Category: 2018 Poetry

Read Poem: Poetry of Mind, by Joy Genauer

Little glitters of sunshine

Little trickles of rain

Resonate in my thoughts

Like flashes of light

Tremble like joy

Breathe with fear

Words spoken

Like splinters of glass

Or feathers that lift

High above the earth

In a blink they emerge

Asking for essence

Asking for clarity

Making themselves known

Read Poem: Ibizza Redux, by Terez Peipins

The eternal Ibizza like party
of my forbearers
immigrants lost,

AM bodies fall
from reverie

A grubby child
sent to church
to be an angel on
the life raft of God

Who’s been saved?
I peek from under
folded arms,
only my hand unraised,

___
Terez Peipins is a writer of Latvian descent from Western New York. Her poetry, fiction, and essays have appeared in publications both in the United States and abroad. She is the author of three chapbooks of poetry. Her novels, The Shadow of Silver Birch and Snow Clues are published by Black Rose Writing. She won the 2016 Natasha Trethewey Prize in poetry from the Atlanta Writers Club. She was a runner up in the Foundlings Press Chapbook and Artist Residency Competition in 2018.

Read Poem: My Word, by Pamela L.Compton “Poet Pam”

Come forth and slap me with your sharpened tongue and I shall take a blade and cut the serpent off.
For I speak within my soul,
something you degenerates would never know.
For the world I live in is mine and mine alone.
There is nothing here for you but the sticks and stones.
Mock my words and play thy games;
One thing for sure you will remember my name

Read Poem: The Ruins, by William P. Robertson

The ruins were overgrown
with brambles & briars.
Crumbled walls cast shadows
in the moonlit gloom
& toadstools crunched underfoot.
Cold drafts seeped from
subterranean vaults.
Ghostly lovers embraced
like tangled roses.

–William P. Robertson

Read Poem Dr Mike Gibson PhD. by Cleveland W. Gibson

Please, don’t let the flowers
on my grave wither and die,
because if you do, I know
Mum and Dad will surely cry.

All Saints church stands tall, dignified,
not far from the grave where I lie,
A church filled with soulful people,
but ‘miss you, Mike,’ I hear you sigh.

In mellow eventide or chapel,
I hear the sharp bells ring out.
Once Dad took me into the belfry,
I loved the thrill without a doubt.

But there is a wind so cold,
as it blows across my chest.
I thank God for singing birds;
happy songs I love the best.

I’ll sing a song of sunshine,
my, I love the many seas so blue,
playing on the golden beaches
of the Med, Greece and Malta too.

My life has never ever been easy,
about DMD, there’s much to say.
But I’ve always done my best,
to smile, to pray up to my last day.

I loved to play War Games 40K,
in the pub and far into the night,
friends around the table, such fun,
it’s normal and, to me, so very right.

I studied hard to go to Uni,
and was proud of my PhD,
Oh, what new doors opened!
R & D on ‘Big Guns’ if you please.

My thesis built on solid Autofrettage,
it drove the Prof Z. wild with delight.
Then I went to work, kept on thinking,
on gun problems, hours into the night.

Many thanks, Vicki. Also Tom and Charlie.
Me: the boy who couldn’t even walk,
but I rode Charlie in fields of daisies,
led by Vicki, who smiled at all my talk.

There are friends I miss, to challenge,
to prove we can be the Queen’s Best,
so bend your back and work hard, lads.
I did. Can you? Be a cut above the rest

Read Poem: Morning Memories, by Akansha Bhatt

The Radio goes boom incessantly,

Reminding me that it’s Monday again,

Not caring for my swollen eyes,

The sunshine hits my face,

As I go about and do my chores,

I put on my clothes and as I walk to the door,

I see in the corner the dress I wore,

I pick it up and take a sniff,

It still smells like you, I think,

One night ago when I was with you,

Entwined together, I felt things,

Your lips touched me like a storm of love,

Like it was the rain in the desert,

It had a power I have never felt before,

Like Ecstasy, inside my bones,

Your hands were all I wanted,

I wanted you to do things to be, I dreamt of and then some more,

Caress me with the lust you had in your eyes,

You kissed every part of me, the broken and the mended,

You touched me in places I have never been touched,

As if you took me places I have never visited,

I always knew I was a rebel,

Funny how you are still on my mind,

Even though you said we aren’t meant to be,

I still crave for those hands, those little shock of pleasure.

Days go by, and it’s yet another Monday morning,

Blaring at its top the radio goes up,

You are still on my mind and why is that I don’t know,

I want to see you again and ask, do you remember it,

Where you mourning all this day for my touch like I did,

Do you remember if it was lust or we made love?

I guess I won’t know until you let me know,

So I can stop this mourning to the radio for that touch.

—
Genre – Love, Relationship, Erotica, sad and romantic

Read Poem: The dream that never was, by Carol Ann Wright

I said I understood
But I didn’t.
I said it was okay
But it wasn’t
I said all would be well
But it isn’t.

I said I would be there
And I was
I said that I would cope
And I did
I said I would hold tight
And I held.

They say you never were
But you were
They said that it was right
But it wasn’t
I wanted to say ‘stay’
But I couldn’t
I had to say goodbye
And I did.

But now the weeks have past
And I’m sad
They say that time will heal
But it hasn’t.
They say Life will carry on
But yours didn’t.
I want to move on
But I’m stuck

You were never really real
But I knew you
They said ‘it’ never was
But you were.
I tried to say goodbye
But I couldn’t
I tried to let you go
But I can’t.

I said I understood
But I didn’t.

Carol Ann Wright M.A.(CBT)
Accredited BABCP Psychotherapist/ Author

Read Poem: Portway, by David Pike

“Breath the nice air,”
he said, leaning across
the adjustable chair
and shoving a flexible mask
over my nose
and mouth.
I started to gag
biting down hard
on a rubber bung
he’d previously shoved
between my teeth
and tongue.

Slowly the lights
went out
and a weird dream about Telstar
zoomed in and out
together with a soundtrack;
keyboard music blasted out,
then a creaking, grinding sound
entered my brain.
It creaked, stopped
and creaked again
followed by a sudden
snap. . .

And through a haze of fog
a voice was heard.
“wake up,” it said
“there’s a good lad,”
as consciousness returned
with a blood-filled mouth.

I made a hasty retreat
with parent in-tow
dripping gore along the
pavement
on the way home.

© copyright David Pike, 26th April 2018