alone in the verdant field
she munches the grass
though there’s no satisfaction there
remembering her last love
even the fresh grass and buttercups
of this warm Spring morning
taste bland, empty, meaningless
why eat to stay alive
when life itself feels like death?
the early day’s breeze
ruffling her woolly coat
she feels a gentle caress
the nuzzle of her true love
the hearty smell of his matted hair
lost in her fantasy
a bolt of ecstasy flashes through her being
shaking her to the core with pleasure
stepping on a pebble in the field
awakens her from this temporary world
once again, she finds herself alone
in the distance, she hears a plaintive “baaaaaa”
it sounds just like him… is it? could it be?!
she’s already in another daydream
Category: new poetry
Read Poem by David P. Carroll
She’s Beautiful.
As I’m looking into
You bright eyes,
Suddenly I’m in love….
With a beautiful woman
From above,
As I close my eyes,
And count to three,
I see us forever in love…
It’s our future I see,
So take my hands
Sweetheart….
As I kiss you softly
And slowly,
A forever trust of friendship
From here and beyond,
Between you and me,
Gazing into your eyes
Touching you softly
Watching the birds
Our favorite song’s
As we watch
The stars sparkle
In the night sky,
I Whisper…..
Your beautiful….
I LOVE YOU….
It’s what I see YOU,
True Beauty
Standing in front of me….
David P Carroll…
Read Poem: WHY I WORRY ABOUT MY UNBORN CHILD, by Roxana Cazan
Because the Oklahoma sky also stretches
Stippled with wind-bruised stars.
Because a Pakistani-American doctor came in
shuffling paperwork and ultrasounds.
Because the ocean dipped
as bodies were being pulled out of water.
Because I wake to feel you squirming,
like a fish drifting in the ocean of my body.
Because I learn of you every day, son,
whom I know nothing about,
while the woman across the street loses hers
to border detention, now coated in forged half-light.
Because of these elections and the last ones,
and the ones in which I wasn’t allowed to vote.
Because your mother is an immigrant
Who saw the iron curtain fall with a bang,
and your father, another immigrant, cannot fit
the word “steak” in his mouth without an accent.
Because it’s still unclear whether you’ll wear
their history of bones caving in,
as if the man you will likely become
can apostrophe the pain of home-county
instead of passing for someone who can
quietly swim in, practice folding this country’s damp
bed sheet like someone who understands,
standing somewhere under a sky stippled with bruised stars.
Read Poem: Who is to be Blamed?, by Robert Hillary
Right from conception, I sensed my destination is in a nation
filled with corruption
Where leaders eat the cake of the nation
Leaving the masses in destitution
Am I to be blamed
I was birthed into this nation with no silver spoon,
I’d to sweep my compound with my hands and no broom
I’d to endure mockery from peers
just because I wore tattered shirts,
Mum and Dad tilled the soil
For my body engines to be fueled
Am I to be blamed?
They call it square meal
but I was fortunate enough to eat ones daily
gulping enough liquid for sustenance
I was subjected to want what I get
I was told Education is the key
but i see educated people living like shits
Yet I strive to get it
I studied for good grades, using all my resources
Now, they say good grades without grace is a zilch,
Am I to be blamed?
I have grown into an adult
but can’t shoulder my own responsibilities,
I walk the streets of lagos
in search of a job,
holding my qualifications
but they keep asking for years of experience
if i don’t get the experience from you,
who is to give it?
Or
They give the job to those with connections not minding the content of their brain
In frustration, I ask myself why I studied hard for good grades
Why didn’t I just devote time to knowing highly ranked men in the society?
Am I to be blamed?
My mates are kilometers ahead
yet they say we all have different time,
why is mine slower?
I make more enemies than friends just because
i refused to be influenced by life illegalities ,
Am i to be blamed?
Now i stand looking down
from the topmost part of this building hoping to put an end to this evil melody
that my legs keep dancing to,
The rhythm has been excruciating
Harder are my feets vibrating
My thoughts have left me except the thought of my poor old mother
Who fries potato at the Junction just to make a living
The same thing she did for years to see me through school
And now I can’t even give her a better life
How will she be when I am gone?
