Category: 2016 poetry

OH BEAUTY, BEAUTY, Poetry by Caitlin Dwight

Genre: Death, Life

OH BEAUTY, BEAUTY by Caitlin Dwight

Oh, Beauty, Beauty
Oh, before me you stand, unchained.
Oh, how I have come to adore your towers.
Oh, won’t you tell me, how many lives you have claimed?
How many veins have watered your flowers?
How many spirits have you nursed?
How many boys have fertilized your soil?
How many limbs have fallen victim to your thirst?
How many sons have you declined to assoil?

Oh, Beauty, Beauty
Oh, before me you stand, untamed.
Oh, how I have come to adore your breath.
Oh, won’t you tell me, how many lives you have claimed?
How many vessels have you gifted with your theft?
How many phantoms have you betrayed in their slumber?
How many girls have you gathered in sheaves?
How many lungs have you devoured in your hunger?
How many daughters have you had dancing with the leaves?

Oh, Beauty, Beauty
Oh, you make me wonder

Oh, Beauty, Beauty
Oh, will you ever sunder
Oh, me and my weaker breath
Oh, for your sweeter death?

Oh, Beauty, Beauty
Oh, how I have come to adore your sound and melody.
Written by Caitlin Dwight

Oh, Beauty, Beauty
Oh, before me you stand, unrestrained.
Oh, how I have come to adore your waves.
Oh, won’t tell me, how many lives you have claimed?
How many shells have you granted deep graves?
How many souls hide between your stones?
How many men give your plants ground to grow?
How many bones give your creatures homes?
How many fathers are you hiding down below?

Oh, Beauty, Beauty
Oh, before me you stand, inflamed.
Oh, how I have come to adore your light.
Oh, won’t tell me, how many lives you have claimed?
How many hulls have you swallowed in their plight?
How many ghosts have you dressed in your attire?
How many women have you broken with your prongs?
How many hearts have you sacrificed to your desire?
How many mothers are singing your songs?

Oh, Beauty, Beauty
Oh, you make me fear

Oh, Beauty, Beauty
Oh, am I in the clear
Oh, or am I ever required
Oh, to join your deadly choir?

Oh, Beauty, Beauty
Oh, how I have come to adore your sight and harmony

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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

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The Gift, Poetry by Jo Anne Kennedy

Genre: Rhyme, Relationship

The Gift by Jo Anne Kennedy

You gave me a gift
Which I freely took
Making mistake after mistake
But always knew
I would be forgiven

However it still pained me
I lived with the guilt
Which only means,
That the gift you gave me
Wasn’t fully accepted

I am sorry for my ignorance
For living with a closed mind
Yet still an open heart
I selfishly received
But never freely gave

I need now to change
To realise how wonderful
The gift I have been given
That mistakes made
Are freely forgiven

I need to now see
What grace really means
Yes, it’s a gift I’ve received
But it’s also for me to be
To forgive those who have hurt me

Forgiveness is hard
Yet I have been forgiven
Seventy seven times seven
So why is it hard?
For me to fully forgive

I need to start afresh
To wipe the slates clean
To treat other people
With the grace I’ve been given
And to love anew each day

Jo Anne Kennedy
July 2016

 

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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

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I am here to tell you…, Poetry by Kris

Genre: Rhyme, Relationship

“I am here to tell you…” by Kris
(letter too self)

you are NOT your disorder.
no matter what anyone tells you,
it DOES NOT define you.
CHOOSE to acknowledge this

you are NOT your label.
labels are mis-leading,
they are only useful for the proper professionals,
and, of course, insurance companies.
DO NOT let it hold you back,
restrict you or toss you to the side.
your label cannot taste the salty air,
smell the sweet scent of spring coming,
see the stars shining so brightly,
hear the sounds of birds chirping,
or feel the love you are so capable of giving and so worthy of receiving.

you are NOT your symptoms.
symptoms are fleeting,
they may not even adequately describe the human being which lay beneath.
they do NOT make you bad or dirty, or to be shamed by the ignorant.
do not let it determine your beliefs or impede on your dreams,
chose to believe and please, please chose to dream anyway.

you are not your challenges.
challenges are just that–challenges.
choose to see them as a gift,
a gift meant to show not DISability, but ABILITY.
believe it or not, we ALL have challenges.
they are opportunities to overcome,
not inspire but despite.
choose, not to succumb, but persevere and surpass,
to show all that glitters and the wonders you keep hidden within.

in fact, my dear one, you are not even your diagnosis,
but SO MUCH MORE then any of this
you are MORE then what others’ may CHOSE to see,
even more then what you may chose to see.

