Category: 2018 Poetry

Read Poem by Michael Villalobos

I RHYME DYNAMIC AN DIRECT TO ALL GENRE SO READ ME THAN FEEL ME FOR I AM MICHAEL FREAK CALI !$!$!$!$!

STATE OWNED AN REMOTE CONTROLLED

NOW THAT I PULLED THE TRIGGER
I’M CONSIDERED AN OUT CAST FIGURE

A KILLER “DEAD-ICATED” TO THE SOURCE
SINISTER THAT SHOWED NO REMORSE

IF I EVER GET OUT OF PRISON WILL IT BE TO LATE
NOW I WAIT AN CONTEMPLATE WITH EXTREME RAGE AN VICIOUS HATE

NOW THAT I’M RELEASED AM I REALLY FREE
ON AN INSTITUTIONALIZE VACATION SOON TO BE
BACK IN GEN – POPULATION OBVIOUSLY

I’M A SEMI FREE PAROLEE WHO’S STATE OWNED
AN REMOTE CONTROLLED A DEMON THAT’S COLD
WHO THINKS DEVILISH AN WITH OUT A SOUL

THIS REMOTE CONTROLLED PAROLEE
IS FELLING 187 AS CAN BE

I HAVE TO FLIP THE SCRIP AND DISOBEY
ONCE AGAIN MURDERING MY PREY

KUZZ THAT’Z ONLY WAY I SEE FAST
TURNING MY FREE PASS INTO A TRANSFER
NOW ON DEATH – ROW BRAGGING TO MY PASTOR

SAD BUT TRUE MY FREEDOM WENT AWRY CONSTANT
CORRUPTION OF BEING INSTITUTIONALIZED

LOCK DOWN AGAIN IN MY CELL AN FELLING IN CONTROL
AS I WAIT EXECUTION HERE ON DEATH ROW

Read Poem: NOBODY by DeonteWilliams25

My mama always tell me life never gets too hard where you cant help nobody, im talking like where the streets get to foggy and you cant see nobody, where you see a perfect girl but ignore her because you don’t see no body, do you know what it feel like to be a ghost just want to be the center of attention, like a skeleton you here but you aint really there, when you feeling like your in everybody face but life aint about no skin care, do you ever wish you can talk to the sky and it talk back, people can tell you how it look but don’t know how it is to be black, sometimes you get into a place where you aint you but its good to be back, watch what you say because to many donalds trumps can be facts, you ever look in the mirror just to see nothing, nobody here to talk so you had to bleed from it, tears falling down so much that they turning into leaves, watch who you get close with because they fade away like febreze, when these kids looking up to some nobody’s so they turn to the streets, when you got a church on every corner starting to make more money then a real bank, when love and your heart take you as a joke and see you as a prank, while rich people laughing to the bank, they seeing the rest of us work to be a nobody, im just trying to live happy and die smooth, life go punch you in the chess but ima bounce back shout out to terry cruise, and I learned how to take a W, when I lose, no matter how many teachers can teach you, you only learn when you choose, kendrick wasnt lieing when he said it achohol in these pools, we drinking our souls away until we can find somebody, what do you do when you question life but life dont answer nobody, its those small phone calls that keep us all in the touch, because a 6 foot hole aint the last time im trying to wake you up, see life is a bump, we all a jump away from making it out, but we all stand on different knees, but yet people are still afraid to stand it out, trying to keep myself together but duck tape can’t fix whats on the inside, my whole life I been trying to get a hole in one but life still can’t save you on a disc drive, but shout to those people who got on the turf and start running, i got people 6 feet in the ground who started to question the government, while we trying to protect ourselves from the police, they on some other shit, they trying to see how many bodies they can catch before society make them throw an under pitch, see everybody want to have the privilege of being white but acting black, that shit is crack, the N word been used soo much, we have to start doing blood drives just so we can take it back, no voice can tell you how how it is to be a zombie looking for life, walking to the end of the tunnel scratching for light, just to be remind that you’re a nobody.

Read Poem: EARTH LINKS: FLIGHT RISK by Gary Beck

The birds of Bryant Park
do not live in cages,
though almost as confined
in midtown Manhattan,
since they don’t migrate
thanks to climate change,
deforestation,
excess concrete
smothering habitat.

