poetryfest

MASOCHISTS, by Poetry by Kyle Jones

Your masters,
sick;
masochists.
Savages wrapped
in lavish masks,

Genre: Dark, Rhythmic, Deep

Masochists
by Kyle Jones

Your masters,
sick;
masochists.
Savages wrapped
in lavish masks,
the past unraveled it.
We’ve traveled
backwards,
cataract contact,
laughs with
con-act actors.
Intact cause our dad’s
dads were bastards.
We backtracked paths
and sat on past answers.
Planned for the damned
and we laughed at disaster.

* * * * *

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

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My First Love Letter, Poetry by Madathil Rajendran Nair

I don’t know, I can’t tell

But there was she

My classmate

With jasmine teeth

A dance perched on her feet

Bothering my budding masculinity

Genre: Love

My First Love Letter
by Madathil Rajendran Nair

It was when I was just in class three

Hovering around the tenth year of age

Something bothered me in the hours wee

A sweetness, an aroma, sweat

Or was it the morning dew on grass

That kept me awake

Rolling on my smelly bed

With a sweetness that blazed my glands

I don’t know, I can’t tell

But there was she

My classmate

With jasmine teeth

A dance perched on her feet

Bothering my budding masculinity

I knew I wanted her

I couldn’t make out what for

In a frenzy that engulfed me

Like a forest fire then I wrote

On the inside of a discarded cigarette pack

Slit open like a bleeding heart

What I felt, the first love letter

In words that moved like ants

All over me and my heart

I handed it to her brother

Two years younger

In secret, behind the school toilet yonder

Hoping it would reach and vanquish her

But, there was the maths teacher

Fondling his scorpion tail moustache

Watching the goings-on

Who intercepted the missive

From the hands of the shivering brother

I thought I was in for hell

Punishment, beatings, no one can tell

But nothing happened to my surprise

Till at last I noticed

The school headmistress at my fence

In a rare bosom chat with my mom, her friend

I was playing behind my house

Rolling stones in the setting sun

Like a forlorn Ulysses adorned in sweat

Yet I knew I was their subject

Days passed and Diwali came

The Indian festival of lights

It was time for the early morning bath

Under the glistening stars

My mom poured warm water over me from a tub

And I misbehaved in a gleeful jump

She cautioned and slapped me on my thigh

With a fire unknown in her eyes

“Idiot, have you begun

Writing love letters at this age? ”

That was the first and last time

She ever beat me

A lovely mother was she

And, often I wonder what happened

To that passionate missive of mine

Perhaps, it was blown over by the winds

Over fences and thorns and profusely bled

And withered in the sun and rain

Decayed down the channels of time

And I met her of late one of these days

At a temple festival when I braved

To tell her about my missive missed

That perhaps could have changed our fate

She laughed out in a guffaw

An aging grandma of three

And I could see at sixty-eight

Her jasmines were still intact

What more could a lover want

When he has only a toothless smile

In exchange, Oh, why do we age?

* * * * *

Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
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39 WORDS, Poetry by Josslyn Rae Turner

birth family childhood friendship learn explore

adult love sex family children parent

dreams build break broken torn

tears anger fight affliction

Genre: Dark, Depression

39 Words

Josslyn Rae Turner

birth family childhood friendship learn explore

adult love sex family children parent

dreams build break broken torn

tears anger fight affliction

birth family childhood friendship learn explore

abuse bully hate destroy

darkness deep hell within

struggle

END

* * * * *

Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
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The scent and sound of your beautiful soul, Poetry by Gordana Frgačić

Today
I was woken up
By the scent
Of your soul

Genre: Romance, Relationship, Love

The scent and sound of your beautiful soul
by Gordana Frgačić

Today
I was woken up
By the scent
Of your soul
You weren’t even near me
But I inhaled you
Through every pore
Of my skin
I floated
For a while
On the soft layers
Of your beautiful soul
Suddenly
I smiled
And I knew
Your soul just started to sing

* * * * *

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

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DUST PILES, Poetry by Monique Haden

Sometimes we hold things in silence because

we have no clue where else to keep them.

