The Poet

The Poet

Sunday, June 11, 2017

Nightfall; June 8, 2017 by Ronald s Porter ©2017

Hello Followers and Friends,

First let me say; I'd love to post more often. My original plan was to publish new poetry every two weeks. I could do so if I chose to. However, I don't want this to be a vanity site. I don't do this to gratify my ego by showing off my poetry. Yes, I like to show my work to people but; I want more to expose people to a variety of quality poetry. this is the reason for the Guest Poet Page.

In the past there were numerous poets posting on Face Book. I was part of an online community of poets on Face Book. Now, many of those people, for their own personal reasons, have severely cut their output or, ceased posting poetry at all. So, it now takes me longer to get enough good work from other poets for a new page. If you are a poet or, know poets, please submit or, have them submit poetry for posting. said poetry can be sent to me at blinddogporter@yahoo.com. I welcome on the help I can get.

Secondly; Speaking of help: please help me spread the word. I could use google but, then you'd see ads all over the page. I don't want anything distracting from the writing here. so, if you like what you find here, I invite you to become a follower. I also invite you to recommend this page to other poets and writers you know.


Lastly; Okay, I call this episode of the page "Nightfall". I feel my own poetry here is a bit "dark" in mood. I wrote on the theme of  approaching devastation. This devastation can be existential, mental or emotional or even societal. What I was trying to convey was a foreboding of the approach of decline. You can be the judge of whether I succeeded. Please leave comments as feedback. You must be a follower to comment (I think). I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it.

Humbly, Ron Porter

Thursday, June 8, 2017

Give Me One Reason-The Remix by Ron Porter ©2017

You say love should be safe harbor
Your words and eyes implore me stay.
Almost convinced, I am, by the sound
Give me one reason to stay here and
I'll give you three why I must go away

Still Moment A tanka by Ronald S Porter ©2017

Still is the moment
Quick; the world outside flies by
Chaos fills the land
Earth boils with madness
Pause a moment in stillness
And, in that moment, live!

Of Silent Screams, A tanka by Ronald S Porter ©2017

I can hear the sound
Of silent screams filled with fear
Sunrise is a rose
It blossoms in eastern skies
Silent screaming voices die

Ashes by Ronald S Porter ©2017

burning desire consumes
a man like me
the heat of passion
ever sets my heart aflame
oh how I have burned!
from the blaze i have learned
after the fire is gone
ashes alone remain
and ashes are dead and cold

Toys by Ronald S Porter ©2017

Truly a broken heart is nothing
more than a promise  someone did not keep
lost love and deep regret are just
words true when first they were spoken
made lies by change and time
It is not strange that we weep
at times for what once brought great joy
Love is a spoiled child; we are its toys
left broken; neglected, when unattended
played with roughly as soon as mended.

Hunted / Haunted by Ronald S Porter ©2017

Shadows stalk me through the shadows ;
darkness pursues me in the dark.
Haunted; driven, I fight no demons;
The angels fill me with sufficient fear.
I do not fret that the end is near.
My concern is that the beginning is here.

Down the long, lonesome road of life,
I trudge onward to escape my terror
Each time I think I've gotten away,
I catch a glimpse or me in a mirror
And, recognize my error

Is There Some Hidden Meaning? by Ronald S Porter ©2017

In the desolation of isolation, I look 
into the caverns of my empty soul.
And, listen for echoes in the cold
chambers of my cold empty heart.

Renegade brigades of faithless friends,
march with ranks of deranged strangers,
to take the city and overthrow
the reign of the past and never king.

From slave quarters let freedom ring
I look deep into my own mind;
endeavor to explain colors to the blind
and to teach deaf mutes to sing.

Party Likes It's.... by Ronald S Porter ©2017

I was dancing with the devil 
to the Tennessee waltz
in the full moon's sallow light
War and Death played dominoes
at a table by the door
Pestilence hacked and coughed 
in the corner while, Famine ate
canapes and gazed into the night 
Beyond the big bay window as
the world burns in hellish light

the stars fall from the sky
the moon is dripping blood
the Earth screams in agony
the dance is ended, I drift
to the bar and lean in between
Siva the Destroyer and Dark Kali
Hey Kali, I ask The Eater Of Worlds
what's the bartender's name?
She just says It's such a wonderful
party,we're all glad you came.

Dystopian Paradise by Ron Porter ©2017

Darkness sates the noonday hour
midnight madness fills the day
the sidewalks all are bleeding
the buildings weep torrential tears
all the fears of sickened minds
walk the street like window shoppers

acrid acid rain slashes down
soldiers fight on the edge of town
housewives perfect vacuum cleaner lives
in times to catch a favorite show
on the Lifetime Movie Channel
while hubby is a zombie marching in
the army of nine to five walking dead 

the kiddies all sit in robot class
consuming indoctrination needed
to grow up to be cannon fodder or
cogs in the machine that turns
to manufacture daytime dark
all the world is a powder keg and
some one, somewhere just dropped a spark

Deeply Hidden Metaphoric Meanings by Ronald S Porter ©2017


There are frogs out in the streets tonight
hamburger falls, raw, from a cloudless sky
and; there's a girl I want to tell all my secrets
but she would never understand;
We speak in different alphabets and 

speak the tongues of unknown lands

The sidewalks are lined with central casting;
they look like they just stepped out of novels.
Stale french fries carpet the path
that leads from freedom and injury.
I'm nobody's child seeking everyone's friend.
It is almost time for the riots to begin.


Fourteen policemen approach from the south;
I had better get in the wind.
And, I run away from my yesterday
As a rabbit runs from hunting dogs.
What else can I do in a hamburger rain
When, the night streets are filled with frogs?

Girl With A Broken Shoe by Ronald S Porter ©2017

She looked like she had fallen
off the back of a Harley or, two
She moved like she had a lot
of experience working on a pole.
He was on his way
from one no-where to another.
He had that kind of well worn
face, stained with years of road dirt
you could see he was nobody's
"wannabe", but hope-to-god
stone to the bone.

She wanted somebody to tell her
it would be all right
He had the need for some one
to hold, to make it through the night.
But, he wasn't looking for a seat cover
just having a drink and passing through.

She showed him the broken spike
from her sequined high heel shoe.
He said "jump on, I'll ride you home"
It was a pay by the week, no hope motel
down on the sour side of town.

They went straight to bed
she gave good head
he did too and they went through
all the usual routines
with beer and conversation
in between.

She was molested by here father
(her mother had to know)
The first husband cheat on her,
the next two beat on her
She left the snow and cold hearts
for the Golden west and found
it freezes everywhere

His wife left after the kid died
the leukemia robbed him of his daughter
the grief stole the last of love
"I can't stay" she'd said "because
I see her every time I look at you.
That keeps it much too raw".
He follows seasonal work in
various trades, it pays the way
and kills the time.

They split up in the morning,
no goodbyes, after all
the gifts were gived
His heart secretly, silently cried
over the lives they had lived.



We hanged Our Harps On The Willows by Ronald S Porter ©2017

Broken hearts; broken windows;
Broken promises and broken dreams.
All together conspire, to inspire
The voices of the silent screams.


Empty stomachs; empty hallways;
Empty eyes cry in bitter streams.
They packed the jail, as families fail.
Our voices rise in silent screams.


Abandoned now, are hopes and houses
Poverty and ignorance, my ears assail.
Starving babies and, bereaved mothers
Fill the night with plaintive wails


Our captors bid us sing
Songs of our ravished homeland
On the shores of Babylon's streams.
In a strange land, all we can voice
Are the sounds of silent streams