the ultimate humility, Poetry by Veena Veana

The ultimate humility:

frustration,

letting go of frustration;

pain,

letting go of pain;

anger,

letting go of anger;

Genre: Love, Life, Humanity

the ultimate humility by Veena Veana
Twitter: @veenaveana
veenaveana.com

The ultimate humility:

frustration,

letting go of frustration;

pain,

letting go of pain;

anger,

letting go of anger;

despair,

letting go of despair;

doubt,

letting go of doubt;

confusion,

letting go of confusion;

nothingness,

letting go of nothingness;

self,

letting go of self;

being kneeling

and rising.

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Saying Goodbye to the Island, Poetry by Kim M. Russell

Genre: Society, Life

 

Saying Goodbye to the Island 

© Kim M. Russell, 2016 

 

The sea rises

Eating away the coast

Until the village

Becomes an island ghost

Deserted

Derelict

Dangerous

Haunted by gulls

And scavengers

A watery soundscape

Of bubbles and splashes

Rumbles and crashes

Accompanies the tidal creep

While the last traces of habitation

Await the final slip into the salty deep

 

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The Ultimate Misunderstanding, Poetry by Stephanie Marie

I could never seem to grasp the concept of a parent disregarding the life of their very offspring. What could possibly be so enticing that one feels the need to abandon such a personal creation of art?

Genre: Family, Life, Pain

The Ultimate Misunderstanding
by Stephanie Marie

I could never seem to grasp the concept of a parent disregarding the life of their very offspring. What could possibly be so enticing that one feels the need to abandon such a personal creation of art? Imagine the very moment when unconditional love is full of conditions. The emptiness, the guilt, the fault that fills within the innocence. Something like the very laws of physics losing its credibility. Tell me how one isn’t to change when the very being who is appointed your love source, your example, your creator, resigns the position. When the responsibility of love vanishes, so do the generations to follow. A world where one gives up their life to a worthy being . . only, the being is pushing you into death’s arms willingly. Damage, baffling. Repair, resistant. Like a bird nursed to health and having its wings clipped off during their very first flight. You left me injured.

I forgive mistakes. I forgive failed attempts. An absence is something I will not condone. I made a promise to myself ages ago that I would not accept such a lack of presence. As nothing more that a person, I am deserving. One could say it’s my fault for expecting you to remain the same person. So forgive me for not finding it in my heart to forgive you, or don’t. My life shall carry on without the weight.

 

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If I Was President, Poetry by Molimau Fatu

This country would actually
Cherish the diversity
It has instead of using it
Like an illusion of unity
Only to earn dollars
Building it not from the bloodshed
Of genocides and chains of slavery
But use the gift of each civilization

Genre: Political, Society, Life

 If I Was President 
by Molimau Fatu
This country would actually 
Cherish the diversity 
It has instead of using it 
Like an illusion of unity 
Only to earn dollars 
Building it not from the bloodshed 
Of genocides and chains of slavery 
But use the gift of each civilization 
To develop the master plan 
Of true unity and love from 
The Most High to not think of 
Greed and actually help out each other 
As life is already difficult 
To treat everyone as human beings 
Regardless of skin color 
Or how much you have 
To have no more homeless 
No more wars 
No more Federal Reserve 
No more FBI 
No more CIA 
No more secret societies planning agendas to kill the people of the world 
No more private prisons 
More schools that actually teach something that we use in real life 
More music that uses words to inspire 
 
To guide the youth 
To become more aware 
More consciously and creative 
With joy to live 
Life not enslaved by anything 
But free knowing that 
They won’t have to look over your shoulder 
Yet, visioning a Samoan with his formal ie lavalava on 
With his chocolate thick mocha wife, 
Her dreads all out 
Sundress with big glowing earrings 
And a smile comforting as the sunset 
Usos cooking outside with the rocks 
Making bbq chicken and ribs 
Peeling the skin from the taros 
With the white house no longer being white 
Now in living color 
With melanin and Polynesian blood 
Flowing rhythmically 
With all cultures of the world 
As the women display their beauty 
By that walk of confidence 
Hips moving side to side 
Hair blowing through the breeze 
The aroma so pleasant and strong 
You become mesmerized 
 
By the hospitality 
By having a real person as president 
Not some paid puppet 
Of wealthy private bankers 
Then……. 
Damn 
I wake up 
And say 
Only if I were president 
 
 

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My Derision, Poetry by Kira Rice

My heart yearns for beauty yet I look in ruins,

my soul thirsts yet I search in barren lands,

Genre: fear, hurt, life, painful, personality, religion, inspirational and sad

My Derision
by Kira Rice

“My heart yearns for beauty yet I look in ruins,

my soul thirsts yet I search in barren lands,

my eyes long for truth yet I seek human hands,

my being hungers after fullness yet I worship emptiness.”

