Read Poem: Thanks for kind words, by Christopher Hopkins

Night colours, twist their loom
‘round the star white sheer.
All clean, all bright.
‘though eyes are set benighted.

Walking the room, divining for smiles
with those who shared in prayer
who sung a gentle starry hymn
their pale voices thin.

The cherry wood fall with a sense of steer
and the varnish sealed its dreaming grain.
The endurance of the body
is an innocent feign.

We thanked each one for their kind words
sink holes skipped in every line
stumbling with embraced goodbyes
as the breast doesn’t stop it’s giving
the ache of the womb
is the black of the ribbon.

Read Poem: TAINTED LOVE, by Artiz Lee

Your caressing touch

is never too much

with the sweetness of your tongue.

As your fingers crawl upon my skin, feeling you deep within.

Dipped in chocolate,

Rich in gold,

No amount of karats are equivalent

to your worth.

Glazed with elegance,

As your eyes have me mesmerized

As your Opaque beauty

Dazed me as I caress your body rapidly. Sheets tossed like a tornado through Texas.

Everything feels enhanced

Stay with me, give me a chance.

Roadkill feel this aggressive drive,

As I grip those voluptuous thighs,

I realize your ALL woman.

Your love stretches further,

Than any latitude or longitude on this earth.

And your love is forever tainted on my body.

Read Poetry: Corpse Girl, by Dan Weatherer

I’m the pretty little corpse girl,

Won’t you look at me?

Pleasing to the eye,

Cute as can be.

I’m the pretty little corpse girl,

With aspirations of fame.

Well versed in the rules,

Of the modelling game.

I’m the pretty little corpse girl,

Model picture of health.

Presented to your daughter,

As the ideal self.

I’m the pretty little corpse girl,

You all should be like me.

I’m thin, therefore beautiful,

Successful and free.

Of self-doubt and loathing,

Only I’m not.

I’m fragile, I’m barren,

I’m riddled with rot.

I’m dying inside,

Conflicted, confused.

I feel like a product,

Created, abused.

I’m the pretty little corpse girl,

A creature of desire.

Or so you tell me,

I call you a liar.

Only I would if I dared,

Or if myself I knew.

Your voices are many,

And we are the few.

Genre – Dark, Mental Health, Peer Pressure, Teen Life

Poetry Reading: The Fisherman, by Robin McNamara

Performed by Elizabeth Rose Morriss

Get to know the poet:

1) What is the theme of your poem?

Theme: About an old Fisherman making his final fishing trip.

2) What motivated you to write this poem?

Motivation: My father was a fisherman for 40 + years in Ireland living by a fishing village. In summer months I went on the boat with him in my childhood. The poem is a reflection of part of my childhood spent fishing.

3) How long have you been writing poetry?

I dabbled in my early 20s with poetry. Started writing again seriously about 10 years ago.

4) If you could have dinner with one person (dead or alive), who would that be?

The Dali Lama, to see what words of wisdom he can give me. How can I motivate myself to become a better person. To discuss with him his views on modern
society‘s relationship with technology & religion. Basically to be inspired by his presence.

5) What influenced you to submit to have your poetry performed by a professional actor?

Why not! How often do you get an opportunity like this? It’s fun it’s a visual and vocal interpretation of a written piece of art. Make it come alive! Reach out to a wider audience.

6) Do you write other works? scripts? Short Stories? Etc..?

Sports writing mainly football. Satire writing occasionally. Used to be a journalist writing about Health and Social Affairs.

7) What is your passion in life?

Emotional awareness of your surroundings. Appreciation of nature and art which inspires writing. The power of knowledge makes a mind stronger every day. Listen to your intuition. Acknowledge that you’re learning about life every day till the day you die.

Read Poetry: A Prayer Forgotten But Answered, by Randy Peyser

Dear God,
Please heal my heart wherever it needs healing.

It was a simple prayer,
not the kind you’d expect to have lightning bolts thrown at.
Nor the kind that begs for mercy
or the end to some horrific experience
that no being should ever be subject to.

It was just a simple prayer
quietly whispered into the space
of a languid afternoon.

There were no witnesses to this request,
not even the raised ear of a dog to note its mention.

Nor was this prayer a dwelling place,
like the one shouted daily to the heavens that began with
“Please God” and ended with “send me my soulmate”.

This was more like a slip of a prayer,
briefly stated before it fell off the prayer pile,
only to be quickly forgotten about.

And here it was,
just one week later,
when she inquired: “Do you like Vietnamese food?”

Was Vietnamese food my friend or pho?

It didn’t matter.
She insisted.
“I just have to take you to this restaurant.”

And off we sped in a moldy Subaru that was never meant
to hold people whose legs are longer than ski poles.