YOU are more empathic, caring, and compassionate because of it.

You are not limited, but limitless,
You are not inadequate, but adequate beyond all measure.
You are not unkind, but so kind.
You do not lack empathy, but feel it so easily.
You do not lack understanding, because you know what its like.
Yes, my friend, you are PERFECT…IMPERFECTLY PERFECT.

You are not untouchable, unreachable, or unloveable.
You are so easily touched, you may have to take a break at times.
It may take a little longer, a different journey, or a gentle knowing,
but you are so very reachable.
AND my little one,YOU ARE SO VERY INCREDIBLE.

You DO NOT belong in a box.
In reality my brother/sister, parent/child, friend/aquantiance , or even stranger…
YOU, yes YOU,
are SO VERY BRAVE and SO VERY LOVED.

 

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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

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DO NOT COME HOME, Poetry by Micheal Ace

Genre: Family, Love

DO NOT COME HOME

Son
Do not come home
Until the moon sees your shadows
When the sun brings them in the day
Do not come home
Until the sun sees your tears
When they bathe your face at night
.
Son
Do not come home
Until you find meaning to the poetry
Written on your palm
Until you read from the waves
Spelt on the sweats of the street
Where your feet duly course
.
Son
Do not come home
From your island of trials
Do not rest when the sun is still up
Do not sleep in realm of no dreams
Do not run on the same tracks
Of those fed from the silver breasts
.
Son
Do not come home
Until you understand these words
Everything is fair in love and war
Do not come home
Until you realise that a failure
Is he who couldn’t try one more time
.
Son
Do not come home
Until you are greater than nobody
But better than who you were
Do not come home
Because home is never a home
If no one loves you yet
.
.
Micheal Ace
#magicalpoetry
©ACEworld

 

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
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Dating Lesson, Poetry by Marcie Tau

Genre:  Love, Relationship

 

Dating Lesson by Marcie Tau

 

It began with a smile and glance

Then he asked me to dance

We walked along the beach

Love seemed within reach

 

Could he be the one

Or were we just having fun

It was official date number four

We kissed at my door

 

Tonight he followed me in

He could tell by my grin

That I would say yes

And he began to undress

 

As he took off his clothes

Major B. O. went up my nose

I thought I would die

From the smell of this guy

 

I needed a plan

To get rid of this man

It was hard to breathe

I prayed he would leave

 

I blurted it out

No it was more like a shout

I didn’t want to be mean

But I was turning green

 

He left angry and sad

I was relieved yet felt bad

I grabbed the Lysol and the Glade

What a mistake I almost made

 

I’ve stopped dating for a while

But all it would take is a smile

To open my heart

And again I would start

 

Men, let this be a lesson to you all

If you want a woman to fall

Before the date, within the hour

Use deodorant and take a shower

 

 

 

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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

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Sunday Night Service, Poetry by Carla Fox

Genre: Religion, Inspirational

Sunday Night Service

One Sunday my job changed my schedule so I had to work during the day,
So I decided that I should go to church that night to worship God and pray, I drove around with great expectations from about seven until nine o’clock, But there was not one church open as I drove around from block to block, Taverns and nightclubs were open and full of those who worshiped Satan, If they wanted to get saved that night, they’d be outside churches waiting, Where are the pastors and the saints? God said to occupy until He comes, This might have been the night God wanted to heal, deliver or save someone, There used to be a time when many churches had services on Sunday nights, Now days so few come out at night they are closed to save on gas and lights, Why should anyone be more concerned about paying the church utility bills? Than being concerned about loss souls getting delivered, saved and healed, God is not pleased, and if the Church keeps neglecting the work of the Lord, Then before the judgment seat of Christ, the lake of fire will be the reward.

by Carla Fox

 

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
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The Fractal Debris, Poetry by Keefe R.D.

