Category: new poetry

Sing Anew, O Freedom, Poetry by Jonathan Baltzly

O, hark! Let Freedom sing

Of times anew, times to be

Of days forgotten, days lost

O, see her embark, taking wing

Genre: Rhyme, Political, People, Society

Sing Anew, O Freedom
by Jonathan Baltzly

O, hark! Let Freedom sing

Of times anew, times to be

Of days forgotten, days lost

O, see her embark, taking wing

Flying upon all that lives

“Joy!” She exclaims!

Dark clouds near, now disappear

Light shines in heaven

Let the earth be illuminated!

Freedom and Justice, her friend

Liberty her companion

And more gather in the skies

To sing a new, yet familiar tune.

She is not satisfied,

For Mankind has abandoned Truth,

Her closest confidant.

O, hark! She sheds tears as diamonds.

Joy continues to be silent to her cry

Happiness left the land long ago,

But has promised to return.

“O, Love! You abound in hearts and minds

Perhaps Hope will heal Mankind.”

She sighs again, with Liberty at her side

Patience shows her face;

She is followed by Grace,

And finally Strength,

The legend that trampled Evil to its grave.

Strength lifted up her voice

“O, hark! Today is the day!

Let us join once more

We may face War,

We will serve with Honor,

We will uphold Peace,

And Joy will follow in our wake.”

Freedom stood, looking to the North

“Verily, Strength has proclaimed

And lamented words heard before,

From the voice of Truth itself.”

Thus was the resurrection of Truth,

And it came forth

From the heights and depths

To reclaim its rightful place.

 

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Anxiety, Poetry by Shellie Palmer

Every breath I ever take those moments my hands
tremble and shake. I can’t control it, want to lose it all, then
reminded of my faith. The Lord steers the way.
I will never control my inner self, it just
doesn’t work that way. Anxiety, what’s it all about anyway?

Genre: Mental Health, Anxiety, Depression, People

Anxiety  by Shellie Palmer

Every breath I ever take those moments my hands
tremble and shake. I can’t control it, want to lose it all, then
reminded of my faith. The Lord steers the way.
I will never control my inner self, it just
doesn’t work that way. Anxiety, what’s it all about anyway? It’s a
normal kind of life. I have my happy place and along the way there
is grace. I get the poor pitiful you, nope!, not with me I’m better
off independently free. Anxiety won’t ever take hold of me. I’m gonna
have those day with a cloud over my head. I push it far far away the
light is just up ahead. Anxiety, don’t let it be. It’s nothing more than
uncontrolled feelings. In my heart I see nothing less the Lord gave
me a voice to be there. Together we’ll stand strong, we will just be.
We know what it’s like to have anxiety.
@7:21 pm
Tuesday, Jan. 26,2016

 

 

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GARDEN, Poetry by Nadya Raymond

There are dead flowers in my garden

Red ones

Brown ones

Yellow ones

Blue ones

Rotting, stems riddled with decaying passion lit in a parable of blackness nestles under clots of angelic guilt as sweet occultation-s seep through anxiety pulsating in a distant reflection of youth almost kissed by innocence embrace touching tones of tomb-ed incubust-ed bubbles of illusions

Genre: Life, Society

GARDEN by Nadya Raymond

There are dead flowers in my garden

Red ones

Brown ones

Yellow ones

Blue ones

Rotting, stems riddled with decaying passion lit in a parable of blackness nestles under clots of angelic guilt as sweet occultation-s seep through anxiety pulsating in a distant reflection of youth almost kissed by innocence embrace touching tones of tomb-ed  incubust-ed bubbles of illusions

 

There are dead flowers in my garden

Red ones

Brown ones

Yellow ones

Blue ones

Stoic, blushed in beauty entangles in amiss of darkened veils eclipsing under intense incensed lust frolicking in deep mid-night spasms wonders unto empty streets matted in cobble stone and tar

Nails bright pink, crooked like talons

Hair wrapped in mud like mesh

Lips, soft and sweet dripping like blood spewing into veins parched from centuries of slumbered a-comma-ed dreams

 

There are dead flowers in my garden

Red ones

Brown ones

Yellow ones

Blue ones

Stagnant, a dull moon pines to breathe sets in the distance over a quiet quaint quilted town on the edge exasperation cooling in the frost of solidarity straggles strolling through an unfamiliar jungle of mirrored images seeking companions hacking up raw avant-garde-ed wit

 

There are dead flowers in my garden

Red ones

Brown ones

Yellow ones

Blue ones

Benumbed in hunger, a town lives on the brink of amnesia craving for the thirst of salvation from a distilled lineage of distant lands reigning in terror over a masterpiece painted by phantoms children basking in the freakish enchantment desperately singed in sweet agony and glass masquerading in an orgy of congressional delusions

Wake up

 

