Modernism Poems | Examples


List of Member Poems

Premium Member When the Bottom Falls Out

A culture is sustained by its traditions
And its quality is known by the fruits
Of those traditions.
We live in a time of change
When tradition is challenged and discarded
Simply for being traditional.
We don’t know what will replace it
We just want “hope and change”
With blind faith it’ll be better.
But that’s not the way civilizations are built
That is how they are destroyed.
When the bottom falls out
Morals are abandoned
Values are reversed
The baby is thrown out
And the old dirty bathwater consumed
As if nectar.
Then drunk on delusion
The revelers cry
When in the morning
The large, shiny Trojan Horse is empty
And it’s clear their life will never be the same.

(8/30/26)

Premium Member This Revolution

In this time of revolution
All that really matters is the turning
Until what remains is just a spinning
Wheel of a hamster with no sense 
Of goal or hope of end.

The revolution itself become the end
Turning over any sense of order
Changing for the sake of change
Keeping US all off balance
‘Till in our dizziness anything can come and go.

For when revolution is internalized
It can never really end
Until the destruction is complete
With nothing left to live for
And nothing left to gain.

(11/9/25)

cUp

C                                                        P
         space.              empty.
                                             fill it.
         fill                           it                 
             Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
    quietness. 
                            nothing but everything

             filled                         with 
               the nothingness

          need.               it needs.
                    
                         (U)


Senryu-15

Creation's atom 
Neutron, proton, electron 
As food arrest death!


-September 03, 2018 Chattogram

Modernism, a Rime Royal By Mfwilkie

Night's light is broken, and my silhouette
must trust the moon to free itself, reveal
my life—my loving him with no regret.
The edges of my face do not conceal
my feelings. They support a smile as real
as yesterday's hope. I think Shakespeare suffered
as I have suffered. I, at least recovered

enough to leave you concrete details: June.
The weather, between seasons. Time to party!
Music—the mix in any good saloon.
He came. Exuberant! Unrestrained! Hearty.
If Will were here, he'd film our scenes with arty
touches. How could he not. I loved him well.
And he, me. ::Fade to tern, and rising swell.

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