inalienable right to strip the world of choreography by Mark Hartenbach

I am not a silent poet

present reality scheming for a look into the future
as a causal universe is rolling along on training wheels

theatrical adventure that takes us nowhere to be found
where the relevance of this scene is always in question

where old guard is falling asleep at the gates of heaven
where there doesn’t have a to be a good reason

when it could as easily be a bad reason instead
allegedly characterized by spirit of unconditional love

but i see too many dollar signs to buy that rubbish
see ambitious lunging at object of affection

a story based on the former life of a ridiculous man
is fulfilling social obligations despite the fact

unsettling remarks are actually quite the opposite
are jimmied achievements of uniform impressions

supposedly natural rivals suffering moral bankruptcy
ignoring all mandates strung along for the ride

allegedly formulating a new search for meaning
manipulation of regardless escaping…

View original post 19 more words

I am Horizontal by Jill Berrett

I am not a silent poet

I am horizontal

not as in having my body etched by the movement of sand as I rest after furious waves

nor as in absorbing chlorophyll  from  newly mown grass as I lie with my book

there is no photosynthesis for me,

no luxury lies in my lying.

I am not covered in clouds or staring at stars.

I am propped and pinioned, padded by pillows, muscles and joints

soothed, softened by silver grey cushions.

You may say this is a strange life, yet I share it with millions.

We are rocky outcrops scattered.

We are your hidden minority.

We are the disappeared, not by war or revolution,

nor by famine or hunger

but by viruses, bugs, bacteria,

by caring and loving,

by throwing ourselves in front of the tanks.

If you want to seek us out, go look in beds, on sofas, on floors, in hospitals, in darkened rooms…

View original post 134 more words

Blooming by Ananya S Guha

I am not a silent poet

I look at drops of water

in scattered seas

drops of blood which

I see are thirsty

no hospital wants them

they are scarce

bones only they pierce

they dry very soon

dispirited

use them to grow flowers

they will bloom.

View original post

Inside by Paul Goring

I am not a silent poet

I have seen

orbiting

exterior

restless souls

surprising themselves

with the depth

of their

need

to be

on the inside

of a kiss

for once

to be enveloped

protected

at peace

View original post