Non-erotic poetry (that is, Poetry)

[NivKay]

I'm sorry if I am flooding...but while I've been away, I've been writing, scribbling, scratching...I'd like to be a lot more controlled, a lot more discerning...but for now, the voices are incessant...

Small Reasons

Outside, Sound flaps in winged grace,
Far from City’s monologue. Somewhere,
Nameless Hand bounces Ball against concrete,
Drumming into Earth like a call to arms –

Piano trills from some other room, what smells,
What dreams colour its architecture? Magpie screams
Heat and hurt, and Crow, so dark its purple,
Laments. What do they see that I will not?

Nearby Wind-chime sings an intermittent
Aria, it will dissolve, like so many
truths do, into the impossible,
Invisible cartography of sense.

Such questions, such things are reasons, I know now,
Small reasons to live on one more day, Iki no mei –

Her smile, Scent of burnt pasta,
The incessant Why of children,
Onion that flavours and stings your eyes,
Daddy-long-legs in secret vigilance, the lonely

Walk in the Night’s mute streets, and I in it,
Last man on earth.

 

[42BelowsBack]

Poets. This is not a poem. This is something I did. Last night I was looking at the night sky, thinking of you all,
around the world and the sky was beautiful.

 

[NivKay]

Poets. This is not a poem. This is something I did. Last night I was looking at the night sky, thinking of you all,
around the world and the sky was beautiful.

That night sky? It’s Poetsville…. And what you said, that is poetry

 

[NivKay]

I wrote poem to try and work out what it is that compels me to keep watching this live camera feed of a city in Poland: https://wejherowo.webcamera.pl/

But it is the most riveting viewing. To me at least.

On contemplating a live camera feed


There is a woman in Wejherowo,
Who curses the day she acquired
The mongrel – she called it kundel.
It comes and goes as it pleases,
And some nights she must trudge down
Steep stairs onto Plac Jakuba Wejhera
And call out. Midnight in Wejherowo
is unkind.

Above the Delikatesy, which awakes at four
When the vans carrying supplies in their bowels
Rumble along the cobblestoned street, he watches
Like an owl, come rain, come sleet, his 4D Plasma,
Baywatch, or BlueTV Sports where women jump,
Triple, High, Poled. Sleep comes in snatches
In Wejherowo at Midnight.

There is no telling why I watch these people,
Like a Prestidigitator, watching my screen,
As they watch, at Midnight, lost souls groping
Upon the shore of Dante’s river. It is winter now,
And there is strange calm. Snow is a blanket
For the restless.

 

[SmilingLez]

Poets. This is not a poem. This is something I did. Last night I was looking at the night sky, thinking of you all,
around the world and the sky was beautiful.

night sky sprawls above
scattered poets everywhere
my thoughts drift like stars
we're connected - vast and wide
breathing under one beautiful roof