The Goddess of Parking Spaces was too busy to heed our call.
10 minutes of circling the block later,
we found the only parking place left
in all of San Francisco.

New discovery: Vietnamese food equals 30 different ways to cook fish guts. Fortunately, there was one non-fish dish I could stomach.

As I gulped down the last bite of this non-fish dish,
my companion was already heading toward the exit.

Why the hurry?

Tip tossed down,
I raced to catch up with her outside.
I swung the door open.
And there stood a man.
Facing me straight on.

“Hello Randy.”

Who was this man?
An advertiser from my magazine?
Someone I’d met at a conference?
My mind raced like a ticker tape
to put the stranger in context.

Wait a minute. Those eyes.
Holy shit! I know those eyes.

I’d slept with those eyes.
Eleven years ago and 3500 miles across the country,
I’d loved those eyes
and the man who wore them.

It was Brian, the greatest love of my life,
the man who had asked me to marry him,
the man who I was supposed to grow old with,
the same man who shattered my dreams into tiny splinters
dotted with the furtive longings of unmet expectations.

Here he was, 11 years later, on the opposite coast,
in the doorway of a Vietnamese restaurant,
and only a week after I’d gently asked to
heal my heart with whoever I needed to heal it with.

We spoke for ten minutes.
“You know, I was just scared,” he said.
And there it was,
the reason Mr. Heartbreak
had guillotined our relationship that Thanksgiving,
the week after my 28th birthday.

And here it was,
the closure I’d needed for 11 years
had finally happened.
My prayer had been answered.

And that was it.

Brian drifted off into the life that was his to experience.
And my friend whisked me away in the moldy Subaru.

At 28, he had been my one true love,
my consistent refuge from the gnarly edges of life.
Now at 40, he was merely a shadow who just happened to know my name.

You know, life doesn’t always play out the way you imagine.
Hearts break and sometimes they never come back together again.

But if a prayer half-forgotten can be answered,
in spite of 11 years and 3500 miles,
perhaps next time,
I will whisper a different prayer.

Read Poetry: FiVe YeArS aFTeR, by Sara Thomas

You were born
Five years after
I was broken,
And you grew
Inside my emptiness

I loved you
From day one,
I kept busy
With your neediness

I held you
Close to me,
I was scared
Of my fearfulness

You grew up
The years flew,
You were tired
Of my sadness

You were smart
The world your oyster,
I was embarrassed
By my unworldliness

You became a man
The pride I felt,
Gave me strength
In my loneliness

You grew old
At last you
Understood me
And I could rest
In my peacefulness

#parenting #love #loss #family #mental health #poetry #life #peace #forgiveness #acceptance #childhood #relationships #identity #grieving #hope #growing up #mothers

Read Poetry: Notion, by Lucrezia Mancini Nardi

Once thin skinned like orchid petals all
frustration was mistaken for tears.
Then resilience took over so to cry
only having the feeling of no amend.

So far bones resounded metal cold,
lack of nearness is not about fears
but to save weeping for better times,
trying to roll over any sign of dead-end.

Whether eyes or not drops come from
They’re salty stories and may reveal
promises made to oneself but unkept in life
like the notion tears fall not at our command.

– I own all rights to this poem –

Lucrezia Mancini Nardi

Read Poetry: DEEP IN ME, by Anand Ramachandran

Looking at you in pain,
with my eyes so wet,
Remembering all you slain,
in the words you said.

Memories ended in drain,
in a blink of an eye,
stabbing thru the moments,
is all your lie.

The pain you caused,
Can never be healed,
looking thru the moments,
in a wind shield.

Hoping this would come to an end,
those moments of fear down the sand,
waiting for a magic to come and land,
The fear is over and it shall end.

Down the days the time goes by,
Wishing you’ll never stood in front of my eye,
I never knew I would still cry,
For the moments we had, which was not a lie.

The knife stabs deep down the soul,
wishing the pain would never grow old,
for every time the word was told,
Deep inside the pain got mould.

Mistakes are made with humans sake,
Seriousness is what you should have taken,
for every time a mistake was made,
A part of me, is getting dead.

Anand Ramachandran

Read Poetry: Bardsong I, by Adam Callahan

daily-poem.com

In open sea, in timeless hour,
A legend sails against the winds;
Its speed is its defining pow’r;
It flies far from its many sins.

She’s captained by a forlorn soul,
A lonely man with heart most true,
Whose stalwart ship does pitch and roll
Unbreaking in the wat’ry zoo.

They ’round the world have ever fled,
And, seldom seen in realms of men,
His kin and hers assume them dead
And neither pine for new brethren.

Beknownst to few, the tragic pair
Run with empathic anima;
They sail in oceans rough and fair,
The Captain, and Virgilia.

Once, long ago, they did make port:
A city known only in song
Awaited them; its King’s great court
Invited trav’lers to belong.