Genre: Rhyme, Thriller

Title: The Fractal Debris
Writer: Keefe R.D
Blog: http://www.keeferd.wordpress.com
___________________________________

THE FRACTAL DEBRIS

The house buried under the sun,

the shimmer they hid couldn’t run,

for the age they held,

no more than a hesitancy.

If one could shallow a sinner thought,

the old cabin would allure,

for the smoke and ashes to sue.

The tantrum was lifting a tragedy,

of what they said about the wood;

a frantic horror and panic.

For what they had consumed,

they might remain the same.

The cabin wouldn’t look alive,

and the brown shade would suffice.

as if the fractal debris were there to swirl.

As the only living place in the wood,

oh, the agony to lose that place has raging,

only for them to survive,

from the wild roses.

Once the wolf echoed,

they should know their place.

 

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
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I am, Poetry by Allyson Olivia

Genre: Inspirational

I am
By
Allyson Olivia

Clear droplets falling from a gray sky,
making you beg for the sun.
Pouring hot into fine china, tea bag dipped to sip.
Shooting out of a hose, clearing the cluttered path,
powerful with every spray.
Turned off.
Torrential, ruining parades.
A mist, danced in.
Flowers flourish.
Falling from faces in pain.
Steaming, I whistle.
Ice, I clunk.
Contain, yet contained.
Towels soak me up.
Tongues lift high.
Kool-Aid stirred in, kids gulp.
Buckets of me put out fires.
You swim.
You drown.
I am still, reflecting the sun.

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
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Society Poetry: SLYME by Michelle B. Assor

SLYME by Michelle B. Assor

Prime Time!
No time to dawdle or rhyme.
No time to swish this ghastly mite.
No time to flowingly write.
Camera lenses ogle
through the dark eyes of the iPad.
Beware roaming pens…..
You will be chomped and your ink run dry
Bet you didn’t know devices bite like mites.
Slyme!
Pens prepare for your finale.
No more writing rights!

No time to listen to melodic chimes.
Free time demands a puny dime.
Flat faced phones are advanced.
C’mon they are not that smart,
but they sure know how to keep
blushing face to face conversations
woolly worlds apart.

Spaced out…..
Slyme!
Where am I? Mars or the Moon?
Earth is too flat. I’d rather be as high as a kite
Yet I’ve forgotten how to climb a tree to take flight
If time permits I’ll slink the clock,
forego my stinky socks
and try to hurdle that trunk.
I’m salivating for that slimy lime
dangling high from a branch
on some wayward, distant ranch.
It’s begging me,
Be mine, be mine,
Slyme!
No time.

No time to reinvent the mime,
No time to whisper in your ear
“Be my Valentine”
Daytime-Lunchtime-Bedtime
It’s all the same suppressing chime
There is no half time, part time,
Only foolish fulltime

The cat is no longer in his hat
He doesn’t purr
And he’s losing his fur
Who, Who, WHO is Horton?
Looks like his trunk
is severely shortened.
Oh, but I do have one special wish
Yuck, no it’s not a slimy fish
I want that grimy, green grinch
The one who stole Christmas.
He ought to mind his own business.
SLYME!

The grimy, green grinch

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Deadline for POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
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Society Poetry: I WAS FINE AS MARGARITA by Gloria D. Gonsalves

I WAS FINE AS MARGARITA by Gloria D. Gonsalves

I was fine as a wallflower
creating words
in apolitical world.

I rhymed innocence
of my dwellings.
I weaved songs
of many sunnier smiles.

I was love blended
with verses of sunny centres
and new beginnings.

I had no race.
I had no religion.
I had no status.

I was simply Margarita, or
Daisy.

Then I was plucked
and got flung
into a political world.

Now I am something else.

I am slogans.
I am hashtags.
I am protests.

Sometimes
I recall old self
and wave with love.

Most times
I wish they saw me
as day’s eye, or
the beginning of hope.

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