Read Poem: Taking back my power by Trinisha Browne

tonight I will, do the ground work in order to harvest good fruits as I prepare to plant these seeds, I think of each time a lie was planted in me to hinder my thought process from progres and stunt my growth
and thinking abilities to unlearn and discern a lie,
I rise above the madness despite the matter, only the truth matters and the lies leaves us scattered

I will learn from the past mistakes and be cautious of who and what I allow into my sacred place. mindful and aware of the influence it has on me and the power to interrupt my flourishment. A lot depends on me and whom I chose to be spiritually involved with meanwhile constantly evolving and not disregarding the revolution and the power it possesses.

Read Poem: Digital Generation Apocalypse by Jane A Tenzin

We live in a digital generation
Social validation on a count of likes and commendation
Swipe left and right till eyes goes dry
Checking every filtered manipulations
Hitting likes without a content
Replacing words with emojis killing literature
Attaching aimless hashtags
Faking and stalking through the unfiltered lens
Flashing gold to stand out from the rest
We live in a Make believe world
Spends time in a internet loop hole
Rarely making a real communication
Distracted from the reality
Exhausted, disillusioned, diluted in a social fascination
Chained in a rhythm of diversion
Constant call for a digital Apocalypse

Read Poem: SCHOOL by Jeremy Azanon

School is a place where we have to pay attention to teachers.
School is where freedom ends.
School is where Ms.Jenny makes us learn non-important stuff.
School is where Math with Mr.John turns into us dying slowly of boredom.
School is where Science with Ms.Olivia explains stuff more than letting us do experiments.
School is where P.E is where Mr.David makes us stand around and wait for 20 minutes.
School is where Social Studies we have silent work time but we are never silent.
School is where our Reading teacher makes us read non-important books.

Read Poem: Unanswered Call by TAK Erzinger

As a mobile phone begins to vibrate
the fish go about their business in a ghostly dance
unaware of the signals being sent. They are
surrounded by an abyss of hallowed darkness.

They survive in perpetual motion; trills, reverberations,
fluctuations, and wiggling spines maneuvering
through a salty universe of liquid pitch. Among their
presence lies a spy constantly awake.

A hidden eel, with its intricate weaving of wires
and mesh, an intertwined spaghetti of fibre optics,
that delivers the finite elements of human emotions
across the ocean and into opposing worlds.

This back bone of communication carries the continual
whispers and murmurs of desires, images and revelations
at high speed intervals. Its secrets shrouded in
those quiet, icy depths. An apparition is eavesdropping

though, floating in deep indigo and cobalt,
he is illuminated in real-time by tiny
stars of plankton–silver streams of light,
jutting through torn curtains illuminating his show.

This is his portable stage where he sings his songs
to an empty audience day after day.
He steals their secrets to compose his ballads.
The constant chatter and crackle of noise that

travels in that subterranean
network is the source of his inspiration.
His lonely blues at its 52 Hertz, reveal
the ills and wants of the world. He croons away

in hopes that some entity will eventually answer
his call giving his voice a platform before it’s too late.

Instead, there is only silence on the other end of the line.

Inspired by The Washington Post article: The Lonliest Whale in the World This poem is inspired by an article about reports from scientists about a male whale that has been swimming alone around the ocean for years singing at 52 hertz.

Poetry by Fatima Ahmed

I am a Muslim. I am British.
I am British. I am a Muslim.
I am a British Muslim.
Do the order of words REALLY matter?
Muslim British, British Muslim.
A cup of tea is what I crave,
Digestives and Custard Creams are my fave.
At the same time, the headscarf I wear,
And YouTube I scour to fashion it with care.
Awkward weather conversations and polite queuing,
HP sauce, marmite and cows mooing.
At the same time, I rush out to perform my prayer,
Because for me, this makes my daily endeavours clear.
You tell me I must choose,
But neither I am willing to lose.
For both are a part of me,
So please, allow me to be.
I am a Muslim. I am British.
I am British. I am a Muslim.
I am a British Muslim.
Do the order of words REALLY matter?
Muslim British, British Muslim.
Mus-tish?

Written by Fatima Ahmed, Teacher at Islamiyah School, (Masjid Sajedeen Open Day 2018).

