When poets are metaphorical: Jeffrey Field, C. Duhnne, Arno Mühren, Kirred Nelor and K.E. Kimball on “Poets Unlimited” weblog

When poets are philosophical to the metaphoric beauties of this weird existence. Read the Poets Unlimited …


Jeffrey Field
How Can I Be Alone?

…loneliness is only possible, and solitude only powerful, when the potential for contact exists.

The above morsel inspired me to unequivocally assert, in as few words as possible, my personal reality.

Alone, with myself…
how can this be… I… alone…?
for we are many!

Originally posted on: poets-unlimited of medium.com

C. Duhnne
Thoughts on my 21 y.o Brother.

letting go is the easiest thing in the world.

it is holding on that demands
blood and sweat and tears.

it is holding on that demands
survival of the fittest. demands commitment
and communication.

letting go is easy

when you have nothing to lose
and nothing to gain.

letting go is the easiest thing
when you’re 21 and learning
to walk on fledgling legs — 
with a dominance that screams,

I am here. I have arrived.

With nothing to hold you back.

The real lessons come later.
When 21 passes
and your bones have splintered
and your muscles are sore.

The real lessons begin
when you learn that

letting go is easy

when there are people to catch you
and buy you out.

Originally posted on: poets-unlimited of medium.com

Arno Mühren
Whisper Of A Dream

Whisper of a dream
make sure to let it go
It will seek its path
without control so it can grow

The mind sometimes wonders
what and when, who and how
Rest assured all the questions
are answered in the Now

Originally posted on: poets-unlimited of medium.com

Poet’s personal weblog: nothing equals everything

Kirred Nelor

He is the spider
You are the fly
He spins his silk
You come every time 
He traps you in his web
You love the familiarity
Of being conquered 
By his cunning, spider-like ways
You call it
I call it

Originally posted on: poets-unlimited of medium.com

K.E. Kimball

I’m going down the aisle of the grocery 
grabbing bars of dark chocolate, shiny
and supple as a child’s forehead, tearing
the silver paper to the linoleum melting
it with my eager saliva
. Uncorking pricey

bottles of red wine from the top shelf 
and sipping a single swig, rolling the sour 
liquid around swallowing, opening the next. 
Ripping into overpriced bags of bougie snacks: 
organic dried kale sprinkled with parmesan, 
pepita clusters with Himalayan sea salt lightly 
dusted, quinoa flax granola 6 ounces for $7.99 
Chucking chip bags off shelves and flopping 
into a pile of them like raked leaves, stomping 
bags of Cheetos under my boot heels ‘til 
I hear ‘em pop pop pop like tiny gunshots. 
Racing a shopping cart into the end cap 
a tower of oriental flavor Top ramen noodles 
toppling over. Dumping the contents of every 
bulk bin: dried garbanzo beans, yellow rice, 
buckwheat, oats, unsalted deluxe mixed nuts 
into a shallow refrigerator case, lowering 
into its shifting caress, the texture of burial, 
nestled in the sawdust smell of dry grain
swimming like Scrooge McDuck in a golden 
room full of shining coins. After sampling 
everything I ever dreamed of, paying 
for none of it, a strange flavor is coating 
my tongue, a sweet-edged bitterness 
I can’t untaste. I go to the checkout lane 
lift the intercom “attention shoppers” 
I stutter, but there are no words to excuse
the size or the ignorance of my hunger.
Originally posted on: poets-unlimited of medium.com

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