Free Verse & Prose Poetry 

Page 3.

We make out of the quarrel with others, rhetoric, but of the quarrel with ourselves, poetry.
William Butler Yeats - (1865- 1939)
      Lyrical Passion Poetry E-Zine © 2007-2019

The Outcast    by Matthew Ivan Bennett

He saw Father naked
so his feet rip
& blot red on the alkali sand
When he lies down vipers trace him
blow musk into his wounds
so they never close
His eyes are vinegar
soured by the dawns
he greets alone
Why did he tell his brothers
who held a white robe behind them
inching backwards into the tent
to cover Father
drunk, sweating, hairy Father
whose skin we should never see

Grey Monotone    by Nicholas Damion Alexander

A steady drizzle swarms the district
teeming down in droves.
Starts and stops...starts and stops
until the horizon is white like a grudge
and the locality silent like the grave;
the birds have vacated the air.
A dog scours the yard for food
enduring the wet wet for belly-full.
Grey monotone inhabits the peace
as a strophic drizzle chimes roofs.
Light has deserted time; rain scampers
like a child hurrying home-
the woman sleeps in the soon-dark of 6 o'clock
dreaming of a brighter tomorrow.

UNTITLED #7      by Judith Mensch 

You have to be a little bit tired
You have to be willing to put your heart on edge
For the song to come
To wander out from where you’d like to be
To reside with tears in your heart
Watering your spirit with sorrow
Making joy an arid place

Damn this poetry!     by Martin Lochner
Last night I started smoking again
I chose the corner in my yard
where I felt the safest
Under the flood light I could see
everything and the glaring made me invisible
Somebody was running a bath
children were crying over the street
and my neighbor beat his wife again
The coal burned in saffron red
each puff confirmed my breath
and the death of an approaching moment
My wife was calling for me and I did not want to respond
you see she was worried about the 14 years
I was going to squander on the box
The light fused, the children stopped crying
Bob Seger sounded up in a bathroom
The beating next door was resolved
with screams of love making
"There you are," my wife said
and I thought to myself
"damn this poetry"

For a nice heart   by Haris Adhikari

Not home but just walls surrounding
a deafening silence that stares
at the cobwebbed wait of her
like how the owl glares with popped eyes –
in an eerie zone, her light heart longing
for a hand – soft and soothing –
upon her furrowed visage, she seems calm
not from within, what’s sprouting?
Not promises but circumstances fill
the absences, and the emptiness grows
to gulp her little hope. She sits observing
how easily the cat can vent its emotions
unlike people; sometimes talking
to herself – in the language of dreams.
How inaudible the waves are
that hurl the pearls from deep down her eyes?
Gone down, her voice. She has learnt
a lot of silence, seeking peace in prayers,
or reading from the Gita: ‘We come alone,
we go alone, we are all alone.’ Nice consolation
for a nice heart.

Toxic   by Seren Fargo

It was that hike in the pine woods
when you told me you wished
I wasn’t so dense, and that you hadn’t loved me
for a long time –
and that the girl down the street
visited you
whenever I went to my poetry readings.

Did you notice? –
there were red amanitas everywhere.

blue      by Owen Bullock
efficient, coded
jeaned, with boots
or latest sneakers
sea & sky
death, when the sea breaks cover
to greens
black & frothing
ecstatic white
to carry on, you need a blue card
correctly stamped & signed
a uniform, starched
I own you blue
you’re the colour
of belonging
cause and effect
of ‘you stay in this family’
blue is blood
lost in an artery
it has to come out
into a challenge
it will hate
satori           by Owen Bullock
she puts the car
on first
gets out
into the
this time
sure. . .

an old man, of about seventy long hard years. . .   
                                                         by Kanchan Chatterjee
he reclined on his worn out
easy chair
smelling of
and beer. . .
as the midsummer evening
hung heavy
over the ageing terrace
he started talking
about books
and began
Leon Uris. . .
A PART OF ME   by Clive Oseman, UK

You only know a part of me,
the slice that glows or glares
under the needs of situations
when your journey crosses mine.

I am a classic novel
you're a speck of dust
or maybe vice versa, depending
on the angle of the view,

so like fools we take some random lines
and blend them as we will.
If what you read is not for you,
then put me down for sure
but try not to condemn 

I am the complexity of science
the simplicity of air
but my door is heavily fortified.
The code remains elusive
if you never breathe the words.
Everything exists within original rhythms
Snarks and those quarks even goodnight kisses
The enactment of aeons and footfalls of ancients
Everything exists within original rhythms
Within a long wait for morning
Within the yearning for home
Everything exists within original rhythms
Snarks and those quarks even goodnight kisses

The days, so cold        by ayaz daryl Nielsen

The days, so cold
The nights, so long
Another tundra
wind from
above timberline
Wild geese and
blue heron
months ago,
black bear, deep
mule deer and elk
among pine and
leafless aspen.
The clock ticks
toward midnight,
the year,
about to end.
Here, beside this
glowing hearth,
you gently
place your lips
upon mine.


WIDE IRAQI SEA     by Jenean McBrearty

Strange traveling companions we,
Him missing a leg.
Me missing my youth.
Stairs ahead.
Stares ahead
As we navigate down the cliff
Each of us clinging to our parallel railings
Like wounded turtles struggling to the sea
He met my gaze once
Then turned away,
Preferring to watch the college kids
Playing volley ball on the beach
While phantom limbs
And time tease us,
Their ridiculing laughter hidden
In the giggly gaiety of a California day.


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