 

 

 

 

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The Tree of Life, Poetry by Andrew Durbin

There was a time not long ago when tales and songs were sung
Of knights and kings, and wizards wise, and wells where water sprung.
My tale tonight shall tell you of a place where magic dwelt,
And what became of this old bard, and what I saw and felt.

Genre:Rhyme, Life, Adventure

The Tree of Life
by Andrew Durbin

There was a time not long ago when tales and songs were sung
Of knights and kings, and wizards wise, and wells where water sprung.
My tale tonight shall tell you of a place where magic dwelt,
And what became of this old bard, and what I saw and felt.

While walking down a narrow road, I came upon a sign.
A sturdy thing, made from the wood of some old gnarled pine.
The town that I was headed to was called by name, “Gremell.”
A shiver traveled up my spine, but why, I could not tell.

I had been walking all the day, and now had come the night.
I had no lantern with me, and the dark impaired my sight.
This town must surely have a place where I could take my rest.
Just then, I heard a sound that made my heart pound in my chest.

I slowly turned upon the spot, and there, before my eyes,
A figure in a hooded cloak against the moon did rise.
I quickly dropped my walking staff; my hand dropped to my sword.
The figure merely stood there. Then it bowed and said, “My Lord.”

Startled and confused was I. I knew not what to say.
The figure pointed with its hand, as if to show the way.
A beam of light cut through the dark, as bright as noonday sun.
It shone upon the rocky cliffs, along which trees did run.

“Who are you, sir?” I asked the man. “And from where do you come?”
My heart was thudding loudly, like the beating of a drum.
He said, “A place where mortal men like you have never seen.
The place where magic makes its home. A place called Ailoth Green.”

“My name is not for you to know,” the man then said to me.
“For if you were to speak it, you would turn into a tree.
But come, the night is drawing down its curtain on the land.
We must away while there’s still time.” He offered me his hand.

I reached towards the figure’s hand, but stopped and stared in awe.
The hand that he held out to me looked much more like a paw.
And then the moon, so full that night, shone down upon us then.
His hood fell back, and what I saw, I may not see again.

His features were not that of man, but of a wild beast.
Pointed ears stood atop his head; his brow was furred and creased.
A long white snout was ended with a wet and coal-black nose.
With one paw pointing, the other held out, he seemed to strike a pose.

He motioned to me fervently. “There’s no time to delay!
We must be in the walls of Ailoth Green before the day!”
I then reached out and grasped his paw. We then began to run.
I looked around for others, but there wasn’t anyone.

Ten minutes passed, and then we stood against the huge cliff face.
A massive thing of granite rock spread out across that space.
The beast-man placed a padded paw against the ink-black stone,
And I’ll tell you that what happened next…it thrilled me to the bone.

A giant crack did then appear, and cut the cliff in twain!
All I had seen, and this besides, weighed heavy on my brain.
I then dropped down upon my knees, and raised my arms up high,
And cried out loud for God to come and take me to the sky.

“Up on your feet,” the creature said. “You’ll not be dying now.
This is the place where we must go. Of that, I will avow.”
He helped me stand, and then he nodded at the growing crack.
“Once we go in, I must warn you…there is no coming back.”

The fissure opened wide enough to let us both pass through.
The walls of rock around me glowed with a bright rainbow hue.
I glanced around me at the walls, and gasped aloud in shock.
A plethora of giant jewels were encased within the rock!

Rubies, emeralds, topazes and sapphires were there,
And onyxes and amethysts, and opals, which are rare.
A bloodstone shone out from the rest, and glinted out at me.
But as we passed, I soon realized there was much more to see.

The first thing that I saw as soon as we had passed the wall
Was the shimmering glaze of water as it fell over a fall.
It landed in a mirror pool a thousand feet below,
And as this wonder met my gaze, I saw a dark brown doe.

She wandered out of a small wood that stood near the plateau
On which the two of us now stood, the water all aglow.
She bowed her head at both of us, and then began to speak!
“The Master waits for you down there. He’s sitting near the creek.”

The beast-man nudged me with a paw and pointed to a stair.
“You must go to the Master now. You cannot have me there.”
I started for the cut stone steps, but when I looked behind,
The creature and the doe had vanished, not a trace of them to find.

I started walking down the steps, my eyes cast here and there
To take in every detail of this fascinating lair.
And when I reached the bottom, there before me near a creek,
A little man sat smiling there, a tattoo on his cheek.

He was a short and wizened man, of what age I knew not.
To me, he appeared ancient, as if him the time forgot.
He wore a light blue silken robe, and round about his head,
A circlet of some brownish leaves, their color saying dead.

“I welcome you, my slim young friend,” this old man said to me.
“My name is Osnant Willowborn, the Guardian of the Tree.
My servant led you to me, and now I will tell you why:
The Tree that holds the world together will soon begin to die.”

I stood there stunned, not really sure if I had heard him right.
I said, “But why did you choose me to aid you in your plight?”
He smiled up at me and said, “Because you are the one
Whose poetry and tales of wonder people do not shun.”

