thesocialpoet

Archive for November, 2013|Monthly archive page

Muladhara

In Poetry on November 17, 2013 at 12:06 pm

The children are on fire. The children are on fire, the children are on fire!

 

They provoke it to grow more passionate,

and they prod at it to prove their power.

They press for their existence by asking why the flame flickers

or spreads or combusts or dwindles down to a mere memory of the past…

 

“How far can the red line be drawn?” we ask

as the child inside holds our crayons against the edge daring ourselves to burn further.

 

We are on fire!

 

with a redness boiling inside of us to behold our bodies to stand with integrity,

to be rooted by energy, and to fully feel the passion in love and rage.

 

We are on fire!

 

The redness illuminates our cores like the light of a lightning bug showing us the way

to belonging.

 

We are on fire!

 

Redness bleeds from our spines like lava leading us to the vitality of the ground

which is our animal home where nourishment is in the core.

 

With volcanic confidence

the children

climb trees,

dig holes,

and play on the ground

wildly

like fire.

 

So the redness is young,

and like a flame,

can always be reignited.

 

Sophia Elizabeth Cox, USA

Advertisements

Modern Poetry

In Poetry on November 8, 2013 at 5:28 pm

(Warning: May contain spite.)

Solemn opening with a particular visual object

that is symbolic

yet

seemingly inexplicable.

Emotional complexity builds, gloomy and relentless.

There will be no exclamation points in this poem.

The object has increasing feeling for

the narrator, and is sexual, but also bleak

and existential-

somehow.

No need for feeling and passion here,

this is art.

No room for that in poetry anymore.

A highly enigmatic and quiet, desolating ending

that leaves the reader amused and vaguely

contemplative.

 

Conor Crockford, USA

Water Bowl

In Poetry on November 3, 2013 at 3:13 pm

My cat and dog

lean over their bowls

and drink the cool,

clear water together.

The cat laps at the liquid

with dignity

and quiet.

The dog, meanwhile,

lashes at the water,

leaving vacant stains on the floor.

Yet I am not sure which

is “better”:

the cat,

refined in her

small sips,

or the dog,

mouth gulping,

the bowl

threatening to topple;

for she is so wild,

ecstatic in her need

for the water,

so full

of life.

 

Conor Crockford, USA