I Am Me, Poetry by Upender Reddy

I’m a sky
Full of stars

I’m a body
Full of hidden scars

I’m a see-saw
Your happiness I draw

Genre: Rhyme, Life

I Am Me
by Upender Reddy

I’m a sky
Full of stars

I’m a body
Full of hidden scars

I’m a see-saw
Your happiness I draw

I’m a drink
Makes you think

I’m an absorber
Absorbing your emotions

I’m a illusion
Making you cross the ocean

I’m a mirage
U don’t see

I’m magic
You know me

I’m me

 

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
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It Comes in 3’s, Poetry by Anthony E. Barr

As many of you know
it comes in threes
just when you’ve had enough
more blows in with the evening breeze

Genre: Rhyme, Life

It Comes in 3’s
by Anthony E. Barr

As many of you know
it comes in threes
just when you’ve had enough
more blows in with the evening breeze

We’re quick to blame God
Yet quickly drop to our knees
Throughout our lives we receive
The forever unforeseen
As the devil dreams
Of ways to bring us to his unhappy

I’d like to tell you
About my best friend Jesus
His Crucifixion
Resurrection
Which helps us through this

With him one’s able to heal
With him one’s able to deal
Ripping out the shards of pain
That only the devil’s dealt
He’s the one that gave you
All the pain you felt

 

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
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Hunger, Poetry by Sandra Jeffs

I grew up hungry, so damn hungry.

It wasn’t just hunger for food, although that was scarce.

It was hunger for knowing and feeling, and seeing and doing.

I was greedy to drink in everything,

Genre: Philosophy, Life

Hunger
by Sandra Jeffs

I grew up hungry, so damn hungry.

It wasn’t just hunger for food, although that was scarce.

It was hunger for knowing and feeling, and seeing and doing.

I was greedy to drink in everything,

to know how to fly, how to skim on water.

I saw everyone as wiser than me

and I sat at their feet and I listened and I learned.

I devoured books and poems and movies and music.

Songs filled me with dance and joy and love and freedom.

College challenged me and pushed me and exhausted me.

Travel opened my heart and wrote novels in my mind.

I discussed theories and possibilities and metaphysics.

I vehemently argued my points and many times I learned I was wrong,

But I grew. Yes, I grew every day, with every mistake and every success.

And I did it without much help nor any handouts

I worked. I worked hard for a paycheck,

worked hard for knowledge, for experience,

for skills and talents and I overcame so damn much.

So damn much!

 

Then, as I aged into my sixties,

I found I had passed so many people by,

I had never stopped for one single second

to think that I might grow past all the people I loved,

might learn myself out of friendships, and lovers;

might get myself to a place where other people don’t see what I see

and don’t want to see it, don’t want to know who they are,

nor why they are on this planet, don’t want to wake up.

They just want to get through life

and I no longer can even pretend to settle for so little.

 

The truth is– from the beginning. I never could settle for less

than knowing all that I could  just for the sake of knowing.

It’s just that I always thought everyone else wanted that, too.

I thought they were on this journey with me

and it feels lonely now that they stayed safe from the hunger,

It feels like a death has occurred to have gained so much

and to have so few people to share it with.

I see their best selves and wish they did too,

but they resent me those insights.

I am surprised at how wise I’ve seemed to become

because I never sought to be wiser than others,

I never thought my hunger would take me this far.

I feel shy to find I am wiser than those I once thought my mentors

or at least my peers.  I’d like to rail at the apathy and the fear,

that keeps people from being hungry.

Hunger is good.

Once we satisfy it, we are nourished and grow,

and then the hunger reappears and we continue seeking,

growing, learning, evolving.

 

Isn’t that our purpose in life?

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HANK, Poetry by Karmen Skaro

Thousands of threads make up a hank of wishes and desire

In my stomach with whom you play.

One touch and threads disappear.

Instead, an eruption of most glorious rainbow colors appears.

Genre: Rhyme, Life

HANK
by Karmen Skaro

Thousands of threads make up a hank of wishes and desire

In my stomach with whom you play.

