Here are three poems by a poet we've published before.
Freedom,
A noun meaning,
Immunity from an obligation or duty,
It seems to me that we live,
In a world immune to unity,
Where,
Freedom… is not often had,
So many struggle on without,
That freedom which you are so quick to complain about,
While you straddle your barstool,
Fools will talk,
While others act,
I just hope that my impact,
Is just a bit less abrasive,
Than your invasive opinions about freedom.
Soldier and the Pacifist:
Well damn, I guess I'm just too good a guy,
I'd not raise a hand against another,
Even if beaten and bloodied by my dear brother,
If defeated, I might just lay down and die,
I know my heart is righteous,
Down another glass of marbled scotch rye,
Like the father and the son,
A round on the house from me to everyone,
It’s the pallbearers with tears in their eyes, Good Lord, I hate funerals, At least he lived and died, As by the sword in his hand,
Mama’s cries, Bibles in the row, words to God, So many demands, Rest in peace,
Soldier of our land.
Jones Cemetery:
Bless the lovely bones,
Buried in the rose grove,
That Jones street cemetery,
Down by the old foggy cove,
Is where I lay beside my sweetheart,
Wrapped in vines, with a single shrine,
One true love in a bind,
I am yours, and you are mine.
Stolen Heart:
We are fiery and destitute,
Passion cleft asunder,
We are not brutes,
But we are despondent as well,
I swear that life has been a veritable hell,
Hide behind your wall of shame,
You have plundered and robbed,
A thief,
That unfair game,
Her famed name,
She took the last resident of my heart,
Leaving me with only pain.
Comments