Will she forgive me?
Or will I finally relieve her of the burden of feeding me daily after a hectic walk in search for a
job even after my first degree?
Am i to be blamed?
Read Poem: Confluence of Influence, by Rachel O.
Confluence of Influence
A Legacy of Supremacy
Venue of Violence
Or Actions of Silence?
Noxious Wars of Attrition…
That they call The American Condition.…Now it’s Called “An Active Shooter Positions”
Our Veils of Contrition….
These Deliberate, Malignant, Fruitless Human Cognitions….
A Visual Wontoned Hemorrhaging of Our Youths,
A Mass, Crass, Strife,
A Wanton Destruction of Human Life,
Attenuation amidst Pertinence,
However Leaves The Victim’s Mute…
Massacre’s, Expiry’s, and Quietus….
Yet Uprisings Apparent and Aloof.
Archaic Lenses must be Translucent,
And Pristine,
If the Fraternity of Humanity ever Wishes to Succeed.
This, a Feral Nation’s Decree.
A Call to Action,
or Proclaimed Eradication,
Our Nation’s Darkest Factions.
I beg you……..
A Whispered Plea,
A Knead….
Or A simple Derive…..
In Hopes of Utopian Tranquility,
Cessation’s of Life,
A Plethora, Of Innocent Absentee’s
Some Now, Only the Blind Can See,
Will We? Shall We?
Ever Not Cease to Grieve?……..
Read Poem: My Seraph in Disguise, by Tyler R. Martin
from Bourboncigarettesandsyllables.com
A beauty thought reserved only for nature,
Somehow now resides within your eyes,
How can such magic be earthly normal,
Is it real, or just some clever guise?
I wonder, are you a true mortal woman
Or a Seraph, an angel in disguise?
–Your hair of a goddess, with golden streaks
Falling gently on tan, smooth skin;
I envy it, caressing your neck,
Cascading down your back, touching your chin.
You’re speaking softly, with love in your eyes,
Giving me a glimpse of your gorgeous mind,
Such a serene, tantalizing feeling,
Something of heaven and earth combined.
And with a pitch like some divine instrument,
Yours: a voice that serenades so sweetly,
From a grin like a summer sunrise,
A few notes and I’m enthralled completely.
Because truly, I wouldn’t be surprised
Were you to admit to me tenderly:
You’re not just my love, my prize,
But my Seraph, my angel in plain disguise.
Read Poem: Mr. Blurry, by Katie and Tyler
His name is Mr. Blurry,
He comes and goes as he may please,
Usually he leaves in a hurry,
As quick as the cold winter breeze.
Nails as sharp as knives,
Voice as deep as the ocean,
It is in my head where he thrives,
Threatening me with harmful notion.
Mr. Blurry is always standing in a dark corner of my room,
It is here where he calls home,
It’s so dark where he stands that not even the largest of flowers bloom,
Desperately trying to rid myself of Mr. Blurry, far from my abode I chose to roam.
But he followed me,
He always knows,
Where I will be,
He is behind me, and I am scared he is behind you too.
Read Poem: BLUES, by Sheenam Eliza Kujur
Flipping through the pages of my life,
Felt like walking on a sharp knife;
The more I walked, the more I wished for the walk to end,
A few things in life you can never mend.
Maybe rules are meant to be broken,
Not every individual in life is soft spoken;
Never ever make promises you can’t keep,
You never know, who, because of it would weep.
Often they, who are broken from within,
In later phase of life, develop a tougher skin;
And also they, who hide their emptiness inside,
Keep smiling, when in life, with them you collide.
Problems just keep adding themselves up one by one,
Even though you observe close, visible to you will be none;
Nothing in life is available to you at ease,
For it you are charged, a suitable kind of fees.
Not always can you get what you want,
Not everything you have, can be something which in front of others you can flaunt;
At times, when for a few things you feel the pride,
Might be those, by whom you are denied.
You did your best to get out of the blues,
Must have tried all of your best moves;
But still, the end was a mess,
Now, the next time you decide to put your effort and energy a little less;
Are you shattered from within just like me?
