Category: new poetry

9/11 Attacks, by Janelle Barker

The day began like any other r
The sun rose, scattering to work,
Settling into their day, with a smirk.
8.46am thousands of lives, would change,
North Twin Tower was hit by a plane,
People thought, NO, that’s insane.
News came to those, yes it was true,
Some knew and others didn’t have a clue.
Terror attacks was announced
Disbelief from civilians, on the ground.
9.03am, no, not again
The South Tower was hit, oh Amen.
Survivors running for their lives,
Passing the dead, that, they did dread.
Parts of bodies everywhere,
We had no time, to stop to care.
We had to get out, as fast as we could,
Everyone knew, that was understood.

People jumping from the towers,
Things happened in minutes,
Which seem liked hours.
Flights hijacked, 93,77 and 175
All the passengers, tried their best
To stay alive.
Life that day, was out of control,
When the buildings were demolished
It left, a great big hole.
90 countries, lost loved ones,
Firefighters, military
And police,
are many of the rescue Workers,
that now rest in peace.
Estimated up to 19,000
In the towers upon attack,
So hard to believe
That this maybe fact.
Years later, people still dying,
To the families, related this
Is terrifying.
Exposed toxins from ground zero,
Pregnancy losses, cancers
No one can find answers.
A memorial was made
For all to see,
A reminder of life,
No one would disagree.
Pay your respect, for those we lost,
And say a prayer,
For no extra cost.
This moment in history,
the world will remember,
Let’s come together,
United we stand,
Hand in hand,
Let’s show the world what we can withstand

What is Life?, by Shubhanshu Shrivastava

(shubhanshu004.wordpress.com)

Life is a dream when you think about it,
A gleam of colors, a vision of grey,
With a few moments that smell sweet and nice,
With the occasional taste of bad decay.

Life is a journey as many say,
A tunnel filled with twists and turns,
And the empty caverns that come through it,
Filled with deep visions of your desires in turn.

Life is in friends as many claimed,
And we do not interrupt them for believing thus.
But what about the time when they are maimed, through
Inaction of the same when tragedy occurs?

Life is in work as many believe,
Spending one’s years in tiresome ease,
With no time for anyone else, but alas!
Repenting on their death’s untucked bed, deceased!

Life is a fight for the taste of some,
Bloody and bruised, all days to come,
And though it is somewhat crucial to know,
But a jealous, dubious mind at unease will always show.

Life is in inaction as most exist,
Sustaining silently every slap, burn and shear,
Keeping mum all through, in betwixt; and
Complaining only when no one cares to hear.

What is life, and how to live?
A question that haunts mankind still,
Yet there are answers in a few, that gives,
Books and stories of those, considered greater still.

They say that life is all this, and more,
And one faces all this as mentioned before,
But to be wise is a rare gift,
And rarer is to act on it.
Your conscience knows the rightful path,
It tells you as your innermost thought,
To control your emotions when facing odds,
To act such and let them know how you’re wrought.

Yet do not bend when beaten much,
Even the sharpest sword breaks (upon the anvil) at moments such,
When the hammer starts to believe its mightier still,
Constantly beating and the steel reaches its utmost limit.
Beat back then and let the hammer know,
Slice it in one swift motion, in one throw,
That it is mostly wood – soft and easy to split,
Therefore keep it must itself, within its limits.

But then also do not forget
To love and care for others as well,
For there will always be those who will value you such,
Of what you deserve, of your true worth.
And live your life as you deem it fit to be, but
Absurdly, do not hurt a living thing you see.
Focus on yourself, your personal growth,
Yet keep them close, who matter the most.

For a selfish case loses the kingdom,
And gains just an empty throne.
So tell me what you think of this,
Is this life, to you, what I have shown?

SHE WANTED TO BELIEVE, by Gloria Siamte

I’m amaze how she put a smile or act like nothing ever happened,
Like the sun always shine upon her,
Like her cup runneth over always.
Like her thoughts were always light
And her heart merry.
Then, one day she just disappear,
Into nothingness.
No trace, no clues
And people whispered the big Why…?

