Category: Life

LETTER FROM A SYRIAN CHILD TO HIS MOTHER, Poetry by Valentina Meloni

Mom, you never told me

that you can die even breathing

I believed that to die

it would take a wound,

a crack from which life

Genre: Kids, Life,Death, Family, Fear, War

LETTER FROM A SYRIAN CHILD TO HIS MOTHER
by Valentina Meloni

Mom, you never told me

that you can die even breathing

I believed that to die

it would take a wound,

a crack from which life

could come out along with the blood …

Mom, you never told me

that you can die playing

among the stones and the dust

of the road who saw me run.

You never told me

you’d greeted me from so far away

and that, crying, your soul

would come to claim me.

Mom, you never told me

that you can die breathing in a dream,

that the air can also be a poison.

You told me not

I’d be an angel of glass,

asleep, in a white shroud.

Mom you never told me

the death would make me bright and beautiful

sweeping away the fear of bombs.

Mom … however,

I could not tell you yesterday,

while I was playing with the death

how much I loved you and wanted you well.

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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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Life: A Writer’s Purgatory, Poetry by Lauren Kruczyk

I’ve survived the labyrinth of trial and error,
and have concededly accepted the nomenclature
of a writer in either timid self-proclamation
or through overly proud avail.

Genre: Artist, Rhyme, Life

Life: A Writer’s Purgatory
by Lauren Kruczyk

I’ve survived the labyrinth of trial and error,
and have concededly accepted the nomenclature
of a writer in either timid self-proclamation
or through overly proud avail.

Though the words do not yet slide
off the tongue in quite the way I’d like,
I have,
once or twice,
believed the words to be true.

I stagger, rejection mocking me,
wallowing in self-pity,
as I envision with such banality
the proud smirk of those who believe they possess such talent.

But without this treachery,
one could not be a writer;
the all-encompassing double-edged sword.

It is a rare skill
to strike a sensible balance
between hope and lack of delusion.

Those foolish enough to herald self-righteous decree
and clench tightly to a proud belief
that there is no room for improvement in their work
have already failed.

These fools will “comfort” you‚
that I know for sure.
A special kind of compassion served with a hearty dose of pity and a sprinkle of condescension.

I often wonder what this bliss must feel like;
pouring our souls into the world,
yet never truly at peace.
We crave notoriety; yet live as hermits.
We want to possess humility, yet feel deeply special;
like no one else in the world.

And with that creeps in undeniable tragedy;
the weight of our pain intends to break us.

A catch-22 it is;
our troubles arrive as if they were a magnetic force.
But if backed into a corner,
a writer will forever choose tragedy.
That is our cross to bear.

Yet in the slight moments when we rise to a purer place,
we settle upon the realization
that through every teardrop,
the vast feeling of emptiness
must be worth it after all.

 

 

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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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WHAT OF THE UNKNOWN PATH, Poetry by Maria Parent

What of the unknown path?
That gives you such an ache,
the crossroad you came to…
the step you didn’t take.

Genre: Life, Motivational

WHAT OF THE UNKNOWN PATH
~ By Maria Parent

What of the unknown path?
That gives you such an ache,
the crossroad you came to…
the step you didn’t take.

What of the unknown path?
….a regret ‘til the end?
A secret mystery
that time cannot transcend.

What of the unknown path?
You yearn for when alone…
Lost in your solitude;
Confused and on your own.

What of the unknown path?
That calmly calls you back,
with unfamiliar turns…
deep dark and often black.

What of the unknown path?
Its destination blurred,
its journey never known,
the memories not incurred.

What of the unknown path?
You may not ever know.
Instead just look forward…
as onward you must go.

 

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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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WHIMSICAL PIMP, Poetry by Maria Lopez

When i see him in the morning
Reminds me of an old song,
Sinatra and gipsy kings
And motown
And rock n’ roll.

Genre: Life

WHIMSICAL PIMP by Maria Lopez

When i see him in the morning

Reminds me of an old song,
Sinatra and gipsy kings
And motown
And rock n’ roll.

