Poems of the Week: Men's Voices

It is time to hear from the men in our community, my friends. Today, we are pleased to showcase wonderful poems by Martin Kloess of Poetry and Viral Videos, Marcoantonio of Life Whispers,  Matthew Henningsen, of Matthew Henningsen's The Literary Doc, and Hank, (Kayakuala),  who writes at Rainbow. Each one speaking with heart to the human condition. Enjoy!

Sherry: Martin, I always enjoy your posts, the poems you write, as well as the commentary that follows. Thank you for agreeing to share a poem with us this week.

Tale Of Lovers True 

How did it start he didn’t know

But what this was won’t let him go

He prays for death so this will end

What was the wound which he must sew

He just had coffee with a friend

A quaint old shop just down the bend

They shared a cup of troubled brew

So troubled heart could freely rend

He heard a tale of lovers true

A tale which sadly now is through

Friend’s wife was having an affair

A fact that he already knew

What his poor friend was unaware

Was he who held her favored stare

Seeing friend’s pain brought thoughts profound

And as friend left he just sat there

Then from outside came awful sound

A screeching car had target found

He dropped regrets to rush outside

And found his friend there on the ground

And there amid the blood’s red tide

He fell to deed with anguish cried

And there began the endless flow

As one man lived another died


Sherry: Oh, my goodness, that ending! The man's guilt would be even worse from then on. You tell a powerful story here, Martin.

Martin: Here is sample of a round, a poem with no beginning or end. Each third line is the lead in for the following stanza. The last third line leads back to the first stanza. The poem is about a person who is listening to his “friend” telling about his wife seeing another man. The person is the one the wife is seeing. Distraught, the friend goes out into the street, where he is hit by a car. As the poem comes to a head, we have the person holding the blood-soaked body of his “friend”. On the line “As one man lived another died”, we realize that this poem is a round. The whole nightmare begins again and again and… Who lived and who died?

Sherry: The round and the open ending  give one much food for thought. Thank you, Martin, for sharing this round with us. It is an intriguing form, which I haven't tried yet.

Marco recently penned a poem that really pinged my heart, especially in its beautiful closing lines. Let's read:

SUN SHADOW

in a cavern of my mind where roots of wisdom are born
gathers a surfeit of memories of when youth held
my hand tightly and my glass of juice was immortality
every moment was deplete of life’s trepidations
and there was joy in the freedom of the wind that
filled my lungs as i would run like a deer in its meadow
and the angst of life had not yet laid its heavy arm upon
my shoulders

in this journey walking a step in step with me, t’was
a void in absence of a father's love, an anguishing was
awaiting to touch my soul as my life was assembling
and that emptiness of unrequited love lay dormant
in a chamber of my heart, later to evince like a shadow
cast by the lonely pearl of night but, for now, little was
known of this, for it was never known

the most i ask and least of life, 
as Diogenes asked of Alexander:
not to stand in the way of the sun


Sherry: I feel the emotion in those closing lines. They went straight to my heart, Marco. What were your thoughts while writing this poem?

Marco: i was observing a young father playing with his young toddler and was wondering how or who i might have become if i would have had a father figure in my life: the male love, the physical play and presence, the mentorship and inspiration. then in reflection i realized that i'm who i am because 'mi mamasita' took on both role models. and so, not having is not knowing, thus, my reference to Diogenes asking of Alexander: ... not to stand in the way of the Sun ... for if my heart and soul never witnessed or knew then don't let my heart or soul anguish about its absence.

Sherry: I so admire your Mamasita. Her story has always touched my heart. Thank you for sharing this poem with us, Marco.

Matthew's poem is about poetry itself, always a topic we enjoy! Let's dive in!

Matthew in the Blue Mountains National Park

in Australia

IN PRAISE OF THE POEM

Written at the Start of a New Year

It refreshes me this odd
Art of putting words-to-
Words. It is a

Sense of peace in places
That seem all
Wrong. It is

Soft sound I think in
A cruel well that swallows up
Most things you throw
Down. But, this

Small sweetness remains and
Sustains if,
Only for a little while. It

Refreshes me this odd
Art of putting
Words-to-words.

