Category: 2019 Poetry

Read Poem: Black Moon Poem, by Zoey The White Lioness

Straightforward to the ROOT,
THE BASE,

The ungodly shine,
Within the eye,

Purging the soul and mind,
A black moon is

Approaching with unwinding coiling frustrating timing,
Casting unidentified obscurity,

Shadow puppets laughing madly,
Nothing’s where it should be,

The moon won’t shine,
Its preoccupied,

with the clouds of wrath
polluting my mind,

Let me out let me out!,
I don’t know what to do,

In regards to myself,
And the black moon,

Let the negative energy fade,
Don’t deny that it should dissipate,

This ugly omen,
This peti sight,

Of how,
Everything flips between,

Black and white,
The more I stare into this dark eye,

I find I just can’t look away,
It’s like a werewolf, a face forming in the sky,

Looming grinning over everything,
The moon won’t shine,

Its preoccupied,
with the clouds of wrath

polluting my mind,
Let me out let me out!,

I don’t know what to do,
In regards to myself,

And the black moon,
In the distance is a light,

A pillar of gold,
A relief from this moon,

Brooding like my soul,
If i want to enter it’s glow,
All I have to do is let go,

Can I even let go,
Can I even let go,
Can I even let go,
I just want to let go!!!!!!

Read Poem: Veterans – Not Just For November, by Bill Clayton

The medals glint on Whitehall
The Veterans glow with pride
The country’s politicians
Standing side by side

Rousing words are spoken
Solemn stories told
Politicians sing the praises
Of the old and oh so bold

But as these words all fade away
It seems it’s just another day
For every poppy lying by their feet
A veteran sleeps out on the street

TV crews have all gone home
Veterans now left all alone
Returning to a desperate fate
Help them now, don’t leave too late

For those who fought and gave their trust
The treatment given is so unjust
Those soldiers held in high esteem
Are being ignored, to an extreme

For those returning from the front
A new war is just beginning
For all those who came back to us
Inside their heads are spinning

A never ending torture
They live each and every day
The horrors they’ve seen
From the places they’ve been
Will never go away

The Covenant talks of treating fair
Well, none of that is working
The politicians preen and pose
While from responsibility, they’re shirking

To all in power or wish to be
There’s one thing that you have to see
Our poppies may be packed away
But our veterans’ needs are here to stay

Let’s show the world, let’s lead the way
Let it not be just a remembrance day
Let’s show the care that they deserve
Those who bravely went and served

Don’t let the pride and memories fade
Till it’s time to think of the next parade
From your responsibilities, no retreat
Get our comrades off the street.

Please don’t betray our girls and boys
Please give them all your loudest voice
Give them a home, give them care
Don’t leave them all alone out there

Homes fit for heroes
Lloyd George said
Not cardboard boxes in their stead
Maybe what he had to say
We’ll remember this Remembrance Day.

Bill Clayton
© 2019

Read Poetry: THE ART OF LOVE, by Dan

I made the first stroke,
On our virgin framed canvas,
Sheer ecstasy!
Coating our painting of love,
A brush and a palette,
Crimson ink from my heart
Briskly cultured my half,
Melted affection into art.

But you left your half untouched,
Your beret to gather dust,
Your bristles dry and parched,
Your heart sated and scarlet,
Void picture!
Halfway quenched,
Like a dying fire with no bellows,
A piano with only white keys.

But my limb pushed me to paint,
Culture your half with my surviving ink,
Drain my cardiac tincture,
Give our painting a clincher,
Altruistic love!
Bleached my heart and its nerve,
Robbed its hue and its curve.

A gavel and a French accent,
The verdict and the critic,
An infatuation!
Not worthy my ink you said,
A painter for a sculptor you’d trade,
It was only a fading charade.

Though beaten and pale,
Matte grey like Calvary,
I pinned the picture in the gallery,
Praying for an eye of valor,
That will behold my sacrifice of color,
And heal my heart’s pallor.
©

Read Poem: XXI – A Fool’s Mind and Body, by yahnatann

I was struck with fear, maybe even self-reproach,
At the fact I was overcome with any feeling at all.

My stuttering phrases never connected properly,
And I can see the banal and inane rear their heads between every word.
I’ve been fooling myself all this time that anything I’ve spoken contains substance,
And I spent minutes self indulgent in talking about almost nothing at all.

I’ve spent each waking hour coming to terms with knowing I’ll never articulate what I felt in those moments.
My fingers traced the rim of the glass,
My eyes were locked on the leather in front of me,
Each letter with meaning becoming lodged as a choke between the null sentences.

All I can say is I picture the door swinging open,
Showing a place free from all these perilous times,
And I feel you could show me a sense of purpose,
And these rickety bones of a drifter could be put to use somehow.

I want that empty seat next to me
On every cheapjack train in those stretching neon nights
To no longer feel so void.
The feeling of another’s heat is enough to make the fiend take two steps back.