To a distant place, do even you want to flee?
Read Poem: Anatomy of Longing, by Tom Alexander
Anatomy of Longing
Cutting to the heart of all this longing
is it the vicious tongue you wag at me
or the perpetual mystery hanging from your actions
the contradictions of your possible state of mind
I see the hurt, I feel the pain you carry
and sense your urge to be desired by men
the flirt of all you do rings loudly before you
and against my better judgement
I can’t help but come swimming back to your shores
I know you didn’t ask for this
I know you didn’t choose me or this adventure
and yet I brought it to you anyway
and you didn’t quite turn me away
With every scar you try to inflict
or accidentally leave on my skin
I drift away for a moment only
then find myself battling the waves
I can’t help but come swimming back to your shores
And you’re cute, there’s no denying
you spill out in all my favourite places
and know how to smile with a catastrophic magnitude
that tears the hair clean off my scalp
The bile in your belly, the bitch barely-contained
I never knew how much I could love that rage
your misery is contagious
I feel its cells dividing in my bloodstream
I doubt I am the only one you’ve drugged this way
I know you’re not planning to leave your man
but as long as you keep stoking the engine of longing
I can’t help but come swimming back to your shores
I dream about you most nights
and when I’m on the bus
or train, or tube, or walking down the street
or when I’m in bed with somebody else
I dream it’s your body
over which my hands journey
And yet you only reach out a paw for me
when you know I cannot be there
you only say you might want for me
when you know we can’t connect
You’re playing me, humble instrument to your vanity
you keep me hanging on for nothing real
I know all of this so well and yet I gladly hang myself
I can’t help but come swimming back to your shores
Sometimes it seems; maybe you feel more for me than I realise
an ambiguous choice of words and perhaps it could mean more
you say the lovers kissing in the bar, are reminding you of me
I say the denim shirt I wore today was reminding me of you
So who are you anyway and why do I long like this
I feel a sudden shortness of breath
when I look into your eyes
my breathing stops when you catch me looking
There’s something in your history too
I know you’ve got some good hidden in you
beyond the selfish drive you choose to expose
I know there’s something that I could harness
You laugh at my jokes…
no matter how ruthless the punchline
the sharper, the more scathing the better
I can’t help but come swimming back to your shores
I need to catch myself
before I fall much further
slam my pick in the ice
before the precipice
Cutting to the heart of all this longing
I see such complicated shapes emerging
and despite all my better instincts
I can’t help but come swimming back to your shores…
Read Poem: The Nigeria Factor: And It’s In Dependence, by Akinsola Oladayo
A hundred and five years since amalgamation but still play the blame game
In dependence!
Fifty nine years since independence but it seems like retrogression
In dependence!
With absolute decadence in democracy and abuse in the rule of law
In dependence!
Governed by the hiding vices of Neo-colonialism and external influence
In dependence!
Clouded by the guise of gullibility, and corrupted by the decays of corruption
In dependence!
Divided by limitations of religion and tribalism
In dependence!
Clouded by the covers of nepotism and favouritism
In depende
With freedom of speech being silenced by the voice of dictatorship
In dependence!
But we lied, when we cried and said the labour of our heros shall not pass
We disobeyed the call and failed to arise as compatriots when we politically abused the privilege to serve
Our actions betray our words when we claim “one nation bound in freedom”
We lied when we claimed education is the key to success, only to discover a change in lock, when we got the keys
We lied when we claimed youths are the leaders of tomorrow, while we still have old folks lurking after the greed of power
We’ve all betrayed our country
Yes we all have
If we haven’t, tell me the cause of agitation for a Biafran State
Tell me why there’s a lack of address to the periodic man slaughter by killer herdsmen
Tell me why anyone would hate or get scared of this truth i speak and share
Tell me why there’s a national division in the names of Oduduwa Nation, Arewa, Middle Belt and Biafra
Maybe we shouldn’t have ended our anthem with PEACE and UNITY
Maybe there was a country, or should i say there was hope for a country
Perhaps, what we see as INDEPENDENCE is actually In Dependence
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