Maybe it wasn’t acute,
Maybe it has started since her childhood,
Expressing through different metamorphosis.
Then days and years of struggle to just live.
Maybe her tears finally ran dry,
Her loneliness wasn’t something that can be shared like happiness.
Her heart loaded with grief upon herself.
Maybe she lamented upon herself
Upon her own dead spirit for years.
Maybe she learned how to smile to hide her sufferings
And silence to hide away her scream for help,
To be safe from getting stigmatized.

Her mind find no escape from the tormenting thoughts.
Eating up her soul,
Burying her heart.
Never seem to change a bit even till that fateful day or in future.
She tried her best working hard, burning the midnight oil to find life, to find dreams, to find love.
Every rejections and failures led her back to the very point where it all began.
That darkness will always find way to crawl back in,
Leading her back to it’s world.
Never seem to leave her.
Make her feel like the end seem more peaceful.

Then, she decided to step away.
The sum of all thoughts,
The sum of all fights,
The sum of all shame,
The sum of all tears,
The sum of all fears.
Seem like the cure but she has just pass it on..
“There is light at the end of the tunnel”, they said.
She wanted to believe…

Demoiselle, by James Morgan-Jones

Let’s be direct: Beautiful Demoiselle.
What naming could be apter? In noon-light
a sliver of midnight blue comes spinning
from Hades’ palette, frailly fluttering,
a butterfly blue from the underworld.
Yet not quite: no sheer lepidopteran
makes this skittery, whirligig descent,
achieves in repose such sleek elegance.

He rests like a svelte blue pin, superbly
singular, wings deep-dipped in indigo:
pure concept lodged brilliant in spinel.
Such exquisite difference brings profound
gratification, a joy extinguished
in the homogenised world we fashion.

When I dream I’ll drink some of his lustre,
bask in the resplendence of my colours –
what flagrant beauty then in dynamism,
such glory mirrored in heaven’s dark glass.

Harmony, by Sierra Anastasia

Music bleeds from my gums,
Filling my mouth with bitterly sweet songs.
Albums sizzle on my taste buds while
Lyrics gag me.
My throat swells with melodies
Turning my body into a pool of notes.
Voices nest nuzzled in my ear drums
Swarming harmony in tunes of plenty.

~ Sierra Anastasia

The corona quiet, by Alison Hramiak

So quiet the land –

the lanes, the paths

the leafy glades.

Where in the air

viral shadow evades

surgeon scalpel blades.

Corona cripples cursed confused countries,

Crying out for medicine and medicals.

Rage against a parasite

That Earth itself has sent.

Covid 19 coursing, carousing, carelessly carefree

through the blood of this us –

This dominant species.

Powerless to prevent

As we carelessly collectively collect on corners.

Will we die of ignorance?

Or heedlessness ?

And as smoke rises from the ashes

of what is left of us

like a

mad mocking double helix

of the virus

that claimed

us…

How we will move on?

© Alison Hramiak

23rd March 2020

Home, by Cecilia Morales

I remember the clear blue skies
the chilly rainy days
the cool October winds signalling the end of the school year
the cicadas crying for rain
the butterflies bringing spring on their wings
the ancient green giant watching over us
his warmth barely contained under rocky dark blankets.

I remember the sleepy towns
our hideout in the foggy mountains where I said ‘I love you’ for the first time
and the wild waves we used to ride on the weekends
our skin angry and red and salty and peppered with dark sand.

I dream of many faces
all of them smiling as they pass by
golden brown, kissed by the sun
infinitely patient at my silences, my anger, my disappearing acts.

I hear their laughter as we walk together on dirty sidewalks
passing by tall walls lined with broken glass
and barbwire
pretending to ignore the vague black threats tagged on doors
and the suffocating hand of uncertainty behind the smog
wondering what safety even feels like
wondering which one of us will be next
performing death in the newspapers
under white sheets
because what else is there to feel
other than fear and disgust?