They subsist on crumbs,
lunchtime leftovers
from local workers,
as there’s no regular
avian food supply
in this well-funded park,
that forbids feeding birds
because enterprising rats
claim their share of food.

The birds of Bryant Park
have a strange life cycle,
completely unnatural
despite genetic urge
ro reproduce in Spring
when food is abundant,
left by park visitors.

The sparrows and pigeons
dominate the food chain.
Sparrows fast, aggressive,
pigeons big, aggressive,
so warblers, catbirds,
other forest birds
without lodgings elsewhere,
can no longer compete
in the struggle for life.

But for several months
food is plentiful
for domineering birds
who reproduce like wild,
nourishing their young
with food snatched from beaks
of those who can’t resist.

Then the weather changes.
It becomes colder.
People eat lunch indoors.
The food supply is gone.
Hunger becomes constant
and birds begin to die.
The young and weak go first,
unable to survive
lack of food, the cold.

When winter arrives
no one eats in the park.
More and more birds perish,
fragile city dwellers
unable to move on
to benevolent clime.
Only enough survive
to repeat the cycle
when Spring returns.

In the richest city,
in the richest country,
the death of a few birds
is never noticed,
citizens too busy
accumulating goods
to care about creatures
that don’t affect their lives.

In an undeclared war
we assault nature
with powerful weapons
of mass destruction,
devastating the Earth
without consent
of other life forms
who share the planet,
condemned to death
by a selfish species.

Read Poetry: Poetry Of The Moment by Walt Page

https://waltswritingsonlife.wordpress.com/

Each and every moment
Is its own poetry
The tick of a clock
The turning of a page
Each drop of rain
The cry of a baby
The wag of a tail
In every moment
Poetry is created
A poem exists
In the beat of a heart
The blink of any eye
On the wings of a butterfly
A musical note
The scent of a flower
The purr of a cat
Poetry is everywhere
And nowhere
Inside and outside
All around about
Be in the moment
Be the poetry
You are meant to be

~The Tennessee Poet~
©Walt Page 2018 All Rights Reserved

Read Poem: SOUNDS OF A HOMECOMING by Phil Isherwood

Collected sounds, a story found,
assembled voices, words
that weave a way to journey’s end
by threads of all that’s heard.

Along the hedgerows children laugh,
the noisy boys on stage
play their war with made-up guns
as real worlds burn with rage.

Again I hear the footsteps come,
to mark and make the ways,
music folds and folds the time.
Today it plays, it plays

as violin, the woods in France,
souvenirs from halls,
conversations, murmurs, shouts,
a glockenspiel, the squalls

of birds, the cattle sheds.
Doors scrape to close. A key.
There’s a voice that makes a plea
to sing, to ‘sing for me’.

Collected sounds, a story found,
assembled voices, words
that weave a way to journey’s end
by threads of all that’s heard.

Read Poem: RESPECT by Sahaj Sabharwal

*1Respect is the Desire of everybody’s mind,
But is only given to people who are kind.
*2Respect is given to those who deserve it,
And is not given to those who are unfit for it.
*3Respect is like a fuel of life,
Without which a man cannot work rife.
*4Respect to our elders plays an important role,
As its the blessing to achieve our goal.
*5Respect is like a bullet of a gun,
Which Travels with us in long run.
*6Respect when given to all,
His reputation will never fall.

©sahajsabharwal.

Read Poem: Anonymous Meeting by Isha A. Poet

Passion: Hi Group
I’m Passion

Group: Hi Passion

Passion: So I’ve been inactive for a week
I know it’s not a lot of time but
I’m usually ablaze
Radiating like the Suns flares
I shine bright
So aluminise that I burn those around me
Like the Phoenix I don’t just burst into flames
And set my soul on fire
To rise again from the ashes
I skald those who are around me
In the designated areas that are fire proof
Storm proof
Hurricane proof
Basically
Me proof
But
They enter
Or are there by circumstance
Like my old partners
Who loved the fire within me
But hated the after effects
You know- like when you drink too much you have a hangover
Well when I ignite
I usually singe everything around me
And I notice he takes the flare
Takes the hit from my fire
That leaves holes in his armour

Poetry: But wait you have to tell the whole story

Passion: God damn it Poetry
Why do you have to interfere?