Read Poem: THE AUTUMN WALK by Sam McNally-Cross

The front door closes,
the lock twists shut with
a certain sense of finality,
as the journey begins.
Stepping out into Autumn.
Feet falling on rain-spotted flagstone
as though in mourning
the sky has shed a tear, or three.
There is a bite in the air
A chill,
that creeps into even the thickest coat,
a piercing reminder the sun is setting…
Browned leaves crack
under shoe leather.
Those jettisoned early, falling soundlessly
to earth,
whilst others, yellowing, curling, cling
desperately to brach, to life.
Then, without word, the light is gone.
Winter comes. All is still.
Only the cross, atop the church spire,
dares to puncture ever greying sky,
to proclaim in sacred dignity
‘It shall soon be Spring’

Read Poem: DEAR SOCIETY by Bhumika Sharma

Dear Society,
Thank You for teaching me how losing anything could be so beautiful….

1. Thank You for telling me how I could be more beautiful by LOSING WEIGHT
Because Barbies and Princess don’t come in XL size

2. Thank You for telling me how easily I could please everyone and be their favourite by LOSING MY STANDS AND OPINION
Because a woman with opinion (commonly known as “Bitches”) are nasty and contaminate the society

3. Thank You for telling me how beautiful my skin was but LOSING MY COLOUR or changing it could make people love me more
Because nobody would choose Jasmine over Snow White

4.Thank You for telling me how important it is for me to always be poise and polite because only after LOSING HOW I TRULY FEEL I could be everyone’s favorite
Because Blossom and Bubbles were everyone’s favourite not Buttercup

5. Thank You for telling me that even when the questions change, the answer has to be “YES” as LOSING YOUR RIGHT TO CHOOSE is a step of being “a woman”
Because Medusa was punished for skipping this step
.
.
.
.
99999… Thank You for telling me how LOSING MYSELF was a part of change which was constant in nature.

From,
You

Genre: Angry, Poetry, Inspirational, Social Norms, Grief, Hope, Self Love

Read Poem: SOULMATE by Kimberly Ferguson

I met him in July
I found a good guy
Didn’t want to say goodbye
He is one of the few
Who exist and
I couldn’t resist
The chance
To start a new romance
He is not a fling
He is everything
And more
He’s a man that
I adore
He will never ignore
I saw him at the store
He’s the guy
Like none before
He was worth the wait
He’s my soulmate
It’s never too late
He’s sent from heaven
I think about him
Seven days a week
I love to hear
Him speak
Into my life
Maybe I can be his wife
It is great
To find a soulmate

Read Poem: THE COLD HOUSE by Fadrian Bartley

The sun is down and the moon comes up
Reflecting through
These white silky curtains
Blowing in the winds
The night creatures screech
With owls of cuckoo
Rest on tree branches, brushing againt the window glasses from outside

Pitch black with the bright eyes
Of a cat below the palms tree
Sitting on an old rugged grave
With the sparks of lightening’s illuminate
The environment
Fearfully I quickly close the window
Alone inside, The shallow confinement

Accompanied with nothing
Except Madonna’s and mannequins
With ghastly appearance
Surrounded with antique items
Of old fashion state
The cold windy night
Expressing the silence, Within the lonely house of fright

Like a hollowed ground with an obscure presence
And intense feel of ghastly subsidence
This lifeless place
Where no lights seem to trace
Tangled with fear
And no company to share
My weary eyes burn resisting to sleep
Afraid of the dark, as it gives me the creeps

All these empty rooms
Only one remain with an open door
Slowly I enter, but theres blood on the floor
No bodies were found
Except footsteps traces the ground
I follow the trace, down the darkest basement
With sweaty palms, And a heart beat I could hear it echoes within my ears

Slowly I walk down the dusty steps of fear
And saw a dreadful form of terror
Which still remain unclear
Intensely, the immense feel of horrific trance
Surround my presence
From behind the door slams
Frighteningly it echoes from a distance

Screaming, Screaming
Running all around
These voices, voices
And the roof repels with cracks
The windows glasses shattered in pieces
But swiftly through the front door with a blow to the head
I escape that which seems to be something from the dead