How can I say this when I can barely look you in the eye?

All these burning insides and crooked joints have foretold my future long ago,
Stalking every action I take across the days,
And I fight the will to defy myself, my God and you.
There’s so many things my health tried to take away from me,
And I submit. No tears can stop it from winning a round from time to time.

I really feel so.
I really feel like I’ve known you for so long.
I want to understand more than I think I do now.
But my thumbs are dug deep in the calluses on my index,
My feet are glued together to stop the tremble looking too obvious,
My eyes fixed below, staring many metres underground.

And I can picture the glass breaking against the wall,
I can see the boot coming down like a thundering mallet,
And I cursed every instinct I felt as I stayed locked and focused on everything I ever was,
And everything I sought to gamble in a game of poor chance.

“It’s just a game”
I said when I slammed my palms into the tiles in that stall,
I forced myself to believe it when I cursed the Lord for what he showed me,
I screeched and pleaded in an attempt to make the ache stop,
But my wellbeing is tearing itself apart,
My guts in a vice, my heart starting to burn.

I never once thought of you, and I’m sorry for that.

I’m sorry for that.

I always thought I could wrestle control of my ever changing state of mind
Before my body started to ache and break.

But here I am, confined to the bed.
We don’t always get what we want I guess.

I’m torn between wanting things to change or resigning myself to the fate I chose,
And the day I age another year is a tick on the time limit I set myself,
Where I use logic as a guise for selfishness,
A fool’s excuse.

My hairline recedes and the reflux is burning the throat, my skin’s starting to cling to my bones and my face is going gaunt.
My tongue barely formulates anything past the trite,
And I still think I could offer you something.

It’s a fool’s thought,
But believe me, I want to.

Read Poem: About You, by Joyce Villeta

Crazy I still weep about you

Cry myself to sleep about you

Still I cannot be without you

Thinking how I felt about you

Thought that I could be without you

Never can I be without you

Everything I love about you

My heart bled and throbbed without you

Broken, sick and dead without you

I still hurt and drown without you

Empty and left lost without you

I still write and dream about you

Of all things I am without you

What hurts most you’re fine without me

Read Poem: Soft Stone, by Meera Zeir

https://rizapress.com/karine-ancellin/

My lover put a stone in my hand.

Hunting the beach with her Long white legs,
Veins on marble, lines on limestone
faint dark fuzzies playing on translucent skin

Torso bent parallel to the horizon
Millennia on minute
She scans the pebbles radaring the sand and weeds

The eroded lithified orb humbles my pretense
My lover speaks their rich language,
erring through the rocky scars of time

She asks each one if it knows the Sahara
If it has seen death in the wine dark sea
She wants to know if it is dizzying to live more than a life.

But the stones are not a revealing bunch
They don’t want her to get too nosy
So they do it on purpose to hurt her high arch

Stubborn and inured to life’s trials, she persists, seeking
for the clasts that will draw a heartshaped unique
attesting the metaphysical words
beyond its heavy sunbathed sea, horizon’s infinite fright

crystal shards lock the sun inside their smoothness
does the sacred hurt?
Why do the pebbles persist in existing
Do they really have a choice?
meanings brought from the frequencies beyond our nights and days

Are the great gods watching our futile efforts
to reconstruct their universe…..failing their desire for human dignity.
My lover said the stone is oblivious.

Meera Zeir Oct 2nd 2016

Read Poetry by David P Carroll

Your the air I breath in life,
Your scent I always smell,
Your soft touch feeling so warm it fills me heart
With Love,
Your everything I dreamt of…

Holding you in my arms
Knowing it’s true love,
Your the beat too my heart,
I’ve Forever In Love…..

Your the sun that shines upon me every day,
Your bright smile warms
My heart,
Your the blood flowing into
My heart it keeps growing
Stronger in time….

Your my soulmate
Your forever in my heart,
Your the one I love,
And forever the beat too my heart…..

© 2020 David P Carroll…

Read Poem: Do Not Always, by Matildas Waltz

We could spill it all out
In a good read about
How there ever came to be
Up in the sky . . .
…a poetry tree,
That never burns down
And in its branches abounds
The phoenix whose sounds

Are the silence . . .
of ETERNITY;
But what could we achieve
When the tale of all ages to believe
Was being plucked as the tail
Of the phoenix,
whose message be:
Only when from above
Is life’s lesson simple and straight
Precise in corresponding
With detail complicating,
Below in the gradings
Of matters of density
Established of space
In time continuum fabric;
Will
the word be real
And only then might nobody steal
Such that nothing might be
Of all the words blue,
One would think the sky true
And just as numbers
are to be believed
What goes up when in need
Just as feathers regrew upon me;
Just as poetry be a lonely old tree
Just as it is as it is in ETERNITY

