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I’m poet Guy Farmer and I created The Poet Community to feature thoughtful, original, contemporary poetry from poets worldwide. This site is completely reader supported, please consider helping me keep it going.


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Counting Stipples in the Stucco | A Poem by G. Louis Heath

I recline all the way back on my levered
Lounger to do what I do best: count stipples

In the stucco overhead. When I enumerate
Those raised dots thronging toward infinity,

I feel empowered on my leatherette seat of
Sovereignty. Turn off your TV, slam shut

That book, throw away that sugary treat, and
Lean back. Try to clear your cluttered mind of

All your daily woes and cares. Take a census
Of all the Lilliputian denizens of the stucco on

Your ceiling. Free your soul of all the dark angst
That blights your spirit like a stopper in a drain.

Death of the Butterfly | A Poem by JD DeHart

Sure, at one time the wings were gossamer
and we had the promise of a beach vacation
and sure, the cocoon was lovely, if not a little
cramped and there was nectar.
Not in great quantities, mind you, but there
was nectar, but now –
the wings have been trampled, life has
happened once too often, the trees
no longer provide much shade, and we must
move on, let the balloon soar, and allow
passage, art, and time.

Visit JD at

Good Night Moon | A Poem by Debra Sasak Ross

Good night moon.
Good night stars.
I wonder tonight
Exactly where you are.
Are you happy
To be free?
Are you lonely
Just like me?
Do you wish that things were different?
Do you wish they had stayed the same?
Do you ever wish upon a star
Out there somewhere
Where you are?
Are you happy?
Are you sad?
Do you miss the love we had?
Good night moon.
Good night stars.
I wonder tonight
Exactly where you are.

Visit Debra at

Debra Sasak Ross is a published author from Chicago, IL. She loves reading, writing, thunderstorms and blizzards. She is the mother of four children and hopes to complete her Master’s Degree in Creative Writing one day.

Clippings | A Poem by JD DeHart

I have gathered the names and faces,
traced the paths back,
a not-so-ancient lineage.
I have found images of beauty
in fragments, joined them together,
and there you go.
I have put in my time with glue and
paper clips, obsessed over the combination
of colors (even though I have slight
defect in this area) only to find
I need a new hobby now.

Visit JD at

To Whom It May Concern | A Poem by Judy Moskowitz

Where is the voice of provocative thought
a three and one half octave range
with high decibels of courage
did it burn out in the forest
with all the other body parts
melting an atrophied present and ruptured future
where is the voice that would rise up
sing the hallelujah chorus
turning instinct into action
thrill an audience of one
into a crowd of reason
truth and fact not confused
inside a book of fiction
another brand born to deliver
sleek and slick

yours truly
a once conscientious objector