Strange mixture of a man
I could call him retro freak,
With his broad wing hat
And red shoes,
Off he goes with his rythm stick.

You should see him
Through my eyes…

My neighbourhood is soo boring,
So bloody traditional,
so mass sunday mornings,
So gossip and hypocritical,
So old ladies with their trolleys
And their god blessed doggies.

That im so grateful for his colours,
His raven black hair,
At 70 something
His tight jeans, his big head.

Every morning
As I pass by,
He will sing me a tune
Mixture of flamenco and jazz.
… and he doesnt know it
But he paints me a smile.
For when i am old
As old as this woman will be,
I want to be outrageous

Just like the whimsical pimp.

 

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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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AinmosnInsomniA, Poetry by Obi Martin

Monuments of tired eyes

wall up before my face.

collapsing ranks of sane and civil thought

leave violence in their place.

Genres: #dark #macabre #existence #life #insomnia

AinmosnInsomniA by Obi Martin

 

Monuments of tired eyes

wall up before my face.

collapsing ranks of sane and civil thought

leave violence in their place.

 

Drying wells of bitter peace

keep crying for my gaze

and clamor round my clanking cell

demanding rest from days.

 

My visions red and gray and

seven shades of stricken screaming black.

my thoughts are kiting high and taut

stretched useless on the rack.

 

Why have you forsaken

and whats left for me to say

apart from turning short and faceless purpose

towards the silent withered day.

 

 

 

 

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DOWN BY THE RIVERSIDE, Poetry by Charli Day

Down by the riverside, hides all the white lies

By the muddy bank he stood with bloody hands and ruined suit

Down by the riverside, hides all the white lies

His reflection locked and murky is not the prince in her fairy story

Genre: Rhyme, Society, Life

DOWN BY THE RIVERSIDE by Charli Day

Down by the riverside, hides all the white lies

By the muddy bank he stood with bloody hands and ruined suit

Down by the riverside, hides all the white lies

His reflection locked and murky is not the prince in her fairy story

Down by the riverside, hides all the white lies

For in amongst the weeds and lilies is clasped a ring inscribed forever

Down by the riverside, hides all the white lies

A cotton shirt with a scent like summer is buried in the earth forever

Down by the riverside, hides all the white lies

A strand of blonde so pale and gentle, swallowed by the black forever

Down by the riverside, hides all the white lies

Hands are held in passing water, the crimson slick disperses further

Down by the riverside, hides all the white lies

No reflection, nothing more, just trodden grass by a silent shore

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Murdrum, Poetry by Pym Purnell

The Murdrum law
completed the Norman attack.
Stopping the English
from fighting back.

Genre: Life, Society, Rhyme

Murdrum by Pym Purnell
 
The Murdrum law
completed the Norman attack.
Stopping the English
from fighting back.

Conquest completed
a land occupied.
The English rejected
raped, mutilated, died.

One thousand years on
conquest again.
Erosion of our people
began from within.

Weapons not needed
this invasion is easy.
Racism philosophy
makes natives uneasy.

Racism, equality
a one sided lie.
Take that you English
right in your eye.

 

 

 

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Heredity, Poetry by Grecia Albornoz

You’re the son of wrath
conceived with rage
weakly loved
abandoned
sheltered by pride
raised

Genre: FAMILY, LIFE, PAINFUL, SOCIETY, LEGACY.

Heredity
A poem by Grecia Albornoz

You’re the son of wrath
conceived with rage
weakly loved
abandoned
sheltered by pride
raised
reassured
in a world full of ill conceived people
abandoned
reassured
wanting to repeat cycles.

