Category: new poetry

Read Poem: Ativan, by David Antrobus

I might well add

lorazepam to this list.

Please. Let me slip, then sleep.

Decades of congregants

arm-linked with benzos, all

gleaming like cumulative

dreams. I wanna hiss and creep

assembled purple, yet

they’re reds and blues and most

refuse to even meet. Summoned

and huddled below the hills.

Aye, I crawled and hurled in

your clawfoot tub.

Your throat is open; I will bring only kindness.

This. Oh, this. You harvest this…

Never forget the blue-scratch scry of the sky.

You ready yet? You marshalled

flocks and stockpiles. Corralled

a mess of ungulates. Oh. You,

woke and vital, primed to

track and keep on following,

ceaselessly fingering me,

blastocysts and humunculi,

enduring, narcotized, eternally

transgressed. Is this

how each and every goatlike story

dreams-undreams, and trips upon its end,

restless, barely dressed, so endlessly

unblessed?

Read Poem: While The Sun Shine On Me – Lawrence Mathebula.

Look now, who’s going home fully
happy
Celebrating life in the place
of a want-to-be?
I am one among the things;
A star, born was the king.
Not about me always;I talked more
on us,
Written most on love, poetry
and Mannaz
Gave to more or less the souls,
Inspiring was the goal:
To reach thy deeper place;
Bring light, to your dark days
An hour, this and next
Sun’s light show us the west
Days coming and unfold
Every morning, every marigold.

Read Poem: Concho-Pharmacology, by Mara Katcher

where are my pearls
that leave a powder behind?

they come in a plastic clam
with seven opening chambers,

I wash them back with a tide of tap water,

so they settle inside my stomach and make me into

a cushiony clam myself
with tablet pearls within

until they dissolve in me
like sand in the ocean.

Read Poem: Self-Assertion, by Gary Beck

The desperate need
to differentiate oneself
from regular citizens
was once done
by wearing a social garment,
zoot suits, pegged pants,
motorcycle jackets,
disheveled jeans.
Social responsibilities changed.
It was no longer sufficient
to dress differently.
Body art, piercing,
gaudy colored hair
became normal,
to allow conformists
to stand out from the herd.

Read Poem: Journeys of Mortals, by Toyin Sebastien Ajimati

We are born eventually knowing that we will die,
Yet that reality brings fear, faith, infatuation and a mystic that is unmatched in our existence,
From scriptures to sacrifice we are godless to what is to some a God requirement of this universe,
Some try to reverse and stop the inevitable,
By shaping themselves with man made plastics and superficial substances or some try by nourishing
themselves with fruits and vegetables,
Each to his own on this journey of mortal life,
That has demonstrated the best and worst in humanity day and night,
Each breath we all take is our possible last,
No matter how much wealth and domination one has he or she cannot bribe or escape the mortal
hourglass,
At times it seems we take that for granted and do not reflect on others we have witnessed pass,
For they have and continue to remind us that we are not greater than this magnificent earth & universe
that surrounds us,
Because simply we are just precious pieces to something greater that we cannot conquer , outlast or
outclass.

Read Poetry: War Cry, by Megan OKeeffe

Don’t open my door if you aren’t going to close it when you leave
Are you listening to me?
I deserve respect no matter my size or shape, just like everyone else
I am not some object to conquer or kill

Are you listening to me?
The Taliban cannot just board my dusty school bus and fire three shots at me
I am not some object to conquer or kill
You, with your rough whiskers, must face the consequences of what you take

The Taliban cannot just board my dusty school bus and fire three shots at me

You are right to fear that I may know too much, that education is serving me right
You, with your rough whiskers, must face the consequences of what you take
I am learning that a woman is worth more than just how much she can please a man

You are right to fear that I may know too much, that education is serving me right
Do your worst, I will still be standing against you at the end of each day
I am learning that a woman is worth more than just how much she can please a man

My name is Malala, your bullets will not silence me

Do your worst, I will still be standing against you at the end of each day
I deserve respect no matter my size or shape, just like everyone else
My name is Malala, your bullets will not silence me
You cannot just close this door after you open it

Read Poetry: The Fall, by Lucy FitzGerald

A cloud of smoke haunted us
until an empty gale blew it away
A susurrus of dead leaves and poison dioxide
I sat silent
benchside
cess
benchside
sycophants
A ménage à trios of social decay
And while I was breathing
Death’s frozen kiss
they cradled their own disgrace
My company
a cigarette
snug between bones
I drift away
taken up by the death shroud
of mixed Autumn and cyanide
Falling

Until
something sweet
something warm
a candle in the pit
We ran to a campus cubicle
where we lined
lines on Lovecraft
Remnants blow away
with autumnal foliage
As my torments ripple
my eyes open.

Read Poetry: Found, by Iddris Nya

Good night!
I dreadfully feared this phrase.
As it reminded me dark was nigh;

All after years of hiding myself in the quicksand of sin.

Ignoring all chances of redemption and sticking to my old grave plan;

“Live, marry and die”

An experience that led me harms way.

Each night was a time to reflect,
On the pictures that came,

Along with memories that drove me insane.

I doubted every bit of myself in the dark;
Mornings were lit with pretence and all thinking;

“He’s indeed a lovely boy”

Filled with wicked pride,
Scratch opening dead scars and turning them into painful and itchy sores was my occupation;

And like the man from Uz I loved this Job.

This story seemed impossible to end;
Until a book was opened, and a pen was picked,

Writing out every piece of word is joy I can’t explain;

I was found,
By a God’s blood;
Too much of these information spoils me;
How?
These questions they ask.
Mobilising my grateful gut to speak;

There’s a certain man,
He came from heaven’s door,
His glorious apparel and being the world couldn’t take,

So they made for him a house with two crossed woods,
They said, “we’ve ended his light”

But he shone the more;
As this man was God’s own son.

Viewing from afar I was called unto an impactful association;

Under the shed of his blood,
Gradually my nightmare turned into history,

My recurring days revealed his glory,
Like the stars in the sky, he unmasked my sadly expressions,
Anointing my head with gladness,
My lips now taste sweet as wine.

I am found,
Ever dwelling in the beauty of his presence,
He changed me from being just an image,
to being his ever lasting essence,

My King, I became
My story, I rewrote.
My place, I found
And in him, my head is crowned.

By: Iddris Nyande

Read Poem: TEARS, by Pallavi Deepchand

Walking through the rain,
I try to forget the pain.
I try to ignore the sting in my eyes,
because I know a strong girl never cries.
I begin to run, run from my fears.
But I am followed by my ever-present tears.
I want to leave these familiar places,
leave behind all of these frequent faces.
But where will I go?
What will I do?
All I know am I had to get far away from you.
But something keeps me here,
crying one last tear.

Read Poem: The Lectern’s Rise: Life Goes Ahead 2, by Lawrence Mathebula

They frown a lot and say, you don’t
belong
But days with them my God here still prolongs;
Each beat the swift pulse in it, fire flies
‘Gainst throngs that wind louder that,
I should die
One happyless, unfortunate human
being
Passed by the best a daily hour fleeting.

Look at myself; his shadow by him is
nigh,
I walk, it’s seen, in heaven above the
skies,
My choiristers known that I’m inspiring
kings.
Pace forth a stallion stride for the living
Need days the next, and thee, should
carry on
Leaving behind, all a heap of years gone
To sleep while here, days unto them I
step
Close to begin; and ending my last lap.