There pillars tall and arches wide
Surrounded guests from far and near;
Musicians played, and dancers tried
To win someone for to hold dear.

Amidst the court, in stony chair,
The King looked o’er his happy lot;
And on his right there stood so fair
His daughter, Princess Khama’at.

Her copper skin gleamed as the day’s
Last light wore thin; her figure soft
Did draw the Captain to her gaze;
Her chin she held just so, aloft.

The King was jolly, for that he
Had vanquishéd the Ancient Wyrm;
He called for songs of bravery,
So none would doubt his courage firm.

“Ye bards and players, young and old!
Sing! Tell the tale of how your King
Did tame the beast, break ope its mold,
And send it to its reckoning!”

The players nodded, sang a tune
Of godly deeds, adventures grand,
And told the tale of Elderrune,
The blade that made the dragon’s brand.

And all the while, the Captain watched
The Princess, clad in cloudy white,
Whose eyes stared back, as arrows notched
In bows of yew, as stars of night.

As firelight grew around the place,
So’t flickered on the raven hair
Of Khama’at; and, too, her face
Did glow like flames in the night air.

The Captain, fixéd on her eyes,
Mov’d through the crowded palace-ground;
To meet her, he assumed the guise
Of rev’ler, and so, through he wound.

When fin’ly he did reach the throne,
He gazed up at this masterpiece
Of gods: this woman, she alone,
Did make the light itself increase.

More beautiful was she than he
Imagin’d from across the way;
So strong, yet delicate was she;
He knew not what to do or say.

When, looking up to her, he found
His stare returned: fair Khama’at,
Intrigued by strangers from around
The great wide world, had his gaze got.

She put a finger to her lips—
A warning, but a friendly one—
She gestured t’ward the bay of ships
Then looked away, their contact done.

The Captain, unsure what to do,
Did turn around and head out past
The dancers and the players too,
Through heavy doors of iron cast.

And for a moment he, confused,
Sat down upon a bench of stone
Out in the garden; and he mused
While he was sitting all alone.

When, just before he stood to go,
Sweet Khama’at, as if a bird,
Did glide into the flower’d row,
And ask if she might have a word.

“Dear gentleman, thou’ve traveled far,
Pray tell what stories thou’ve beheld!
Thou come from und’r a dif’rent star,
Thy tales must be unparalleled.

“I knew when I did see thee that
Our paths had crossed as fate saw fit;
Now ope mine eyes, fair sailor, at
The end of twilight’s redly wit.”

The Captain, caught off-guard, began
To tell of sagas from his home;
He told her how he these days ran
Each long day under sunny dome.

But he could not tell stories long,
For stars began to twinkle bright,
And in the Princess’ eyes a song
Of old reflected back their light.

A goddess she must be, he thought,
For naught else could be so divine
As Khama’at; and so he sought
To pray their fates might more entwine.

“Fair Princess: true, I’ve travelled far,
And have beheld a lengthy tale,
But never have I seen a star
That would not next to you grow pale.”

And Khama’at, without a sound,
Stood tall and offered out her hand;
The Captain and she walked around
The garden to the beach of sand.

Then lusty moon arose and smiled
On the unlikely pairing there;
The salty waves became less wild,
For that the pair could list’n and share.

Fair Khama’at spoke quietly
Of royal conquests she had seen,
Of realms exotic, far and free,
Of mystic places she had been.

The Captain told of oceans deep,
The likes of which he’d sailed with ease,
The way he saw the heavens weep
Into the vastness of the seas.

And closer they unceasing grew,
As if made to by providence;
Somehow, the man and woman knew
That destiny was coming hence.

They laughed and cried under the sky,
Assisted by the very hours:
Time itself seemed to ne’er go by,
And stars rained over them in show’rs.

The very constellations now,
Were smiling, each drawn to the sight
Of lovers young knowing not how
They, destined, met this perfect night.

The pair looked to the happy moon,
And then into each other’s eyes,
And laid upon the sandy dune
Embracing ere the sun did rise.

The night conspired to never end,
But morning light began to glow;
The Sun so prideful thought to lend
Its brighter face to friend and foe.

For foe did thence appear, unbid:
The King, amidst his royal guard,
Had sent out search when find he did
Khama’at’s room, empty, unbarred.

“Stand, whelp!” He ordered, fierce as fire,
“Wherefore hast thou lain with my child,
The Princess? Your sin, runt, is dire!
Your punishment will not be mild!”

The Princess stood, far taller than
Her father King had ever seen;
She took aback the fat old man
With teary eyes, both cold and mean.

“Oh, Father, why must you persist
To hide me like a little girl?
I am full-grown; now, spare your fist,
And sheath your blade; your hand, uncurl.”

The King was struck; he hadn’t known
His daughter ever to speak back;
And so, he struck back with a tone
He’d often used when on attack.