You’re the daughter of complaisance
conceived with insecurity
life-long abused
you raise mistreated sons
that mistreat
and damaged daughters
that allow for mistreatment.
Your heredity.
© 2016 Grecia Albornoz

 

 

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Words from Emmanuel, Poetry by Emmanuel Griggs

I have a passion for the art of word
And the lines and phrases that my heart beats
Always go unheard
From similes and metaphors
The words that I’m about to give you
Will soon sing higher than any chord

Genre: Life, Rhyme

Words from Emmanuel by Emmanuel Griggs

I have a passion for the art of word
And the lines and phrases that my heart beats
Always go unheard
From similes and metaphors
The words that I’m about to give you
Will soon sing higher than any chord
Please believe what I say
My dreams will become the greatest light of day
And when I speak to you that I am before
For me
It’s just another opened door
When I speak these words it’s the most fulfilling ecstasy
But only because of its lack of complexity

I can’t believe l’ve gotten this far
Keeping prying eyes, concluding
That this little black kid is up to par
These are words for Emmanuel from Emmanuel
Manually breathing
Annually
And
You’ll get what I mean
When you bare the burden of being awake
Emmanuel? I have a question
Do you know what’s at stake
Baring the energy of hate
Smiling at what’s fake
Just standing on stage…speaking
Letting the privileged kids give you a number or rate

Now Emmanuel answer me this
Do you remember?
Do you remember the now deceased girl you kissed
Do you remember? Calling Seattle Sundays bliss
I bet you remember avoiding the name calling and fist
I may sound pissed
But it’s only the hours of sleep I’ve missed
ProMISE
Now Emmanuel breath
Be calm
Read the chapter psalms
Not a Christian?
What?!
Emmanuel shame on you
These problems aren’t little anymore
Like stubbing your toe or getting the flu

Emmanuel
Listen!
You’re your best friend
Breath
Now beginning

You can do this

Now Emmanuel…who are you?
I am but a silhouette of who they see on stage

Speaking words that slumber on my heart awaiting awakening
I am but a name within a sea of names
Drifting upon a tide to a shore I’ll soon call my own
I am but a entertainer who’s audience crave a play on words and comfy tones

I am but a bored cloud on the airwaves
Who will sometimes get a bit of rain here and there
I am but a gazelle among the lions
Watching, running, dodging, the cunning
I am but a dream within the mind
Who can disappear at any given time

I am but a novel with no plot
With an infinite amount of pages
That captures, intrigues, and fascinates my readers
I am but a weak illness with enthusiasm
With an accepted fate yet immune to a cure

I am but a male born into a stereotype and statistic
I’m always sad
But still optimistic
I am but what you see as wrong
I am the melody, lyrics, and notes to your least favorite song

I am but a vowel
That’ll never make an A
Longing to close my I’s
Jumping through O after O
Born to the letter E
Yet
Will always stand tall for U
But I’ll sometimes ask Y
Is it worth it?
Do I deserve this?
Is this a privilege?
Have I earned this?

I am but a flower without a stem
Kissed by the earth
Waving farewell to the sky
I am but an ore among the ingots
Awaiting refinery
I am but a torch in the dark place
Illuminating my surrounding area
I am only Emmanuel

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Not everyone, Poetry by Pyja Jurid (pyxaz)

Not everyone supposed to get married,
Not everyone should have kids,
Not everyone should have high-end fixed pay nine to five job,
Not everyone could’ve travel overseas every holidays,
Not everyone could’ve partying every weekend,
Not everyone could’ve mind everyone’s business,

Genre: Life, Society

 

Not everyone by Pyja Jurid (pyxaz)

Not everyone supposed to get married,
Not everyone should have kids,
Not everyone should have high-end fixed pay nine to five job,
Not everyone could’ve travel overseas every holidays,
Not everyone could’ve partying every weekend,
Not everyone could’ve mind everyone’s business,

Not everyone likes uploading everything on their social media accounts,
Not everyone could’ve make a lot of money and drive fancy cars,
Not everyone could’ve differentiate people based on their statuses,
Not everyone could’ve do everything what everyone is doing and,

Not everyone should get mad and listen to this.

Write your own destiny but respect other’s lives and privacy.

twitter.com/pyxaz

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