The Poet Community

Welcome to The Poet Community

I’m poet Guy Farmer and I created The Poet Community to feature thoughtful, original, contemporary poetry from poets worldwide.

 


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Guy


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Old as Dirt, and Half as Clean | A Poem by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

She is hoeing down into the garden
and I stop to watch her.

I am raking leaves with a small child’s rake
that only comes up to my knees
because I broke the other one
last Spring.

I think we’re an old couple,
I say.

We’re 38, we’re not old,
she laughs.

Struggling to get up off her knees
as I turn the wrong way
and throw out my
back.

—–
Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a Canadian-born author residing in Elliot Lake, Ontario, Canada with his wife and many mounds of snow. His work can be found both in print and online in such places as: Evergreen Review, The New York Quarterly, Literary Yard, Red Fez, and The Oklahoma Review.


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The Unremembered Elegance of Cinema Screen Curtains | A Poem by Steve Denehan

Velvet.
Of course, they were velvet.
That electric silence when they started to part.
It was glorious.
The curtains beckoned us to other worlds.
We were grateful and eager and we walked through.
We, the audience, an intrepid newborn community of explorers and optimists.
Rarely though, did the film deliver on the curtain’s promise,
And afterward,
we talked of other things as we filed out to O’Connell Street.


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Perplexed | A Poem by Kara D. Spain

Even with his large brain
he couldn’t see his own destructive behaviors
He could build one heck of a computer program,
but couldn’t see his own shortcomings,
which left him perplexed, as to why everyone abandons him

Visit Kara at https://lyrical-discovery.blogspot.com/ for serious poems and https://wovenstanzas.blogspot.com/ for light-hearted poems.


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Eleven Is the Age to Be a Boy | A Poem by SD Stalzer

Eleven is the age to be a boy!

Sledding a saucer slipping
spinning dipping in ruddy glee
the first snowfall of 2018

Still the adventurer I love
not yet a teen only better
than the sledder of early days

When your stubborn-headed “No”
preserved a purposeful purity
(now “ok Dad” as maturity grows)

Ignoring puberty’s desire today
to poke that hormonal fire
ashes of boyhood fading fast

And eat the fruit of Eden’s tree
the bitter taste of iniquity thirsting
for your sheltered past –

But now that’s off a mile or so
your audacious smile splashing
snowflakes of greedy joy.

Eleven is the age to be a boy!


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