new poetry – Page 15 – POETRY FESTIVAL. Submit to site for FREE. Submit for actor performance. Submit poem to be made into film.

Affection Affair, by Unforgiven

It touches me to feel it
Touches me to feel the love
Offered for free
By people who understand its meaning
Is pretence worth it?
No?
You don’t want to be loved?
Yes?
Disgrace to you that extinguish
The sparks that light up someone’s heart
You that shatter dreams
You that end lives
You that make up excuses
Not to be with some one that loves you
Why?
Because you didn’t feel like it?
Because they didn’t have money?
Because they didn’t have the height?
Because it didn’t satisfy you?
Because you were afraid of being dumped?
These insecurities make up lust
Lust for other human beings.
Lust for people who will end up
Hurting the heart you dearly protect
And leave you desperate
You will end up giving advice to
The ones
In the budding stages of TRUE LOVE
Who value its worth.

https://poeticdose.home.blog/

CLAP, by Darell J Philip

Windows opened
Mum and I screaming at the top of our…
You know, that organ which
Mr Corona makes the point of his attack
Our voices in unison with the carnival of faces
Hand clapping together among our block
For those brave front liners
Robed in white and blue
Their lives risking for Queen and Country
For me and you

A sign in a window reads
Hang in there Hackney
Locked down, stuck in isolation
Longing to be free
Hooting and beeping cars drive by
An outpouring of love filling the illuminous sky
Dethroning Mr Corona from his royal seat
His nasty legacy we will surely defeat

An unusual crescendo took place that night
The community together an awesome sight
It was to everyone’s most absolute delight
To see Mr Corona given a most chilling fright
For all the lives he’s cruelly taken away
For all those families we kneel and pray
Our frontline heroes – relics of the past
For you we clap knowing this too shall past

The morning after the night before
A bright smile beams across the sky
As a reminder of that glorious day soon to come
When from this earth with angel’s wings
We take off and fly.

SOLAR PROBE, by Muhammad Zaheer

Thy Corona Heat can render and ignite
Yonder placed;
Carbon-Carbon-Composite sheath
And every cocoon placed at yon
Farther at Six n two million
O’Helios!

To Subdue the Sun; in this fun
One should not spun.
I do importune and the rest must learn
What we require is nothing!
But a real
Refractory.

My NASA dons!
Don’t be forlorn.
Do act upon my humble song.
I keep the all we need at all
Come and take that metallum mine!
That is to say, my heart along!

Ben-Hur: From Here to Eternity, by Lampropoulou Athanasia

Cleft in twain now looking for my M(ark)
launching of my Odyssey but there awaits the narc!
“Be a goodfella now,” he said
“not a raging bull” in a titanic set.
Lost in translation and bearing my se7en sins
I’ve been searching for my dolce vita ever since.
Being a pariah among parasites
I now count 12 years a slave in wuthering heights.
And although I try hard to be the artist that they seek,
I only get identified with Zorba the Greek.
Pan’s labyrinth lies ahead
But I’ve got the gladiator with me my friend.
Stepping upon a shape of water
A desert flower emerged.
“Be braveheart my dear when you get discharged.”
The best years of our lives are yet to come
but I only long for the silence of the lamb.
The sting is deeply rooted in the skin I live in,
The English patient they call me, the nonliving.
I once heard that one flew over the cuckoo’s nest
but he was left all stranded in the west;
not even a streetcar named desire to save his soul
just the right scapegoat to pigeonhole.
So there he was, commissioned to kill a mockingbird
a walking carmagnole with no safe bet.
He tossed three coins in the fountain-his ex machina appeared.
“Will you help me my fair lady?” he said afeared.
“This west side story is your destiny
but beware on the waterfront of the upcoming mutiny!”
The Occident is no place for a godfather.
He will rise, he will thrive, he will fall-like any other.
His empire – gone with the wind now
looking for his Gigi, his eternal vow.

eyes on you, by Brooke Nind

trying to fly under the radar doesn’t work out
when you can’t squeak by without a squeak
you feel invisible most of the time, yet you
draw the most attention to yourself with these
little, insignificant movements of your body

the squeaking of a chair in class as you shift your
weight from one side to the other, or try to sit up
straighter; it brings eyes to your blushing face
that no one’s looked up at in a while

we’re not always noticed for the things we’re
proud of, but we’re often noticed for what we’re
embarrassed of. however, there’s also these
little in-betweens- you’re just living and breathing,
and you’re noticed. isn’t that comforting?

