Category: The Poetry Bar

Oh! the tribulations of the isolated.
Uncertainty their bitter daily bread
Hope, the only ally left for them
Evenings approaches with regrets
With uncertainty breeding the unexpected

Order parts magically
As darker and darker it gets
Chocking hope with fear and despair
Guns ricochet right,left and center
Giving no time to catch a nap

Whiling for the uncertain
Hearts thumb hard and nerves respond
To the same tune, “fear for the Dear”
Innocent souls bleeding fear and despair
To this wicked moment of panic and regrets

With hope of a one chance
All keep calm and wait
Thinking about the next step
Which by virtue of belief
Will offer solutions to all tribulations

Wow!!!
All happy to hear now
As down finally come
When cocks begin to Crow
Pregnant with hope they rise
Prepared for resilience

Even an arid desert can weep
while laying alone beneath
the shade of a cold dark night
between shivers and lip quivers
while still longing for the dream
in living prismatic color schemes
that proffer’s a rainstorm…lover

Poet of the Light © 2019

My moniker is Poet of the Light. I’m an average man living in America with experiences in love, life, dreams and loss.  Poetry in its own unique way like a lover, has taught me to let my heartfelt whispers go free and find their own home.  Some of those whispers are now slowing being released on my page @ poetofthelight.com

If you would like to have your work published in The Poetry Bar send your poem, a few words about yourself and the link to your blog and Instagram (if you have one) to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.com

In this year of China’s moon,
there ends a life too soon.

On the cliff’s outcropping I stand,
not yet daring the mile-down view.
I wait for the scene seekers to disperse,
then pin this sorry note to the grappling tree.

You see, ah…
I cannot shake them.
Like brain bees they buzz.
Dark stories they tell, without end.

All help seemed too busy with life.

Now, I will walk backwards,
fixing on the air’s horizon,
leaving no room for second thought.

I will count the paces.
Ten, twenty, thirty.
I will wait for the surge of crazy strength.
I will run, arms wheeling,
and be gone.

Good person,
I hope to make the river,
winding in the sun’s silver,
to spare you the sight’s abomination.
My pile of jellied bones,
entrails of pastel,
abalone membranes.

If the punctured eyes contrive a stare,
it is not accusatory.
Only a mirror
of a hell that slowly did go by.

Hello, I am Lee Dunn. Working stiff (retired).  Avid reader, dreamer, and searcher. I write some eclectic poetry, prose, personal stories, and fiction. Have had work published in the Shelburne Free Press. I blog on WordPress at https://secret-lifeof.com/

If you would like to have your work published in The Poetry Bar send your poem, a few words about yourself and the link to your blog and Instagram (if you have one) to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.comv

And there was the Moon,
like a bilious balloon.
She was sheeted in linens
of heavenly loom.
This ghostly attendant of summer entombed.
This spirit ascendant,
This prophet of doom.

 Hello, I am Lee Dunn.
Working stiff (retired).  Avid reader, dreamer, and searcher.
I write some eclectic poetry, prose, personal stories, and fiction.
Have had work published in the Shelburne Free Press.
I blog on WordPress at https://secret-lifeof.com/

If you would like to have your work published in The Poetry Bar send your poem, a few words about yourself and the link to your blog and Instagram (if you have one) to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.com