The Poet Community

Caught on Camera | A Poem by Michael Kagan

If she wasn’t there
he’d sit in his look-a-like
leather chair
a silver flute becomes a tin whistle
just waiting
his face looks like a rubber mask
casting a strange impression
drooping eyes
a blink away from slumber
hearing black wings flapping
too tired to get up and see
he’d rather drink a dream’s vintage wine
his eyes are closed
but he’s not sleeping
a feature attraction playing
on the back of his lids
there he is a pin-skinny lad
I see him smiling
his loving mother
and true grit dad
a short stunted laugh
channels scanning the past
his wife and kids
fading from the picture
seeing things
he should not have done
death and taxes
the reel of life
caught red-handed
in black and white

Conventional | A Poem by Guy Farmer

Deeply conventional,
Revering tradition and
Established practices.

Unconsciously submissive,
Loathing authority but
Following strongmen.

Acutely unimaginative,
Copying rather than
Creating anew.

Impulsively aggressive,
Quick to anger
When challenged.

Fiercely disliking
Anyone who isn’t
The same.

Profoundly hypocritical,
Living in compartments of
Contradictions and myopia.

Intensely dogmatic,
Unwilling to change,
Immune to reason.

Society | A Poem by Chris Byrne

Is the broken dream of a millionaire,
Or just the poor and downtrodden
Bravely attempting to live
While being bombed
To kingdom come?
A society of greed and debt
Forever keeping up with
The trends, bombarded with
Technologies, the new must haves
Slaves to advertising, money-driven
Ignoring the vulnerable and
Admiring the venerable
Whilst queuing for
Expensive coffee
They can’t stand.

A Twist of Fate | A Poem by Donal Mahoney

Ten years ago,
when they were tykes
just in their 70s,

Melvin used to tell Emma
eat your Wheaties
because you’re younger

and when we get old,
you’ll have to push
my wheelchair down

the long and silent halls
of this nursing home so
we can get to the cafeteria

in time for breakfast.
Melvin was a kidder then
but now the time has come.

Folks in the cafeteria hear
Melvin slurp his Wheaties
and gulp his coffee before

he leans over to help Emma
with a napkin and then slowly
wheels her back to the room.

Visit Donal at

The Hill | A Poem by Jace Loring

The end seems never far away
always just over the hill near

the rainbow I will pursue when
I find time and the time is right

The end is where my journey will
truly start. It is the place where

the mystery will overpower my black
blinkers and I will bolt from the cruel

man in the cart, driving me
by shrill yell and crack of mad whip,

far away from the end, so far
away from where I strain to be

When I find this slope’s sure footing
I will bolt over this hill then

gallop true toward that rainbow fast as
I am able. For I am soon

ready to begin and I am
certain the end is just over

the hill.

Visit Jace at