Author: poetryfest

Genre: Society, Life

WHO AM I by Aneesh Kotru

I think to myself, who am I,

So many possibilities, but to know I must try,

To descend from this throne of pride, I see myself sitting on so high,

And explore the very fabric of the words ‘who’, ‘what’ and ‘why’.

Am I a problem or the solution,

Bound by certainty or just a fleeting intuition,

Am I a product on the path of absolution,

In times of reality, living as an illusion.

Could I be a time gone by, a silhouette of the past,

Within the pages of history, I am forever bound to last,

Or am I the distant future, approaching ever so fast,

Running from my earlier self into an unknown so vast.

Present is what I appear to some,

With a soul of the past but thoughts on what’s to come,

I sing for the future, for the…

Genre: Romance

Poem by Olumayowa Fagbure

At first it drips slowly
A pitter-patter on the pages of life
Two weeks after
The drops are larger
And louder
They no longer pitter-patter
But plop
A month after
It is a thin line of streaming liquid
Flowing from the tap
Of tête-á-têtes, and meaningless encounters
Now a year has passed
It flows
Out of the shower head
Of first kisses
And meaningful glances
What a shame
It slips down the drain
Never to be seen again
Even if there was no drain
It would have overflowed
Scaring you away
Even if there was no drain you would have eventually
Turned the knob
Leaving me in the shower
Soap bubbles
Lacing my skin
Trying to salvage
the little droplets of water
I could find on its rim

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a…

Genre: Relationship, Dark

Gasoline Tears by Gina Walker III

She looked at him with anger

How could he impale her with his wit

You could have said that you hated me

As the black sun rose in the dead of winter

Scars to last a lifetime

Blemishes of a renewed threshold

Torn to shreds like a lions prey

Guess we will never know love she said

As the gasoline came out of her eyes

And the sweat of blood upon the pillows and sheets

Fire of vomit project out from her mouth and heart

There it is; lust, hate, love, desire

And he burned just like her daddy

With those gasoline tears

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into…

Genre: Life

Lost Generation by Roderick Dupree

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

Watch Poetry performance readings:

Watch Poetry made into Movies:

Genre: Realism

Interview

Hesitant half steps,
Ready to turn and rewind.
‘I could have done better.’ He thinks.
And looks at the folds on the crease of his shirt.
Three more interviews in the pipeline for today.
I wish I didn’t look so exhausted.
I wish I had brought a change.
I wish I had bought another pair of presentable shoes.
Shall that do it?
The very familiar folder file,
That you notice adorning many a hand in the city,
With a degree inside,
And a superstitious man outside.
I wish I could speak in English like the other candidates.
Can they see through my exasperation?
Another air conditioned building,
And five minutes of respite.
Tick tock tick tock the clock doubles up,
And rhymes with the thud in his chest.
The receptionist calls.
Bold, confident strides,
Only to return as hesitant half steps.

Aparajita Kumari

https://aparajitakumari.wordpress.com/

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Poetry: DARK, FAMILY, FEAR, HURT, PAINFUL, RHYME, and SAD.

The Man by Edward Matyja

Pills.

He took a plethora of pills.

A provided, pompous, plethora of pills being popped every day without stop. Properly placing the provided, pompous, plethora of petite, purple pills into his palm, and then popping them down his throat. He does it blindly, hoping in some way it will take away the pain. Maybe it does, and maybe it doesn’t. Only he knows the truth. Who am I to speak for him?

Alone inside is his constant state of mind; sublime at times, but otherwise…dead. End of sentence, but not of his. Damned with this disease, more than just his fight, but his family’s too. If he could only get the goddamn courage to tell them. Only he knows the truth. Who am I to speak for him?

Eat, sleep, chemo was all he seemed to know…

Genre: Rhyme, Family, Funny

Charlie The Mouse by Margaret Robertson

My name is Charlie and I’m a little mouse

I live behind the skirting board in a posh house

I loved living here it was my dream

Until the lady saw me and began to scream

She tried to hit me with her shoe

Her language made the air turn blue

Escaping within an inch of my life

What a really loathsome wife

I was nearly speared with her heel

That would have made me really squeal

The man almost splattered me with his bat

Now he’s set up a baited trap

They really think I’m Dolly Dimple

Sorry folk I’m not that simple

I’m now hiding under the floor

I’ve decided I cannot take any more

I don’t know why they want me dead

All I do is nibble their bread

Soon I’ll be looking for a new house

Then…