“Fair daughter mine, thou’ve broke mine heart,
And now, for his sin, so thou’ll pay.
Guards! Take them, one from oth’r, apart!
The gods will rue this sinful day.”

Khama’at, brave, took action then;
She grabbed the Captain by the hand,
And ran like wind t’ward last haven:
The harbor, and escape from land.

The King demanded, from uphill,
His guard to fire upon the man
Who’d stolen his sweet child, to kill
The thief who, with his riches, ran.

So arrows flew; but Destiny
Allowed the pair to safely get
To ship; the two were nearly free—
But kings not oft forgive a debt.

He ordered for a second round
Of shafts sent at the haughty sot;
One fin’ly hit, its target found:
But not the Captain—Khama’at.

The King cried out, but all too late:
The arrow hit its mark; he fell
And cursed the gods who’d used as bait
A sailor for his line to quell.

And Khama’at, in death’s embrace,
Did breathe a last word to the mate
Who’d held her close and touched her face,
Who’d shown her love with help of fate.

“Sweet sailor, go. And with you bring
The memory of what we shared:
This night of love, a wondrous thing;
So few die having loved and cared.

“Go. Take your ship, and leave me here;
The gods will carry me away.
You needn’t worry, merely steer;
And find me in the light of day.”

With that, the Princess closed her eyes.
The Captain, list’ning, lifted sail.
The guards turned ‘way from their King’s cries.
The morn did hide ‘neath teary veil.

Yet, as he pulled away from shore,
The Captain saw angelic light;
Khama’at’s body was no more,
Her soul was lifted, high and bright.

He felt a warmth upon his brow,
And knew the Princess left the earth;
But she would e’er be with him now,
As light; he’d solely know its worth.

Far in the sky, this new-wrought star
Did find its place in heaven’s realm;
And so the Captain travelled far
Ever aligning star and helm.

And always does the Captain chase
The star he knows is his to find;
One day, he’ll see his lover’s face
Once more, at last, when death is kind.

Until then, he will ever sail,
A never-ending quest; his lot
Is to reach the end of his tale,
Where he will find his Khama’at.

Read Poetry: Hope and Fear, by Jean DeMello

Hope a lovely lass
Fear, a skeptic lad
Met each other on a fateful evening
Hope, so pretty
Her smiled bloomed like
A hibiscus
Fear, tormented face yet
Amazing like the sky
On a new moon night
It was love at first sight
For hope, it just felt right
As if she knew him since forever
Fear wanted her
For he wanted a taste of
Her smile
Even if for a while
Hope sneaked a peak
Fear stared her in the eye
The karmic attraction they couldn’t deny

Hope was naive
Fear was cruel
Yet this was something he
Couldn’t resist
As he kissed her smile that night
Moved his fingers on her lips
Hope, had never before felt
The intensity of heat
It felt like fire and ice both
Made Home on her lips
She smile moved to his
He felt roses and everything mellow
Agitated, he went in with all he had
Hope matched him in contradiction

Fear ran his nails
Through her spine
Tracing it one by one
Leaving an impression
Hope ran her hands through
His heart
It leaped, and she laughed
She cupped his face
She felt his anguish
Hope was bound to soothe him
But he was fear,
Hope was in love
And fear was just being himself

Rains lashed and raindrops
Slashed against the window
As if to caution,
But hope and fear
Were lit on fire
The skies wept and
The evil rejoiced
As fear made his way
Into hope
Her first love was enthralling
She let out a gasp
Every inch he conquered
Less of her she felt
Arched her back
She let him in
But that’s what they say
Don’t they,
What you love,
Is the one thing that
Takes your soul away

Fear had never seen
Something more divine
Than hope
He wanted more of her
His eyes turned red
It was love and lust
She had a power
He wanted a taste
She was his reflection
All that he was supposed to be
But wasn’t
He ventured deep,
All the way in
Held her by the curls
“Give in to me”, he screamed
She faintly smiled
He threw her away
Pulled her back in
Fear found love in her face
But that’s what they do,
Don’t they
Destroy the one they love

With every minute of the night,
Fear grew stronger
And Hope diminished
After this ghastly encounter
They created the outcome
And no one knows what happened
To either of them
Some legends say, hope survived
And outcome was named Yang
Others disagree,
Say hope didn’t make it through
The horrific night
Fear named outcome Yin
And raised her up himself
Wise men say, both hope and fear
Lived a full life,
Gave twins to this world
Yin and Yang
Yin was more like Hope
But, took after her Father
While Yang resembled Fear
He was raised right by his mother

Once in a while
Fear and hope haunt people’s mind
And outcome makes an appearance
Sometimes Yin,
Other time Yang
And both exist in silence
Balancing each other
Depending on the legend you
Believe in