“It is because of men like you the Tree still stays alive.
The magic of the spoken word allows the Tree to thrive.
When you go back to your home town, I ask you only this:
That your poetry continues to keep the Tree from the Abyss.”

He pulled a leather pouch out then from deep within his robe
And from within that small brown sack, he took a tiny globe.
He handed the small thing to me and said, with knowing grin,
“You can’t know where you’re going without knowing where you’ve been.”

He told me then to close my eyes, and so I did as asked,
Wondering to myself how I’d complete this mammoth task.
And when I opened them, I once again stood on the road
And faced towards the town Gremell, where morning sunlight flowed.

Twenty years ago this was, and I still have the globe.
I usually keep it in my rented room’s wardrobe.
Wherever I have gone since then, I mark it plain and clear,
For if the old man’s words are true, then we have much to fear.

Poets, bards, and storytellers, please heed my words this day.
Keep up your old traditions, and don’t let them go astray.
As long as we keep the magic of the Tree of Life alive,
Then the world will hold together, and for that…we all must strive.

 

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To Build A Home, Poetry by Stephanelle Mewouo

To build a home is to tear apart
All the things that broke our hearts.
To tie together all the strings
That hung about lost as they sway with our movements like wings.

Genre: Rhyme, Life

To Build A Home
by: Stephanelle Mewouo

To build a home is to tear apart
All the things that broke our hearts.
To tie together all the strings
That hung about lost as they sway with our movements like wings.

To make a dream is to rise above
the standards. Of what is suppose to be in order to become what we are. To learn to say yes to the opportunities that have yet to come. To hope that in the pleasure of our serendipity, we are faced with the consequences that our innocence tends to result in.

I scream inside so you will hear, just how loud my silence can’t be.

To create magic is to take all the pieces that seemed impossible to obtain and create a masterpiece. An art that only we could understand. So that when our home is built, we know that all of the dreams that we kept secret were being tied together. And it was now possible to be. As one separate unity, we are able to become.

 

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Dear Bully: A Collection of Poems about Bullying, Poetry by Joyce Fields

Dear Bully:
We forgive you for the hurt that you’ve caused,
For the pain and the terror you’ve brought us.
Some good has come from your horrible ways
Because, Dear Bully, you’ve taught us
How not to treat others, how not to act
How not to cause others to fear us.

Genre: Bullying, Life, Society

Dear Bully: A Collection of Poems about Bullying
by Joyce Fields

Dear Bully:
We forgive you for the hurt that you’ve caused,
For the pain and the terror you’ve brought us.
Some good has come from your horrible ways
Because, Dear Bully, you’ve taught us
How not to treat others, how not to act
How not to cause others to fear us.
God is watching, Dear Bully,
And we truly want Him to cheer us.
We’ll remember to use the Golden Rule
And be kind and respectful to others
Because, even though we’re all different,
We all are sisters and brothers.
So your power to make us tremble, Dear Bully,
That power is being taken
And soon, very soon, Dear Bully,
To a new day we’ll awaken.
We hope that you will join us,
Making this world a better place.
We’ll stand shoulder to shoulder together,
And we’ll surely win the race!

 

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#1, Poetry by Kindra Talley

I guess you start to understand what angels feel like when you have kissed the devil on her stomach. When you have danced with the demons and pulled the skeletons out of your closet to display everything that ever was before her.

Genre: Life, Society

#1
by Kindra Talley

I guess you start to understand what angels feel like when you have kissed the devil on her stomach. When you have danced with the demons and pulled the skeletons out of your closet to display everything that ever was before her.

She is laying on my chest and I know that I want to teach her how to dance to my pulse.

Chances are, I probably have heart murmurs. But maybe she isn’t that advance. Maybe she won’t care about anything else but the truth that I have provided her.

Which is to say that maybe she understands where I have been and what I’m going through and doesn’t feel afraid of anything but the depth she knows she will reach when loving me.

 

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CAN YOU HEAR THE TICKING MA?, Poetry by Bobby Stevenson

Can you hear the ticking ma of the clock upon the wall?
The time is fast approaching when we won’t be here at all.

Can you hear the bombers ma as they fly above our heads?
They’re only trying to end it ma, get ready to be dead.

Genre: Rhyme, Life

CAN YOU HEAR THE TICKING MA?
by Bobby Stevenson

Can you hear the ticking ma of the clock upon the wall?
The time is fast approaching when we won’t be here at all.

Can you hear the bombers ma as they fly above our heads?
They’re only trying to end it ma, get ready to be dead.

Can you see the mushroom cloud? Tell pa to come and look,
It’s lighting up the kitchen, setting fire to a book.

Can you feel the wind ma as it blows us all away?
Soon we’ll all be dust ma, only shadows left to play.

Can you hear the ticking ma of the clock upon the wall?
The time is fast approaching when we won’t be here at all.

 

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