There are dead flowers in my garden

Red ones

Brown ones

Yellow ones

Blue ones

Peerless, lifeless dreams creep through window panes in ashes as beads of sweat shimmer under such on intriguingly magnetic light flickering scents of sugared vanilla laced in leather and petty coats abstracted  in realms of eternal holocaust-ed fate convolut-ing in gardens whispering murmurs of secrets under banyan trees

Shhhh

There are dead flowers in my garden

Close your eyes now

 

Wrecked life in the glow of years that winds through mites of truth, Poetry by Mimmie Dana

Chaos was born under a dark shadow
falls without a safety net down in the abyss
falls for the unfinished task faced by an invisible force of wisdom
choosing the wrong over again
wish to find the meaning
chaos never cries out loud
simply swallows anger harshly

Genre: Life

Wrecked life in the glow of years that winds through mites of truth 

by Mimmie Dana

Chaos was born under a dark shadow
falls without a safety net down in the abyss
falls for the unfinished task faced by an invisible force of wisdom
choosing the wrong over again
wish to find the meaning
chaos never cries out loud
simply swallows anger harshly
without security the fake lackeys are revealed who presumes to ridicule the already mocked soul
misleading direction makes earnings rise up
inventing an impossible way to gain self-respect
complete fall heals wounds
blowing for the years of deception
the cold shower of disclosure vortices up an image of another who wants to love themselves completely whole again
shouting
love me whole
love me more
despite all the wrongs. 

 

 

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Love, Poetry by Bryan Chan

Do you have morphine?

Cause it hurts just looking at…

Nevermind that

Those lines fall flat

From the actual words

Which one contemplates

When one is inert

Genre: Rhyme, Love, Relationship

Love by Bryan Chan

 

Do you have morphine?

Cause it hurts just looking at…

 

Nevermind that

Those lines fall flat

From the actual words

Which one contemplates

When one is inert

To react

In the presence of the proverbial angel

Flawless at every angle

Even the proverbial cripple

Would undeniably be able

To “proverbially” stand for that

 

A wit as sharp

As the shiniest harp

That has played at my heartstrings

Mozart and Bach

Unfamiliar to my ears

But all so distinguishable

By the fragmented soul

Which attains this heart

This is me

This is he

In love at the seams

It shows  in his ability

To abuse his mind

To speak of words

That never exist

In the presence of the girl

As “extrasimpobashalant”

Than his mind can conjure

When in a situation

Such as this

Or in every other time

He thinks of her kiss

 

Skin of moonlight

Eyes of starlight

Born of twilight

That’s what she is,light!

Photons of an infinite spectrum

Indefinable by refraction

As every angle is

Critical

To every fibre of my being

 

I fall into folly

Clair de lune?

Not even close,Debussy

Mona Lisa?

Who is she,Davinci?

When compared to the beauty

A portrait which flows

In the crevice of my mind

To the centre of my soul

 

She moves in beauty

As natural as Gaia

The foundations which makes her

An ever lasting fire

Of hope

In a world

With no tomorrow

She is my beacon

My bacon

My sunny side ups

The simple happiness

When I wake up

Each morning

I am the jester

I am the fool

She is the murals I look upon to

At the chapel of sixtus

A few feet away

Yet unable to grasp

Yet i grasp it’s beauty in full detail

How can this be?

How is this real?

 

So here I am

A feet away

A meter from your existence

A mere milimeter in distance

Of space

But I am a light-year away from the red

Numb

Dumb

Glum

Drying in the sun

Like Patrick and the sponge

When you are the lamp

 

How can the one thing that gives me life take it from me? That is she.

 

 

 

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Whatever next?, Poetry by Alex Cottle

A seed

May find it’s way

among the soil.

Let it stay, let it grow…

or land they will, the flock of crows.

Genres: Dystopia, relationship, free will and love.

Whatever next? by Alex Cottle

A seed

 

May find it’s way

 

among the soil.

 

Let it stay, let it grow…

 

or land they will, the flock of crows.

 

Either way, it may die.

 

Maybe a butterfly’s wing beat will cause it’s ruin.

 

Perhaps it endures. Whatever next?

 

Shall we stand here, questioning, perplexed?

 

It will grow, taking up precious space.

 

Space that could more than easily be replaced.

 

It is time to decide, is it in our favour?

 

Will it flower? Shall we save her?

 

Or will we uproot it? Call me a traitor.

 

Nature! Nature! Hear my call,

 

please do not stall.

 

Do not make this feeling linger.

 

For is that not why you gave us minds?

 

What use is the mind, when we have conscience?

 

The smart decisions are almost always nonsense.

 

We feel bad, sad, clad in blackmail,

 

irons, chains.

 

But the tick is this my friend, my companion.

 

Whatever we determine is already determined.

 

The purpose,

 

of this seed, rooted inside,

 

grants you permission to think you decide.

