
in it’s own halls of circularity
as piano man ‘splained
“too much mercy is wasteful,
too lightening bolt heavy is non justice.”

and Jesus said to Moses,
“What the crap happened
to Abraham’s children?”

justice lives not only in the now
sometimes it’s waiting in some halfway house
between the blood-letting and the peace
found
only with justice

what will reflect the blood on distant hands
that fashioned the knife
that foresaw the bomb
that Jack and Jill built?
that support the men
who light the fires
that scream the women
that scars the child.
does he hang down his head
Tom Dooley
or does he just look away
and dulled his senses
to no sense.

Is their hope Hooey?
Ah, Louie,
paint them a picture
from May to December
of eleven year old children or so
then when they remember if they remember they’ll
follow
follow
follow
(you know)
their heart.

Nathan Bedford Forrest Poem

by
Nathan-Bedford-Forrest-Thru-The-Trees

You stand there on your pedestal
as the cars go by
the boys who died on your raid
charged yelling into the fray
fighting for something they
would not believe
could not believe was
possible as the
cars go by
Nathan did you curl and wax your mustache
on the morning of your raid
did you take a drink in this well on the square
did you walk under this Sycamore
and say I captured a piece of yesterday
and rolled into the square for one day and
for one day the
slaves were no longer free
and the garlands lay in your path
and your statue stands here now
having been moved because of
the flow of the traffic
around you

david michael jackson

Murfreesboro Courthouse and Murfreesboro Public Square Photo courtesy of Murfreesboronet

The loner poem by David Michael Jackson

by

He lived in a small house beside the river.
We would only see him on the road,
riding a bicycle with a small motor,
an eccentric loner puttering by on that cycle.
He didn’t drink,
caused no trouble it seems,
we kids didn’t really know him
except for the motorized bicycle
and the river.
I guess every group of kids has a loner
full of mystery to
speculate about.
I think of him to this day.
Was he a poet or just a lonely man?
He is stuck forever in a memory that
forgets almost everyone, forgets
all the wasted or plentiful lives.
How do we not waste our lives?
The famous dead poets are merely names.
These words are just magnetic spots on
a disk somewhere.
If the bill is not paid, then
the ones will become zeros
and I will have puttered by.
***