For all of every word spilt,
God’s love is the only interpretive milk
And the Devil repay what ilk
My life in failed believe
That if birdsong it be,
Listened to have thee
Thy knowledge of need be need be
For the Devil fell not me
But all of God’s lore will be
Jesus who owns the throne of this tree
Grown that Solomon would make Sheba see
While I hear with the ear of unease
Between all those
who know me;
Better just let it be
As it is and believe

An URL of a video of me r

Read Poem: Paranoia, I seek help, by Vyom Desai

I suffer from chronic personality disorder
Also called emotional dysregulation disorder,
where I suffer from mood swings and behavioral changes,
just like abruptly changing seasons,
winter to monsoon,
monsoon to summer,
not following the regular order.
order to keep track of my body
I keep forgetting what happened 2 mins back,
but remember every time my heart was pierced
Cut down,
sold in the market,
at a price as low as the value of plastic.

The symptoms of it says,
Expectations
rising expectations from people,
people you have invested in.
Disappointment
It becomes part of your daily life,
as expectations are not for people who suffer.
as expectations are privileges I cannot afford.
Moodswings
Abrupt mood swings opens space of discomfort
like those between states and countries
unsaid and cold,
like my red eyes after every suicidal thoughts I have.
Behavioural changes
I fear to talk to the person I love,
like a kid afraid of falling from bicycle
or a man afraid to fall in love.
I stay blank unable to talk,
As I my mouth has been stitched
because words will take them far from me.
and I won’t be able to see them again
or maybe I will see them
through my soul and not eyes,
with love and no love in return,
Paranoia,

these Symptoms leads me to paranoia,
like smoking leads to cancer
addictive and unrequited
My disorder is no different,
It takes me far from people,
people I love,
people for whom I have killed myself again and again,
people who don’t know anything about my sufferings,
Today I tell you with all my strength and love
All my life and vulnerability
I am not okay,
I am suffer from chronic personality disorder
leading to paranoia
that my love for you
works as needles and threads
stitching my mouth to not say anything,
and listen to you
with my eyes red in colour
Telling
I love you.
I wish to be okay.
I seek help.

Read Poem: All Hallows Eve Fun, by Jackie Mead

On the darkest night of the year.
I was alone at home, quivering with fear.
I started remembering the year before; I had a fright.
Just as the day was fading to night.

I recounted the encounter which gave me such a fright.
On the scariest, darkest of nights.

Walking home, alone, I pulled my coat tight; I was chilled to the bone.
First a shiver ran down my spine.
Then “many” long arms wrapped around me, tightly squeezing, like a creeping vine.
I couldn’t move, I was paralysed with fear.
Then I heard the voices of “many” whispers in my ear.

Fe, Fi, Fo, Fum
We like All Hallows Eve fun

I opened my eyes to look the “many” up and down
It was as if I had stumbled into a Ghost Town.
The “many” wore clothes tattered and torn.
Their har thin, and like a sheep, shorn.
Their skin hanging from their skeletal frames.
The “many” started to play their games.

First, they took some rope from their pocket.
Then they took a picture out of a gold locket.
They used the roped to bind my hands.
Then they huddled in a circle to finalise their plans.

They stood me up and spun me around.
I was giddy and almost fell to the ground.
They showed the picture to me, it was one I held dear.
Me as a child, before I knew fear.

They said they would set the picture alight.
Showing fear would not help my plight.
As the picture burned it would take my soul; deliver it to the devil.
I began to twist my hands; I began to scream and wrestle.

I did not want to live below, where the fire is intensely hot.
Where the devil chooses someone each day to scare and tie that person in knots.
The “many” closed in and took me by my bound hands, led me away.
To a pit they had dug that very same day.

The pit was 6 feet deep and lined in red.
The first thing to do was to bury me standing, up to my head.
The “many” stood me in the pit and picked up their shovels.
They quickened their pace and filled the pit on the double.

I stood once again paralysed with fear.
I felt my cheeks wet, with the tracks of my tears.
The “many” took the picture and held it high over my head.
Laughing, shouting in my face “had I wet my bed”

I knew there would be no turning around from this, tonight would be my last.
I grew calm and waited for the final blow, shot or blast.

I had my eyes shut tight.
But…nothing happened, nothing came, the picture did not ignite.
I was still trembling though feeling terrified.
I couldn’t move, my hands were still tied.
I prayed to heaven; I did not want to die.

Then a bit of luck perchance; I did a little happy dance.
I wriggled my hands and pulled them in tight, the rope began to loosen.
Just maybe I would remain on this earth, remain human.

My hands broke free and pushed away the earth; set myself free.
I looked at the time on my watch, saved by the bell, 01:01, last admittances to hell.

When the clock had struck 0100hrs, All Hallows Eve Fun was over.
Saved for another year, but to be on the safe side I will remain indoors this year.