Poetry: Well explain it truthfully then ….

Passion: Oh here she goes again

Poetry: Well.. I thought so
So what happened was
She didn’t want to write no more
Didn’t want to be with me and decided she wanted to take leave
And ended the connection we had which was me
Poetry
The only thing we had was the pain
From love gone wrong
Nearly going right
Nope you was wrong
Your emotionally stability to instability
Your religious belief to disbelief
But you stopped
Stopped putting pen to paper
Finger to tablet
To your keyboard
Seems like someone forgot who they needed to call
You left me hanging, waiting by the phone
Hoping you would call and whisper sweet painful memories to me

Passion: You see. This is why I don’t write anymore
I can’t write about how everything is fucked up
Of how lonely and sad the world has made us the minority
That we are part of a statistic that have had their heartbroken too much
I don’t want to do it

Therapist: Then why are you here?

©️Isha A Poet

Read Poem: Madness of a Mad God by Mishka Zakharin

So sits the Mad God

In Divine contemplation,

Thinking on the plight of the world

And His place, if any, within it…

The other Gods stand idly by—

On aloof and lonely mountains,

Beneath cold, uncaring seas,

Within the stark cruelty of barren deserts—

The darkening glow of Judgment

Burning in Their eyes:

“We do not taunt You—

Though it would be justified if We did—

For You mock Yourself

By Your own existence…”

The frailties of the mortal world,

The weaknesses inherent in the human condition,

Wrap Me in their clinging bonds,

And it is as being enfolded by Death

With the tenderness of a lover’s embrace…

Kali nuzzles close

With Her promises of sin and seduction,

Of Infinite Being through consumption by Her love—

But I unwrap Her from around Me and roll free,

Telling Her I have a headache…

Forever guided toward complacency—

Tread softly… behave Yourself…

Well, perhaps I do,

And the world just has the wrong rules…

Poseidon is all wet;

Thor is left thunderstruck;

Hades wanders in darkness;

Osiris tries to pull Himself together;

Odin is half blinded by His own wisdom;

Hephaestus gets all weak in the knees;

Loki cheats at cards…

So I really don’t understand

Why I should constantly be blamed

For everything I do…

In all things, I surpass even Myself—

Yet I am too far behind,

Left too deeply in shadow, to see it;

Powerless to wield the Omnipotence

That is My birthright,

I look to Zeus—

A comrade in arms,

A kindred spirit,

The brother I never had,

As though My second self…

Where, then, is My Aegis,

To protect Me and keep the world at bay?

For those who would be Gods—

Or the living incarnation of Godly power—

For the Pharaohs and Caesars and starry-eyed prophets,

Lost in their delusions of grandeur

And feats of magnanimous self-aggrandizement,

You would do well to note,

It isn’t that the world has fallen—

The lofty ideals of man have always far outshone

The realization of those ideals…

But man looks to the Gods

To find who he thinks he should be,

And there was always more of war than of wisdom

In the heart of glorious Athena…

Against the harsh rantings of the world around Me,

Forever opposing what I do and who I am,

Through the feeble, incoherent ravings

Of My own chaotic thoughts,

The only thing Omniscience ever did for Me

Was to allow but a glimpse of the Truth—

I don’t know anything about anything…

So I fall on My knees

And stare into the blinding light of Eternity—

But it only hurts My eyes;

The sought-after and elusive answers,

Offering Oblivion through Shiva’s destruction

Or the Redemption of Ahura Mazda’s enlightenment,

Remain damnably unknown…

Ensconced by the heady awareness

Invoked by the rich lifeblood of heavenly Nectar—

Or a cheap Chianti, which is easier to come by—

The meditations of the Mad God

Draw finally to a conclusion:

Sanity is but an illusion—

The lie created to convince

That the world should make sense…

And, so, what matter could it possibly make

In denying the world entirely

And surrendering to the Madness……