One touch and threads disappear.

Instead, an eruption of most glorious rainbow colors appears.

The colors spread through the inland of a country you claimed to be yours,

Through the vastness of the sea you conquered.

Still the soul longing in thirst is waiting,

Waiting on a lonely shore waiting for the next upcoming wave.

◊◊◊◊

Afterwards

Playful fingers

Loving eyes

Progressive rhythm

Dissipated thoughts

One hank untangled

 

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Disgrace, Poetry by Jasmine Fredericks

Hell-o world,
It’s such a wonderful place.

And just in case, I’ll reiterate
This world of mine is not a disgrace.

Genre: Rhyme, Life

Disgrace
by Jasmine Fredericks

Hell-o world,
It’s such a wonderful place.

And just in case, I’ll reiterate
This world of mine is not a disgrace.

It’s such a wonderful place.

It’s filled with bombs,
Yet we sit watching our sitcoms,

We allow ourselves to be brainwashed
Let the pain wash away.

We watch families screaming for help through our screens,
We switch the channel because it becomes too hard to breathe.

Just in case, I’ll reiterate
This world of mine is not a disgrace.

It’s such a wonderful place,

Children orphaned and fighting at war,
Yet we will restore our walls and keep ourselves safe.

We spread our love against hate,
In order to deflate their destruction.

Signs say ‘Under-construction’,
And we say we are alright and over look the repercussions.

Just in case, I’ll reiterate
This world of mine is not a disgrace.

It’s such a wonderful place,

Just in case, I’ll reiterate
This world of mine is such a disgrace.

We destroy our own human race,
We try to retrace our steps and find
We’ve been left behind.

Just in case, I’ll reiterate
This world of mine is such a disgrace.
 

 

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
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Loving Our Blue Earth, Poetry by Betsy Brandt

Love spoke and made our blue earth, not to be the center of the universe, but its muse,

Love spoke and made our blue earth the third rock from the sun, Terra, solid, drifting, with vibrant, exploding life,

Genre: Life, Society, Love

Loving Our Blue Earth
By Betsy Brandt

Love spoke and made our blue earth, not to be the center of the universe, but its muse,

Love spoke and made our blue earth the third rock from the sun, Terra, solid, drifting, with vibrant, exploding life,

Love spoke and made the third rock spin and circle around the sun, with a tilt Terra spins, making seasons abound, arrays of colors bursting,

Love spoke and made Luna, dazzling sister to our blue earth, tugging, teasing our waters, one declared we’d often visit, just because,

Love spoke and made our sun, stunningly rise and fall peacefully for our blue earth, but no, Love gently spins and turns Terra to the East each day,

Love spoke and made our sun, Helios, our brightest Hero Star, one we could ever follow, never floating away, like Love itself,

Love spoke and made our Star give our blue earth, light, life, our sight, warmth- just right, boundless energy, gratefully received,

Love spoke and made our blue earth ride in the Galaxy of Milky Way, majestic spiral,
glowing band, heavenly teeming of kinship,

Love spoke and made Love to be written in the Sky, never alone, designed, evolving,
sustained harmony, loving our blue earth, gracefully conceived for Love.

 

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ROOTS, Poetry by Malika Cholwe

I’m in my element ,
I’m free,
But I’m still bound
I hold the true knowledge and the foundation,
yet my glory doesn’t boast,

Genre: Life, Society

Roots
by Malika Cholwe

I’m in my element ,
I’m free,
But I’m still bound
I hold the true knowledge and the foundation,
yet my glory doesn’t boast,
I stem the very thing that creates a being,
I run deep,
but every single moment of the day I am passed by,
no one notices me.

I contain facts, hidden secrets ,
beauty ,
but never do I compete ,
for I am unique ,
unique in a way that not even my successor knows.
I am a root ,
I am roots .