Push and push with all my might to shove these

things deep inside my memory to form dust piles.

Let the edges tatter; set flame to it all. Feed the

fire, hear the crackles; watch the smoke signals.

Genre: Life, Society

DUST PILES
by Monique Haden

Sometimes we hold things in silence because

we have no clue where else to keep them.

Push and push with all my might to shove these

things deep inside my memory to form dust piles.

Let the edges tatter; set flame to it all. Feed the

fire, hear the crackles; watch the smoke signals.

Watch fragments align and form tiny goodbyes to past hurts.

We twist memories making them realities when similarities are far and few.

I applaud my memory for its picky choosing to

hang onto some clips so vividly and turning some

such ashy shades of black and grey it’s hard to make out anything worth something.

It plays tricks on me making bigger deals

out of things that should be forgotten…

pulling bed sheets over my eyelids, heavily

blanketed slumbers bring flashbacks.

Oh, the vivid artistry of this complex mind: why

must you hang onto things worth trashing and

forget all the tiny threads that bound you together

each time you broke? Makin’ friends with the dust

piles, seeking comfort in the messes. Trying to

keep your fists clenched. Keeping palms clean

through the madness just so when it’s time to

interlock grips with someone you love, your pain

doesn’t stain their fingerprints…

I wanna learn to get my hands dirty if it means letting go.

* * * * *

Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
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FACTORY OF DREAMS, Poetry by Katarina Jovcevska

You are my motivation

Simply,crazy inspiration

When I am in love

I hear the music in my heart

Every time.

Genre: Romance, Relationship, Love

FACTORY OF DREAMS
by Katarina Jovcevska

You are my motivation

Simply,crazy inspiration

When I am in love

I hear the music in my heart

Every time.

You are the reason to write

When I think of you day and night

I can do a miracle

If just one word

To adore and explore

I feel that I soar

So highly above this horizon

You are so magical

And Love is so beautiful.

I imagine your face

I am touching your grace

Let your kiss comes to my lips immediately

Be my wonderful peace

Through the whole galaxy

Let catch you my poetry

When your name I am whispering

Let me be the happiest being

Which you have never seen

In my factory of dreams.

* * * * *

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

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Genius In Me, Poetry by Thato Pricey Ratlotlong

I intend to reach the universe without losing my soul

I’m the Great Grandson of the Forefathers

Like those four sons who were left by their four fathers

I will claim & protect my birth right

From the East to the West, its dawn then comes night

Genre: Rhyme, History, Identity

Genius In Me

I intend to reach the universe without losing my soul

I’m the Great Grandson of the Forefathers

Like those four sons who were left by their four fathers

I will claim & protect my birth right

From the East to the West, its dawn then comes night

The soil keeps the flash of those before us

We can’t all speak the so called universal language

Its jewel that brightens up our Africa

Before the sun came to pass.

Trust in your native self, and write the next page

We are caged, by our thoughts

We are lost! We can’t see the Genius in Us

Their tombs are engraved the words that fought

Our weakness

The Pyramids sculptured that which is taught

Our inventions

Fallen Kings, still cry for their kingdoms

They never trusted the Genius in Us

Tremor shook, we stood

Unveiling the thoughts we never understood

Encrypt the codes of poverty

Decode the codes of poetry

Revising the education Africa taught

Regain the genius you lost

I Am the Great Grandson of our Forefathers,

Genes of their Nature is with Me,

I Am the fruit birthed by our Godly Mothers

I have their Genius In Me
– Thato Ratlotlong

Twitter: @Priceythato

* * * * *

Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
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Porphyria’s Lover, Poetry by Arnab Dey

Walking down the alley,

Suddenly felt a strange wave;

She was strolling towards me,

Fresh out of the grave!

