Category: 2019 Poetry

Read Poem: My Morning Routine Re: Alex by Jessica Mifsud

My Morning Routine Re: Alex

My morning starts with his.

SHWOOMP

His door slams. It’s my alarm clock.

My door rattles

rattle

rattle

rattle

And I’m awake.

My nerves

rattle

rattle

rattle
A sharp

Click-click.

And then:

one. two. three. four. five. six.

I get up.

lightly

lightly

lightly

Two feet of hallway separate us.

one. two. three. four. five. six.

I pad barefoot to the door.

lightly

lightly

lightly

I peer through the peephole.

lightly

lightly

lightly

I see him.

one. two. three. four. five. six.

He’s there. He pulls at the door handle, again and again and again. I feel my door shake.

one. two. three. four. five. six.

My fingertips pressed

lightly

lightly
lightly

He stops. I hold my breath.

one. two. three. four. five. six.

Threes, sixes, and nines. That’s what he told me.

one. two. three. four. five. six.

He takes a step back. Stares down the knob. Circles it. Studies it. Dares it. Reaches forward.

one. two. three. four. five. six.

Another step back. Another twist. Another hard look.

And then:

Slowly suddenly he tears himself away. He stalks down the hall. Down the stairwell. Footsteps not so

lightly

lightly
lightly

Sometimes he comes back. But not today.

one. two. three. four. five. six.

OCD is a bitch.

I turn to the bathroom, turn on the light. Pull out my ponytail and size up my hair. My morning starts.

But really, my morning starts with his.

By: Jessica Mifsud

Read Poem: Swimming Backwards by Mark Mayes

The cold no longer mattered.
The sun was sinking into the sea.
Tan cliffs watched us.
The stony beach, emptied of middle-aged couples, dogs, us.

The cold no longer mattered.
The soft falling,
or the sudden drop
into the necessary shock of water.

The sea and sky and sun and land
owned their colours,
cannot be painted in words,
only by themselves.

The some clothes we wore
became a darkened skin,
and still the sun,
bleeding down the sky.

We swam to where
nothing met our gently kicking feet.
This is where I want to be,
where nothing is beneath.

And we adjusted ourselves
to the world, and it to us,
and the sun crying slowly into the horizon,
a burning orange at the limit of mind.

Something was pulling us out,
together and separately.
Side-current buffeted me into you,
into more us.

For a moment,
I considered going out there,
too far to return,
lush tiredness before the final struggle.

But then I saw you swimming backwards,
to the undefeatable urge to walk this life.
And I turned and headed for shore;
and the cold no longer mattered.

Read Poem: Illumination by Joy Espiel

11:11
222
333
23:32
2222
555
11:22

A troubled soul having sleepless nights and conflicted emotions.
I find it overwhelming to see a lot of patterns, insights, and symbols.
I have been manifesting, praying and crying..
Scattered thoughts and heavy heart makes me feel dead, with a boulder inside.
Hopeless, wrecked, Idle, suicidal and catatonia.
Then there’s the feeling of being used, worthless and lied and anhedonia
It’s far more worse than being slapped side by side —
A TRUTH I couldn’t hide.

Numbers, events and synchronicities.
Is this really a lesson the universe is trying to teach me?
Close the door, walk away and get over soon?
Is this the sign, I have been waiting for??
The moment I need— a chance to start and move on?
Alignment and clarity here and there,
Finding balance in this limbo we are trapped in.

Staring myself in front of the mirror..
I saw a tired and wounded warrior.
“Stop being weak and vulnerable!” I say.
Trying to be optimistic, while I’m wiping my ttears..
Closing my eyes, searching for things that push me through,
“Aim SUCCESS , learn to INVEST and make a BETTER YOU.

Again, with the pain inside my chest,
Makes it really hard for me to forget.
Step by step, I’m trying to walk away..
with the TRAUMA even TIME nor elixir can’t heal.

For once, a realization hit me,
it’s never wrong to fall,
it’s never wrong to admit feelings.
Stupid as what others might think of me
I still LOVE the person who HURT me.
Yes! The one that got away.

