Fiddler’s Neck, Poetry by Stacey Lynn Patterson

Genre: Life, Society
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Took the boat out
Rowed all the way to Fiddler’s Neck Island
What draws me there is
The overwhelming need to purge my soul

Nothingness drags behind me
Like waited down corpse
Weighing down the seedlings of hope
It never tires and clings to me
As if it were the skin I wear
Despair wraps around me like a cloak

As the shore comes into view
The wind whispers through my hair
A polyphonic tune glides
Over every one of my nerve endings
Chilling my core to subzero
Something here at Fiddler’s Neck knows
The heart of this troubled visitor

Isolated in a veil of quite
Feelers probe my subconscious
Causing tears and goosebumps
To speed to the surface
Falling to my knee I begin to sob
And with every spasm of tears
A tiny piece of my soul is pardoned
From the prison of despair

I feel the soothing embrace
Of that thing that lives here
On Fiddler’s Neck
Unseen but always felt

It tears away the clinging nothingness
That is burdening me
With every tear, I feel renewed

By nightfall, I have wondered
Through acres of Fiddler’s Neck
And find myself back at my boat
I am healed
Time to live again

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 Mr. Façade, Poetry by Esther Oyebode

Genre: Relationship

eyes wide; tears streaming,
the slap across my face,
awake me from dreams and fantasy,
to hear the reject clearly.

the fist in my stomach
remind me of former regrets.
the leg against my neck
shouts game over,
tearing my pride apart,
killing me till I really died.

how did I fall for the hug
that seemed to scream
of how I can be cherished;
or the smile that held my gaze.

Heaven’s apple got me enticed,
even Eve in the garden had no choice.
I was mesmerized by his beauty.
my body fitting every inch
got me believing I was right
with choices made.

only five nights before
his eyes spoke the words aloud
I want you
the handshake screamed
can I know you more?
his approach spat
let me take you to a place
his voice whispered
I want you forever.

 

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I am love’s fool, Poetry by Aleck Miranda

Genre: Love

 I am love’s fool
Under the spell of those piercing eyes
Memories that replay moments
Conversations that wouldn’t die

Those hands that are still on mine
Long after you have gone
And that kiss that lingered behind
Days – nay – weeks, after it was done

Then the silence that followed
Knowing not what went wrong
The moments seemed perfect
Until I felt I didn’t belong

I’ve always been a stranger
To the world you hold dear
A world that you built
Out of angst and your own tears

You live in a place
Where there is love for another
Who’s broken your heart
And will never be your lover

And here I am
Cast to the side
Bared my own love
Now buried alive

I’ve hidden it deep
Yet it stirs when it sees you
It tries to remind me
Of what once was true

I am love’s fool
For I could not forget
How your lips felt on mine
Every thought with regret
ReplyReply AllForwardEdit as new

 

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The Second Cup, Poetry by Michael Westcombe

Genre: #Family, #Kids, #Life, #Love & #Relationships.

 —

 How sweet this brew, unsugared, blended tea,
Infused with my love for you, and yours for me!
So blessed, from rich estates, and Darjeeling,
Expressing so much of us, our mutual feeling.

And as the pungent liquor slowly pours,
I reflect on this love of mine, and of yours.
Our children, like the issue from the spout
Are sometimes here, but much more often, out.

So much survived, and much more shared
Leaves both of us with nerve ends bared;
And this, the gentle ritual of brewing tea,
Provides for me, an essential sheltering lea:

Because your welcome presence lifts me up,
I always pour for you, the second cup!

 

 

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In Memory of 2016, Poetry by Felicia L. Smith

Genre: TRAGEDIES


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The Rose, Poetry by psizan

 Genre: Hurt, Love

“Once you give me a rose
A red rose,
What has many thorns
I am holding it, still
Even though you’re gone.
Though it’s bleeding
Still, I am holding.

You promised me
You will never leave me alone,
But you are gone
The promise is broken,
Still, I am holding
My heart is bleeding,
Still, I am breathing
Odorous of the rose.
The red rose,
Though the rose is no more red
It’s covered with a black shade,
Still, I am holding it
Though you called it dead.

