Secrets – New Poetry by Lyle Bateman

Secrets
by Lyle Bateman 2008

 
secrets
burn deep
with white hot guilt
and volcanic anger
charring craters
in our soul

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood …

The Road Not Taken, written by Robert Frost in 1915, has always been one of my favorite pieces of poetry. I think I first read it in the 11th grade, around age 15 or 16, and ever since the words have resonated through me. I’ve always seen it as a wonderfully elegant analogy for memory and time …

Other Lives … New poetry by Lyle Bateman

This is my latest poetic attempt. It started with the line “Flipping through the pages of life” and it evolved from there. I hope everyone likes it … as usual, comments are always welcome.

Worms … new poetry by Lyle Bateman

This is fresh out of the goo … for some reason I had Pink Floyd and Nirvana in my head at the same time, and the following is what happened when I turned on the blender …

Keys … new poetry by Lyle Bateman

Keys
Like a lost set of keys
I found God
after I’d stopped even looking
Walking through the garden
I kicked a stone
and He scurried out of the light

Tar Stains … new poetry by Lyle Bateman

At the News Stand
 
Newspapers and periodicals, standing side by side
pretty colours to distract
little propaganda sticks 25 to the pack
beg for hard earned pay

 
We inhale the cognitive smoke
with promises of taste and satisfaction
but are left with empty cravings
and tar stains on the soul

Reservoir of Years … a new poem by Lyle Bateman

Its been awhile since I’ve written any new poetry. Its not a process I can force in any way, but once the process starts, its typically not one I can bottle back up again. When the images and words start to come to me, I have to let it flow out, but I’ve found over [...]

Frozen Words – new haiku by Lyle Bateman

Frozen Words
by Lyle Bateman
Winter’s white-breath cold
Exhale shades of crystal gauze
words frozen in air
Jan 2007

Sunday Paper – new poetry by Lyle Bateman

Sunday Paper
by Lyle Bateman
sunbeams prism on crystal frost
chirping birds through clear-glass pane
bathing a half-eaten bagel
wispy curls of coffee, twist
straight in, through the nose
hand poised in half-sip
primary colours of the world
in convenient black and white
broken out before me

Photo courtesy of Ross Bateman (also on flickr)

Naked – a poem

Naked
by Lyle Bateman

Why must I stand naked
Against the winter wind’s bite?
My brother keeps his fine fir coat
And even the weepers and wailers
Drip protection all around.
Why must I stand naked?