With endurance and patience, I face it all:
“Oh Dear! I thought I wasn’t capable of LOVING and CARING another soul.
With all the failures and adversities,
I find myself emerging once again
A new life ahead, a new chapter to begin.
Crazy, passionate and eccentric woman— whatever terms that define me.
“I am still HUMAN”
“I am WORTHY”
“I am BLESSED'”
and I DESERVE a person who will VALUE and RESPECT the real me.

Jespielcirca2019

Read Poem: SIMPLE TRUTH by Clay Witkofsky

Dear god I’d like to take a minute to pray
I’d like to thank you for helping me find myself this day
I’d like to thank you for this pathway that you have designed
With only one person that’s me in mind

Now I always knew you could guide me I just didn’t know how as I’ve searched the skies above and looked for signs on the ground
But am completely amazed with what I have found
As you are speaking from above but it’s a feeling I receive
A feeling of energy good or bad
Now that I know it’s coming from you
I’ll know exactly what I should or shouldn’t do
It’s a feeling that warns me what’s up ahead
Or tells me what I should do instead
It’s a feeling that tells me no when I hear a lie
Or a feeling that tells me yea when I see someone I might like
It’s a feeling I will follow to find my destiny

Wow it’s the voice of you god, thank you I’ve found something down here that is actually true
But before I start to smile my life away
I’d like to say thank you for saving me today
And I’m sorry it took me so long to figure this out
I promise you I never had any doubt

I think it’s just the confusion of society
Always teaching and preaching who I should be
But I’m the only one to blame For allowing in pain
As I’m the only one who knows this soul
And just exactly where it wants to go
Now it may take me some time to train my mind
To understand these feelings inside
But I do believe in your sacrifice
And I will learn to follow your advice
As this is my simple little plan and chance to walk to the promise land

And I don’t want to go alone into my destination unknown
As I want to take this gift of life that I’ve been given’
Just like that box beneath the tree and fill it with nothing but excitement and simplicity
So hopefully I haven’t drifted to far away cause tomorrow I’ll get back on my own highway
I’ll start to justify my time by understanding this inner child of mine
And use this simple truth to walk with the confidence of being guided by you

Unfortunately for corruption and hell I’m gonna let the rest of the world know this little secret as well
But in the end I guess I always knew that good would follow thru

Read Poem: Cages by Kristen Corbisiero

I built myself inside this cage,

And foolishly gave you the only key,
Thinking you’d keep it safe,

Hoping you would, at least.

Cages aren’t always meant to keep people in you tell me,
Sometimes, they’re meant to keep certain ones out,
For safety, for love, for whatever reason you choose,
Because this cage has kept me inside for far too long,
And I have no choice but to believe the poison that drips from your mouth,
Lapping it up with dry tongue,
Foolishly praying one day it’ll give me the strength to break the locks,
Cast the iron aside and find my way out.

I built this cage, yes,
I know that now,
Always did,
But never did I think you’d use it to keep me locked away.

Read Poem: Craning: a montage in three acts by Joanna Hannigan

Lament

Into the snow fly wild geese

Over trees stripped bare of bark

And leaves—a feather slivers free.

The white crane, austere and silent

At water’s edge—does not budge

It stands—passive and intense.

Into the past, where I and you were we

Concealed interiors, glass and steel visibility

Impervious to ardor and rage—I plunge.

The snow descends, worlds blur

I will not let you go—and turn

Eastward—into a biting embrace.

His Hymn

He held her sagging head—until the drunken retching stopped

He’d held it before—when the tooth was pulled, the D&C, bad news received

He stroked the damp hair; quieted sobs, then

moved from their bed to the couch in the den,

to the studio miles away, then out of state.

He worked hard—married again, mourned thinning hair, loss of another wife

He grew distant from friends—especially those who reminded him

Restored cars and bought a sail boat,

performed magic tricks for sick kids, took yearly trips

to the coast, and continued to vote.

He avoided college reunions—returned home only for weddings, deaths

He played tennis and racquetball, ate at the country club

Invested his money wisely, tried to laugh enough,

advanced, he suspected, because he didn’t give a damn

about research, going green, using four letter words.

They said he was a good man—few would disagree.

How she would loathe what he was and had become

How she disliked flat rituals and routine, memberships—comforting

And adored spontaneity, dinners in reverse, and snow white cranes

disciplined and solitary in their gaze, prone to migrate

to new sources of feed, retaining wisdom in their wings.