 

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Endless Tragedy, Poetry by Madathil Rajendran Nair

There was a grand-father tamarind tree
In front of my ancestral home
Pointing a bare finger into the sky

In the grey of monsoon drizzle
Early in the morning
A brooding crow which had a hole in one of its wings
Used to perch on it

Genre:  Life

Endless Tragedy
by Madathil Rajendran Nair

There was a grand-father tamarind tree
In front of my ancestral home
Pointing a bare finger into the sky

In the grey of monsoon drizzle
Early in the morning
A brooding crow which had a hole in one of its wings
Used to perch on it

That was my pre-teen childhood
When I had two aunts
With two cows – one white and the other grey
Whose calves were my constant companions
As I wandered in surrounding woods
Watching birds laboring at their nests

We had kerosene lamps then
Under which I used to mug up lessons
When I looked askance at the sky
The orange Arcturus
Winked at me from Bootes
Leaves giggled in the wind

My dad took his pompous strolls
In the sprawling courtyard
Watching if I misbehaved
As mom garnished
Chutney for breakfast
Spreading dosas on the pan

Those were beautiful days
Which I took for granted
Would ever remain
Unchanged through to endless time

But, alas, as time sped
As I witnessed my body change
Through teenage to adulthood
Each of the things I loved
Vanished one after another

Mom and dad were washed away
In the tides of time
So were the aunts
Someone axed the tamarind tree
The crow made homeless perished
The cows and calves too disappeared
Into the hungry bowels of abattoirs

The house was sold
New ones displaced the woods
As I fled to distant lands
A wandering nestless bird
Ever on restless wings

Aging all the time
Into an insipid mass
Of failing musculature
Through pain and fatigue
Into the grey and wrinkles
Of a geriatric mess

When the wick of knowing fades
In slumber’s chamber every night
The mess does wonder
What is it that has remained
Unchanged watching the river of time
Displace the known with unknown things
Wash a body into bones and skin

Yet, the mess languishes in mess
Never ever able to accept
That it really is the witness
The changeless awareness
That remains ever untouched
Lo, my tragedy is thus abetted

 

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
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The scent and sound of your beautiful soul, Poetry by Gordana Frgačić

Today
I was woken up
By the scent
Of your soul

Genre: Romance, Relationship, Love

The scent and sound of your beautiful soul
by Gordana Frgačić

 

Today
I was woken up
By the scent
Of your soul
You weren’t even near me
But I inhaled you
Through every pore
Of my skin
I floated
For a while
On the soft layers
Of your beautiful soul
Suddenly
I smiled
And I knew
Your soul just started to sing

 

 

 

 

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DUST PILES, Poetry by Monique Haden

Sometimes we hold things in silence because

we have no clue where else to keep them.

Push and push with all my might to shove these

things deep inside my memory to form dust piles.

Let the edges tatter; set flame to it all. Feed the

fire, hear the crackles; watch the smoke signals.

Genre: Life, Society

DUST PILES
by Monique Haden

Sometimes we hold things in silence because

we have no clue where else to keep them.

Push and push with all my might to shove these

things deep inside my memory to form dust piles.

Let the edges tatter; set flame to it all. Feed the

fire, hear the crackles; watch the smoke signals.

Watch fragments align and form tiny goodbyes to past hurts.

 

We twist memories making them realities when similarities are far and few.

I applaud my memory for its picky choosing to

hang onto some clips so vividly and turning some

such ashy shades of black and grey it’s hard to make out anything worth something.

 

It plays tricks on me making bigger deals

out of things that should be forgotten…

pulling bed sheets over my eyelids, heavily

blanketed slumbers bring flashbacks.

 

Oh, the vivid artistry of this complex mind: why

must you hang onto things worth trashing and

forget all the tiny threads that bound you together

each time you broke? Makin’ friends with the dust

piles, seeking comfort in the messes. Trying to

keep your fists clenched. Keeping palms clean

through the madness just so when it’s time to

interlock grips with someone you love, your pain

doesn’t stain their fingerprints…

 

I wanna learn to get my hands dirty if it means letting go.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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