Sherry: "This odd art of putting words-to-words" seems to have us all in its grasp. Smiles. 

Matthew: This poem was written at the beginning of this year, as the title says. I was first inspired by the hope of something new, and how this hope, for me at least, seems to take the form of a poem. That there is a peace to poetry somehow, and that there is an order to it, the piecing together of lines-with-lines.

But I also try to reveal, in the structure of the poem, how fragile all of this is. A poem can hold, but it can so easily collapse and tumble down, much like our life and reality. It is all a poem somehow, all of it.......and the best we can do is hold it together for as long as we can.

Sherry: I love these thoughts of yours about poetry just as much as the poem, Matthew. Thank you for sharing your work and thoughts with us.

Hank wrote a beautiful poem recently about refugees, who are much on our minds in these troubled times. Let's take a look.

Blessed Were the Angels

The kindness of strangers

Never to underestimate the

hallmark of human goodness

where one least expected it

Blessed were the angels that

recognized such distressed souls

to direct help to the displaced

caught in taut situations

Volunteers, strangers to the scene

were the first to be led by Providence

to areas of conflicts to extend those

caught in a harrowing cross-fire

with some semblance of hope

It was expected that their vigorous

experiences were made more bearable

Sherry: This poem speaks to my heart, Hank, in these times where so many millions are suffering and displaced. What inspired it your poem?

Hank: It is more than just an inspiration. It is a cry-out, a feeling of despair upon seeing so much deprivation and suffering, and anger at oneself for being so helpless. We are so exposed to the stark consequence of human failing, not as a result of a natural disaster, but rather from the planned and devious actions of the commercially strong against the weak consumers.

This is akin to the sharing of a big piece of cake among the people, each having a slice, but all have a taste of its goodness. Instead, it was wrested away by a big fella blessed with economic strength, but in the process part of it was destroyed. The big fella enjoyed a large portion, while only a small portion was left to be shared by the remaining many. Obviously the relatively stronger among the remaining many would still be fed, but the weakest of the weak were left hungry.

We have seen this enacted throughout history, where the imperfection was the same but the players were different. Or, at the local front, at school where the rich kid gets the privilege of flaunting his daddy's wealth, while the kids of ordinary folks can just look but saying nothing.

We are the grown kids of ordinary folks, still able to see through the majestic communication channels afforded us at real time of sad events around the globe, (gritting our teeth at not being able to do much about it). But fortunately there is a small number, a band of concerned individuals, who take it upon themselves to be the Angels who extend their love and affection as strangers of kindness, unsung in their brilliance.

Sherry: Thank you, Hank. This is so well said, and heartfelt. Bless those human angels who go into the hard places and try to help.

Thank you, fine gentlemen, for sharing your voices with us today. And for being faithful participants at Poets United. We enjoy your work so much, and are appreciative of your presence.

Wasn't this fine, my friends? Do come back and see who we talk to next. Who knows? It might be you!

POEMS OF THE WEEK ~ POEMS ON POETRY, WITH THOTPURGE, DE JACKSON, MATTHEW HENNINGSEN AND MAMA ZEN

I love it when poets write poems about poetry itself - how to write it, how to read it, how it makes us feel. This week we offer four such poems for your delectation, by Rajani,  who writes at Thotpurge: Incomplete Thots , De Jackson, at Whimzygizmo's Blog, Matthew Henningsen at The Literary Doc, and Mama Zen, of another damn poetry blog. I am sure you will enjoy these wonderful offerings.

Rajani recently wrote a poem about poetry that knocked my socks off. Let's dive in with both feet and immerse ourselves in her amazing imagery.

LIFE OF A POET ~ MATTHEW HENNINGSEN

This week, my friends, I have a special treat for you. One of our newer members, Matthew Henningsen, who writes at Matthew Henningsen's The Literary Doc, is a world traveler, as well as a poet. I had asked him if I might interview him, so we can get to know him better, and it turns out he leads the most interesting life, and has traveled the world. Be prepared for adventure, some great poems, and some really beautiful photos.