Though it hurts
I am holding it, still
Who cares,
I have no fears
I know my eyes is full of tears
But I am laughing.

I am holding it, still
I will hold it forever
As love dies never.”

Here’s my official blog: https://psizan.wordpress.com

 

 

 

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DEATH BOUTIQUE, Poetry by Lionel Walfish

 Genre: Comical Farce
—-

Stepping on the lower stones that led to hallways bare, the master of the shop appeared, and beckoned to a chair. “We’ve got a great array to choose from sir”, he flipped a tiny switch. “There are those outside, who think that this is only for the rich.” The room went dark, a screen lit up, and he began to ‘pitch’. “The Pyramids look good to-day. Locked in a tomb is a very fine way! The Tour Eiffel, a man once fell, his skull did crack on landing. On the bateaux Mouche, a gentle push, saw Madam’s lungs expanding.” “Niagara Falls, on a gray windy day, a little raft will do ya . Row to the ledge, just over the edge, while singing Hallelujah. From The Empire State, observation is great, and we’ll ship you over for free. You go to the top, pass the sign that says ‘stop’, and over you go, one, two, three. In India, there is a hall, The Tajmah, and it’s very tall. We’ll bring you to the highest tower, and you’ll be gone within the hour. In London town, you know the bridge; it runs across the Thames. We’ll hold you down, I’m sure you’ll drown, ensnared in lily stems. We’ll take you to the northern wilds, a place you’ve dreamed of as a child. And just to show you that we care, you’ll be eaten by a polar bear. A small deposit, right now will do. No fuss, no muss, we’ll see it through. Ten thousand Francs, right now will do. A special price, and just for you ! ”

 

 

 

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A jumbled up mess, Poetry by Krystle Nicole Martin

 Genre: Life

I haven’t written much in a long while and since it’s almost the new year I figured I would try something for a bit.

I’m scared.
I don’t know what tomorrow will hold.
I’m not even sure if there will even be a tomorrow.
I don’t want my hard work to lead me nowhere.
I don’t think I thought this through.

I’m a jumbled up mess.
I’m either here nor there.
I’m a wandering soul.

My feet stay planted.
My eyes have wandered what could lie in the horizon.
My mind races.
My body is numb.

Is this what faith is like?
Is this the way it’s supposed to feel?
Is this what trust is like?
Is this the way I’m supposed to go?

I can’t write eloquently.
I can’t write to save my life.
I can’t write to understand.

Where am I going?
Where is my resting place?

I know, I’ll go Home.

 

 

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DREAM, Poetry by Mary Freericks

Genre: Family

 Does sleeping
in a teen agers bed
turn me young again

peachy,
juicy
electric?

The Eiffel Tower grows
from its base
into a monument.

A metal ring tree
leans towards
the window.

And a chandelier
flat on the wall
hangs from air.

One photo of a poppy
larger than life
unfurls its petals.

I rest my head on her soft pillow
my body under her lavender quilt
What dreams will I weave?

Granddaughter, you are off at
college and I am in your bed in your home
as you stretch into life.

Discover the world.
your Indian roommate
your Chines suite mate.

As you lift your new window
I so comfortable in your bed
your miniature poodle snug at my side

relive my hipster days.
See through a translucent veil
your rainbow world

love trembling on roaring seas.
balancing on a pyramid
as hands give way.

 

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Gestures, Poetry by Tuoyo Palmer

Genre: Sensual

 
A tarry bright smile
Whispers of soothing sounds
Tantalizing spices of seasoned aroma
Fragrances which evokes the upliftment of an unconscious soul
Beauty in it’s modest nature
Life unwraps as it flips into series of previewing pages
Flashbacks of captions that entreats the mind
Distorted emotions creates a wavering countenance
Tales of trials
In pills and in portions
It disintegrates every story into pieces of treasured gold
Laying up bounties for a mysterious quest
 

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