Genre: Rhyme, Sexy, Relationship, Romance

Porphyria’s Lover by Arnab Dey

Walking down the alley,

Suddenly felt a strange wave;

She was strolling towards me,

Fresh out of the grave!

Her hair was still unkempt,

But her flesh was so intact;

Closer cometh her,

To make an eye contact.

Her beauty’s inexplicable,

Beyond my wild fantasy;

Then we’re behind my stone,

To find utmost secrecy.

And then I kissed her perfect lips,

And touched her mind & soul;

And then she lifted my spirit,

And my body came along as a whole.

And we’d both spirited away,

Traversed through the drunken street;

Onlooking on all the rendezvous,

And deciding where again to meet.

Good morning dear,

It’s another day,

Try to get some sleep,

While Sun is in its full glory!

Good Afternoon baby,

Are you half-asleep now?

Sunlight is still out there

And church is having its last call.

Good evening sweetheart,

Wake up! Wake up!

Let’s start our holy night

While city’s busy relaxing.

Good night lover,

Hold my hand and fly away,

Touch all the graves on the way,

It’s time to spread the joy!

* * * * *

Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
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It Starts with Her Awkward Hairline, Poetry by Patri Wright

the bit behind her ear, along the bone,
I accidentally on purpose stroke
as the comb starts to move freely. Her head
between my knees, a kiss on her lobe —
something she wouldn’t get in a salon —

Genre: Sexy

It Starts with Her Awkward Hairline
by Patri Wright

the bit behind her ear, along the bone,

I accidentally on purpose stroke

as the comb starts to move freely. Her head

between my knees, a kiss on her lobe —

something she wouldn’t get in a salon —

and fingers that look for further lugs.

The part along her neck too, the transition

of neck and scalp, like beach and sea

where hairs grow upward. Once she

hid it from view, calling herself simian;

and now it’s a zone, one she says I made

for her, that wasn’t there before.

I kiss this too, following the teeth

and say: ‘Repeat: “I am beautiful.”’

She says: ‘You are beautiful.’ Still that’s

better than it was, as I work on her

one stage at a time. All that’s left now

is the style, and I start back with the comb,

fan out a fringe as she watches TV.

The filaments are the days we’ve got left.

Roots of silver I cover with cosmic blue.

And here an echo, almost unheard.

I did this for another. I was smaller.

We had an electric fire. She wore

rollers. And it was far from a chore,

rather utmost pleasure, untangling

strands until they flowed like rivers.

I still seem to know how much pressure

to apply, not to hurt a single nerve.

* * * * *

Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
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JUST FOR A DAY, Poetry by Robby J Keating)

Just for one day would you live inside of me

see how the world is broke we gotta fight to break us free

and it’s easy to bring another down

it only breeds misery

Genre: Inspiration

JUST FOR A DAY
by Robby J Keating)

Just for a day I’d like to find your way

if your’e indigenous show me how to play

don’t need no hidden backlash on what I am about

if you need to vent on life just call me up and shout

just for a day I’d like to be in your mind

feel what it’s like to feel the rants from those so blind

never felt a racist vibe coming from me inside

but I’ve seen the looks on faces when others are unkind

Just for a day let me be president

I’d get rid of us and them n’ make we are one events

same blood we all die the same do you get my drift life don’t make sense

spin box spin those minds of ours chippin’ away at our natural defence

Just for one day would you live inside of me

see how the world is broke we gotta fight to break us free

and it’s easy to bring another down

it only breeds misery

just for one day would you like to be president

or prime minister that run’s the show like it’s all an accident

it might shut down a shallow face that gets carried around

see nothin’s safe no nothin’s safe ‘ no nothin’s safe ‘round town

just for a day

swap sides to the receiving end

we won’t ever know what it’s like for those

’til we learn to bend

our rule books that are made to break

our rigid minds that we hold so fake

our screwed up emotions that divide us all

on wake

just for a day so much we all could face

just for a day swap shoes with those we hate n’ chase

just for a day it could be make or break

just for a day just for a day

just for a day

* * * * *

Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
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