The Poetry Kit MAGAZINE

 

 

Response Poems 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Untitled

by Grant van Wingerden

 

At the return of orators I stand elated

The seal of their eloquence shall be

Celebrated

You can dish up dumbed down discourse

On satellite reality programs

Argue the toss with those less verbose

And inept in their epigrams

Sop up their shallow response in soap

Performance

I want the meat of the matter

from a man of letters

I want meaning and staying

on message

Pointed polite politic

Bring your belief to briefs

Broadcast intent I can brandish

As something my nation requires

Kneading the supple needs

Despatching the broad desires

Stride with the pedant to podium

Their quest for renewed incentive

Drawing down urgent excellence

Raconteurs at the hour of reckoning

Displaying their exposition

A demanding right of reply.

 

 

 

on satellite reality programs

 by Carol Sircoulomb

 

I watch for the fat lady to sing

and the hunk to cry

the hearing impaired to race

with his mother in the heat of the night

the asian old man to outwit

the bigoted young man with the pimple on his chin

dancing with a star

bigger than the sky

as a woman in a mansion

is jolted with  electricity

while a ghost peeks around a corner

into my television  nightmare

 

 

 

 

 When I Wasn't Looking

  by Barbara Philips

 

 when I wasn't looking

 you went away

  

 there is no right of return

 from this unplanned gesture

  

 like a jester, your exit

 was merry, in the usual

 manner, informal

  

 the smile on your lips

 teases my memory

 the echo of your final words

 returns in a tide

  

 reverberating less richly

 as days pass into sunsets

 widening into glory

 saturated with peeling pain

  

 the bell in the clock tower

 peals hours as they recede

 to be mourned when darkness

 is too black to bear

  

 when attention must be paid

 before the price is too high

 before regrets embed themselves

 project paleolithically matter

 lost to significance

  

 while I stare dumbly

 at all that is left of you

 worn shoes with tangled laces

 pointed towards the door

  

 

 


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