Genres: inspirational, hope, society

link: https://myhighschooladventures.travel.blog/2020/03/14/eyes-on-you-poem-by-me/

Read Poem: The Journey, by Sneha Bhatt

Nothing in this world you own,
Not even your flesh or bone.
What can you give when you are unknown?
The journey you take is always alone.

Why then are we loitering here?
Why then do we have companions dear?
Why even commence this expedition at all?
When the periphery wall stands always tall.

This voyage is to assimilate experiences rich,
To accumulate them for next journey switch.
Bestow empathy, love, compassion, featherlight your soul,
For that’s the only way for the next better journey to enroll.

– sneha bhatt

Read Poem: THE CHANT OF A DIGGING ROYAL, by Sarra Culleno

My spade knocks against rock while gardening,
a speck of promise from a surface scratch.
More than a stone; composed, profound, sparkling,
it could be dislodged using skills I match.
It gleams, it glitters tantilisingly,
requiring little attention from me,
with my small fingers deft enough to claw,
my nails just long enough to loosen more.
I imagine it now mounted in gold,
over my larynx and under my jaw,
to give my voice credence when I get old.

Blast booming din kills.
Cacophony shakes.
The earth’s core unstills.
Gravel and clay takes
my treasure. Earthquake’s
violent vibration
ends aspiration.

—-
Sarra

London born and Manchester based, Sarra Culleno is a poet, mother of two and English teacher who performs at poetry events across the UK. She writes about children’s rights, motherhood, identity, gender, age, technology, the environment, politics, modern monogamy and education. Sarra is widely published. She features in many podcasts and radio shows, and was longlisted for the Cinnamon Press Pamphlet Prize. Sarra co-hosts Write Out Loud at Waterside Arts, and has performed as guest poet at numerous literary festivals.

@sarracullenopoetry – Instagram

@sarra1978 – Twitter

Sarra1978@hotmail.com – Email

facebook.com/sarracullenopoetry – FaceBook

Read Poem: Commence!, by Kohava Ray

Slowly our Spring creeps forward, cautiously approaching;
Ancient joy embraces us!

Reborn is not only for them, we share their body
Tree put forth rootlets, patiently grounding;

All life tests and savors all kinds of weather,
The dark nights still clasp them tightly, yet still they never forget to restart the day;

Green is the color of Go!
We say, why not?

Read Poem: Until We Meet Again, by Yurasil Canaan

I can recognize his voice now.
He left his odor on me. I still feel his hands caressing my body.
His soft lips pressed against mine.
Talking to him calms me.
He has managed to do the one thing no one has ever done, he makes me feel safe.
I can spend hours laying on his chest, I’ll never get tired of that.
His brown eyes and stupid smile gets me every time.
I love it when his strong dark skinned arms hug me.
His arms are covered with tattoos.
Tattoos that tell the pain he has been through.
I can stare at them for hours, like reading my favorite book.
We spend hours talking and I hate talking to people.
He gives me the confidence I need.
But I stay away, I can’t let us get too close and yet we are.
We are not afraid of each other.
It scares me that he is everything I ever wanted.

Read Poem by Bryce Kapono Smith

I had thought I’d be dead by now.

That’s been hard to get used to.
Now, don’t tempt me with a good time
Lost enough relishing in this missed-pain you scratched on my back
Because this isn’t like before, with a beginning, middle, and end.
It’s perpetually the middle now.
But to miss something is never to have had it in the first place
So I’m feeling lucky now I guess
Like when you bend down to tie your shoe just before hearing gunshots across the street.
Yet there are those memories, you know, that you have to scream out loud to get away from.
Since as much that’s given is as much taken
There are no excuses or any amount of apologizing to recover time given, taken, or wasted.
And though time and space is the brand of belt I wear around my pants
I’m still sorry.
No motives, just mistakes.