I am haunted by her sunny smile clouded by the plastic bag around her head
by the bullet that stole his eye
by the ghouls that drove her away from home
by the corpse I stumbled upon on my way to the gym
by the crowds cheering wildly at the emperor’s cries for blood
by the deafening hatred making us turn against one another
devouring each other on our way out.

By Cecilia Morales – twitter.com/mulberryink

Originally published at https://notesmetro.substack.com

Feed the Wolf, by Ben Hramiak

Weather is bitter,
sitting on chair, smoking.
Pipe allows small, dull
Embers to be spewed forth.
Tiny specs of dancing light
Hurt my eyes. Wince at them.
Think of spouse, thoughts
turn to her without
clothes. Berate self
inwardly and outwardly.

Frown, chunter, growl.
Grit teeth, teeth turn to fangs.
Don’t question this.
Know what will happen.
Welcome it,
welcome the fur and
claws, the tearing of
my muscles.

Wait in the dark for her,
laugh to myself – a growling cackle
escapes my newly formed maw.
Don’t worry about the mess I made.
Will deal with it later.

Sensory overload: smell
a hundred thousand
different flavours dancing
along the air. Meat, sweat, dust,
old paper from old books, smoke –
the smoke burns my nose,

I wince at it.
Hear her car enter the driveway
like a boulder being
dragged along the ground.
Her key clatters through the lock,
her shoed feet clomp along the carpeted floor.
I grin to no one in particular – frenzy brings with it an invigoration –
and wait in anticipation, claws scraping the arms
of my armchair – leather ripping to reveal the
woollen innards.

The feelings of lust mix
with something… older.
I salivate, my thoughts turn red
for a fleeting moment. She enters the room and gasps.
Tall, business suit, brown hair.
Sensible. Picture her without clothes again,
begin to grin even wider. Brain barely
Forming words, mouth nearly incapable of
Making sounds other than growling.
Everything is red.

I CAN’T BREATHE, by Pendullum

For years you’ve suffocated me with your hatred and malice,
You’ve pinned me down with your racial prejudice,
Dishing out your warped brand of justice,
Forced me to drink from your poisoned chalice,
Now it’s gotten so much that I can’t breathe.

Your injustices keep pressing me down,
You only care that my skin is brown,
All you want to do to me when we cross paths is to go to town,
You get your gun out and burst open my crown,
I guess it doesn’t matter to you that I can’t breathe.

This same shit happened to George Floyd,
I guess his skin colour made his human rights void,
All his dreams and ambitions you guys just foiled,
You see a black man and you immediately get buoyed,
It didn’t matter to you that he couldn’t breathe.

Even without cause, you treat us like criminals,
Time and again, you spill our blood like animals,
We are not safe in the streets, subways or bus terminals,
We get victimized just for being different, for being radicals,
Yet it doesn’t bother you that your hate won’t let me breathe.

Black, white, red – we are all human,
Whether you are educated or a layman,
We are all born of a woman.
So if we are all human,
Then why doesn’t it matter to you that I can’t breathe?

© Pendullum.

I’ll See You Again, by Famela Marie

I’ll see you again when the sun comes out in the morning
like nothing has happened and I wasn’t crying.
I’ll see you again when the rainbow shows up after the rain
as if it is telling me to throw away all the pain.
I’ll see you again when I’m done whispering to the moon
that I will be able to forget you soon.
I’ll see you again when I hear the songs play
and it already means nothing to me.

I’ll see you again when that day comes
and I can see that smile again on my face
and thinking about you doesn’t make my heartbeats race.
I’ll see you again when I see a shooting star
and not wishing to have you in my arms.
I’ll see you again when the evening comes
and I’m not crying at 3 A.M.
I’ll see you again when my heart still remembers you
but never recognizes this feeling I once had for you.