Poetry Posts

El Fuego Y Agua Poema by David Michael Jackson

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El Fuego
por David Michael Jackson
Traducido por Jodey Bateman

No se apaga el fuego
Arde como fuego, como pena, sabes, como pena
Mozo, trae agua, agua para mi fuego, agua fresca, dulce y clara
Las pablabras no sirven. No sirven ni palabras ni labores
La espada clava adentro, sí, en la panza, en el abismo
Y las palabras no obtienen favor
Come el durazno, hombre, come el durazno, sí
atrévelo entonces, enconces, entonces
¨Queda más tiempo?
Tiempo entre crecer y envejecer
Tiempo entre el río y el mar
Come el durazno, hombre
es bueno
es dulce

Boothswargled in Boatswain by David Michael Jackson

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Once when the lager were carrying their coats
in the sultry swemult of laggon’s presence,
in the swarthy simult
of essence itself.
Let us just say,
condense it to primulfigance,
leave it homing,
as the harrial is cresting to the himult
and the sweevers are weaving,
lasoming, hanging helpless in
swammance itself.
Oh swammance!
Oh swammance!

boothswargled

I Married a Hippy Poem by Andy Derryberry

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love
I married a hippy
A pretty girl who
occasionally shared
my illegal smile.

But she really was
a sweet innocent child

And I looovvved her
And she looovvved me

But since Jesus moved in
It’s as if she hates me
And that just breaks my bones
And grinds me to dust

The way I understand it
He came for the likes of me
In fact it seems that He
Loves me just as I am

I know she remembers that..
That she loved me once
And if He could love me now
Couldn’t she? Again

You my wife
What do you know
If you loved me
You might save me too

Have I ever not been right?
***

Scorched earth poem by Andy Derryberry

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i stand in a burned and smoldering
40 acre field

a field of ruination by my own hand

i played with the matches carelessly

and brilliant beautiful flame of pale blue

flared into a conflagration that left me

scorched with regret and

solitary in this field of smoke

now all i see is what was before

what is gone and will be nevermore

was it real or imagined

or only a phantom

i lost the time to know

because i was careless

and now the only sensation i have

is that of the heart pounding in my chest

and the pulse surging through my veins

and so i am alive and maybe

given the time to nurture a field

and perhaps time to forgive myself for

burning this one

Bentley All I See is Carpeting Poem by Joan Pond

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All I ‘See’ Is Carpeting
by Joan Pond

The streets of Kensington gave me trouble,
so I doubled back to the flat.
Driving on the wrong side
I panicked at an intersection,
threatening to cut me in two.
I should have listened to you
and taken the tram.
Sheer hell will break loose,
for dinging your Bentley.
My ass is in a sling,
then over your knee;
while you explain why Yanks
should leave driving to the Brits.
Yet all I
‘see’,
is carpeting.