 

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The Writers Curse, Poetry by Ganzart

The writers curse
Tagging around like a lady’s purse

Set to always sail on the seas of fiction
continuously sipping of self-deception
Alone is the crew on the ship of imagination

Genre: Rhyme, Artist

The Writers Curse by Ganzart

The writers curse
Tagging around like a lady’s purse

Set to always sail on the seas of fiction
continuously sipping of self-deception
Alone is the crew on the ship of imagination

Hands chained by the illusions of his mind
Bound to always fall for the “one of a kind”
Yet in his pocket lies the key to the solution he never finds

In his greatest fear lies his wealth n treasure
The power of his words he still can’t measure
And their inevitable outcomes pain or pleasure

sinking deeply in the beauty of art
If wishes were horses , carved on the walls of his heart .
You can’t help the tearing apart
When the pen and paper have to part.

The sweet seas of fantasy
were all just a mistress
That sour cold reality
Is the jealous wife in he kisses.

The writers curse
Another blessing in disguise
Read between the lines
And look through water aiming for the skies
And find God present in his verse.

The writers curse , impossible to reverse

Ganzart

 

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Marvelous Universe, Poetry by Karina Pinella

The Marvel Universe—

A world full of superheroes and their nemeses.

Earth is not always their place of birth;

Some hail from distant planets.

Genre: Comic Book, Fantasy, Superhero

Marvelous Universe

By Karina Pinella, 1/28/16

 

The Marvel Universe—

A world full of superheroes and their nemeses.

Earth is not always their place of birth;

Some hail from distant planets.

 

The origin of their powers vary, from accidental to intentional.

Most times triggered by a life of drama (or one big trauma).

A turning point that makes them live on edge—

An existence full of violence.

 

Some team up in groups of four, five, six, or more,

Such as Fantastic Four, X-Men, and Avengers.

They save the world that’s always imperiled—

In the Marvel Universe.

 

Thanks, Stan Lee,

For a roster full of beings extraordinaire,

Giving our lives vicarious adventures—

A mix of humor, furor, and lots of color.

 

©2016 Karina Pinella

 

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Don’t Leave Me, Poetry by Arian Fatius

Midnight hour is howling
Chilling wind is swirling
It’s raining outside

I come to your room
As you waiting for me
There you are
Tempting me with your beauty

genre : sex, passion, love, couple
Don’t Leave Me

by Arian Fatius

Midnight hour is howling

Chilling wind is swirling

It’s raining outside

I come to your room

As you waiting for me
There you are

Tempting me with your beauty

When I kissed your forehead

Down to your eyes

There I see a beutiful thing

The way you breath

The way you look at me
Stay here a little more

I want to hug you

Eyes that roam

As my finger wander
Your thoughts linger

And I heard your moan

As I lick your neck

Blow my breath on your erected nipple

As your heart is strobing

While you keep stroking me
You moved your hips so intense

As we caressing  each other

Don’t leave me alone

When the pleasure comes
through the cold night
Let’s stay like this a bit more

 

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Today’s NEW Poets and their Poetry

Read the best of NEW Poetry from about the world:

Read the best of NEW Poetry from about the world:

ASSUMPTIONS, by Denise P. Isaac: https://festivalforpoetry.com/2016/01/29/assumptions-poetry-by-denise-p-isaac/

ALONE, by Anderson Gomes: https://festivalforpoetry.com/2016/01/29/alone-poetry-by-anderson-gomes/

RED WRISTS, by Sanchana Krishnan: https://festivalforpoetry.com/2016/01/29/red-wrists-poetry-by-sanchana-krishnan/

SHACKLES OF LIFE, by Lois Terrans Bradbury: https://festivalforpoetry.com/2016/01/29/shackles-of-life-poetry-by-lois-terrans-bradbury/

DAS NICHTS, by Juan Antonio Garcia: https://festivalforpoetry.com/2016/01/29/das-nichts-poetry-by-juan-antonio-garcia/

COUNTING BRICKS, by Lee Pettengell: https://festivalforpoetry.com/2016/01/30/counting-bricks-poetry-by-lee-pettengell/

THE LENGTH OF A KALPA, Kristen Textor: https://festivalforpoetry.com/2016/01/30/the-length-of-a-kalpa-poetry-by-kirsten-textor/

ODE TO MARY, by Jordan CROMWELL: https://festivalforpoetry.com/2016/01/30/ode-to-mary-poetry-by-jordan-cromwell/

SHORT POETRY, by Vyom Sharma: https://festivalforpoetry.com/2016/01/30/short-poetry-by-vyom-sharma/

DON’T, by Eirini Spyridoula Antoniou: https://festivalforpoetry.com/2016/01/30/dont-poetry-by-eirini-spyridoula-antoniou/

 

 

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