I don't know about you, but I get older with each passing day. Let's celebrate that with some poetry. https://biketoworkbarb.blogspot.com/2025/03/gracefully-gratefully-more-poems-on.html
Dean Village, Edinburgh
A #poem in three parts
—
i.
A man with a shadow across his face
walked down from a high stone bridge
into a deep valley of hidden grace
that gave his rusted mood a shiny new hinge.
By the calmly warbling waters of Leith
as they flowed through the village of Dean,
a tiny miracle — even though very brief —
sparked and burned in his spirit’s ravine.
ICC Berlin
A #poem in three parts
—
i.
I Seventies child
now growing old
walk along the side
of a building bold,
this Seventies dream
of circuit progress,
Berlin’s gleam,
a techno fortress.
Shining metal,
polished sun,
brushed steel petals,
new age begun.
I'm working on another collection of poems on aging--more about appreciation than any mourning. My first roundup https://biketoworkbarb.blogspot.com/2023/10/it-beats-alternative-poems-on-growing.html.
For thinking of those you've loved who now live on in memory, "Rain" by Peter Everwine is a beautiful, moving poem. https://poetrying.wordpress.com/2014/11/01/rain-peter-everwine/
Kintsugi cross
A #poem for #silentsunday
in three parts
i.
Having walked through the dark
with my halo cut in half,
I silently embarked
on a search for a lighter path.
In a hidden corner of a church
in the quiet of Sunday,
I saw up on a perch
a painted crucifix on display.
I am well aware of the weaknesses of my poetry and I will admit that I am deeply envious of those select few who get to make a living as a poet, just writing poems for a living and not having to really work, but I am also grateful to be a working class poet who has seen true poverty, disability, suffering, family strife, death of loved ones, divorce, betrayal from close friends, spiritual cycles, and all the things that makes life real. I may not have an abundant audience at the tip of my fountain pen, but I do have authenticity of spirit and that is worth a thousand best sellers.
"Dangerous Coats"
by Sharon Owens
Someone clever once said
Women were not allowed pockets
In case they carried leaflets
To spread sedition
Which means unrest
To you & me
A grandiose word
For commonsense
Fairness
Kindness
Equality
So ladies, start sewing
Dangerous coats
Made of pockets & sedition
Found thanks to @GrrlScientist.
A greying man speaks
little of his mind’s waters —
Weathered oaken door
Someone seemed to suggest my poetry is "transgressive". - This is a complete misunderstanding of my poetry. I am not attempting to be undercutting or impossible to understand. Every word is thought about and put in its right place. My poems are understandable, but I have spent years writing poetry that is meant to be thought about to be clarified. Even my most difficult poems can be clarified into simple summaries. Yes, I am making a statement, but good poetry is *meant to *teach. Some poems even require study - those have always been my favorite poems, so I am drawn to that style. Not that every poem I write is that difficult. But "transgressive", no. In the end my poems are anti-oppression and pro-moments of empathy and understanding, towards ourselves and each other.
I uploaded a rather long book of poems to Internet Archive here:
https://archive.org/details/upon-the-written-hours-richard-jtilley
Update: 3/5/25 - I think Internet Archive is not all that accurate. There is no way my book can have 0 views with 5,000 to 8,000 unique visitors a month, 3 times that in visits and 5 times or more that in hits.
New collection of transportation poems https://bikestylelife.com/2025/02/23/moving-right-along-transportation-poems/.
Excerpt from "America" by Maya Angelou
The gold of her promise
has never been mined
Her borders of justice
not clearly defined
Her crops of abundance
the fruit and the grain
Have not fed the hungry
nor eased that deep pain
Go down Moses
A #poem for #silentsunday
in two parts
—
i.
In the popular shifting desert sands
a puffed-up plastic Moses arose
who promised to part the crisis seas
with the rod of his tongue, I suppose.
He comes from a long line of mock Moseses
holding toothpicks like a magical staff:
He’ll part the minds with false promises
and miraculously turn wheat into chaff.
I share other people's poetry quite often. Here's one I wrote myself. https://biketoworkbarb.blogspot.com/2025/02/sweet-harvest.html
Excerpt from "The Word that Is a Prayer" by Ellery Akers
https://www.americanlifeinpoetry.org/columns/detail/312
"One thing you know when you say it:
all over the earth people are saying it with you;
a child blurting it out as the seizures take her,
a woman reciting it on a cot in a hospital."
United States of Soapberry Contrition with Academia Overjoyed
https://subspacewagon.systems/united-states-of-soapberry-contrition-with-academia-overjoyed/
Start your Friday with a celebration of words. "Saying Things" by Marilyn Krysl https://www.ayearofbeinghere.com/2013/02/marilyn-krysl-saying-things.html
"you feel your own voice
taking off like a swift, when you say a word you feel like
a gong that’s been struck, to speak is to step out of your skin,
stunned."
In cast metal, downcast
A #poem for #silentsunday
in two parts
—
i.
A damp drizzly day, in the skies and my mind.
All around I see foggy shapes ill defined.
I meet a statue depicting he who wore
a torn purple robe and a crown of thorns.
It stands in a grotto, stained and worn
under heavy grey skies, wet and forlorn.