They said she was a flawed thing—only he disagreed.

He wasn’t a sentimental man—and sometimes woke to stop the dreams

He only played CDs and mix tapes—he’d never risk hearing her moody notes

Shunned zoos and parks, rivers and lakes—all inland water ways

until one day, he did what he would never have done

focusing on sky, lake, land—he stood at water’s edge.

He remembered all of her—damp hair, pale lips, shadows and curves

He wondered if silver replaced the mane of gold, if she still hummed those words

He reclaimed what for 30 years had been lost—her, him

he pleaded for a sign, then demanded—with raised fist

she be returned to him—he lifted his head, majestically

and craned.

Requiem

The crane posed, leg bent, at water’s edge

Walking, I saw it—though the form

Could have been two—flurries of white at dusk.

Swiftly, limbs spread, it turned

Joyfully, feathers preened, unconcerned

Spinning zealously—with ardent intensity.

Into the twilight soared the bird

Merging until vague—until only dark remained

That was when I saw her.

The snow whirled, eyes blurred as

Human form turned into bird—winging

Westward—free of earth.

Poem by Joanna Hannigan, Creative Writer/Proposal Developer

Cailleach Bhur Caer, Loudon, TN 37774

Read Poem: The Calling of a Magical Minstrel by Rama Devi Nina Marshall

A wand’ring minstrel I, a thing of shreds and patches, of ballads, songs and snatches, and dreamy lullaby!
—Nanki-Poo, The Mikado

The princess ponders her musician
with sparkling eyes that seek petition.
“Dear Minstrel, friend, I envy your
position as a troubadour.
Please tell me of this sage tradition,
I want to hear your own rendition!”

The minstrel bows his head down low
and says, “M’lady, do you know
how lonely life is on the road,
bestowing joy to all abodes,
yet owed no comfort, though it’s showed?

“With horn or lute or fife or flute
a minstrel must stay resolute
to serve the people music’s magic—
melodies both sweet and tragic.

With fiddles’ festive flourishing
that nudges soul with nourishing
and artistry that he invests,
he conjures jests for puzzled guests
at court’s resort for festive sports
to serve retorts to courtier sorts
while they indulge in berry tortes
with bottled brews and servant’s news
and conversations they may choose,
with gossip chews or flirty cues,
jokes to amuse—or ramblers whose
enthused, sophisticated views
might make some simply blow a fuse
but will, for some, prove to bemuse.”

He winks and bows again, with cheer.
“I hope you liked my humor here!”

The princess smiles and claps her hands.
“My merry man, I understand!
You smile for all those in the land,
and yet your style’s a one man band.”

“We troubadours won’t stay indoors
but always tour—we’re never bores!
We score aristocratic wars
with stories of some far-off shores
and mentors who will only yield
those secrets kept with inner-shield
to worthy ones who prove their mettle,
like kettledrums that never settle,
or juggling jesters’ acrobatics,
or bard’s ecstatic stage dramatics.”

The princess smiles again and says,
“My friend, I feel your heart and head.
Imagination’s creative station
is conjuring, without cessation,
amused narrations—invocations.
May I extend an invitation?
Please stay here as my honored guest
and share your gifts—we’d be most blessed!”

“I’d love to, Princess, stay with you.
Yet, I cannot. I bid adieu.
Continuing my calling, I
must travel over mountains high.
Your words will serve to fortify
my heart as distant lands fly by.”

Read Poem: LOVE THIS WAY by Noor Ashu

It took me hours to think
what you saw in my body when you praised about it
it forced me to think about love again
as they say,
love exists behind bodies
and in between souls
I have heard it many times
that I never thought about my body as beautiful
I never tried it to be,
and for years I never thought that it need love too
because I never looked at my body as something special,
I have abused it so much,
that it is not okay for me to praise it,
how I neglected the part of myself for years
it took me hours to realize
it is never always lust
as we considered,
when our bodies are being loved

Author’s bio
I am Noorulain Ayesha, an Electrical Engineer, nature lover, an author of “The Unknown Journey”, “Heart to Heart with Nature” and “Sunshine of your love”.