Category: poem

Read Poetry: PEACE BE STILL, by Ngozi Osuoha

peace, why drag supremacy
And fight for superiority?
Why crush silence
And break thine sheath,
That we remain at war?

You waylay unity
And make skulls, your crown
You ambush growth
And arrest development,
Peace, why hate thyself
When you are a gem?

Barefooted, you wander afar
Thirsty, you stand aloof
Hungry, you sink beyond
Lonely, you stray away
Peace, why art thou gone?

Come, peace come
Return, O peace
This earth is broken
This world is bruised,
Come, heal the air
Come, sweep the land
Return, O peace,
Peace! Peace! Be Still!

CLEAR HER DILEMMA (2)

An art so wondrous
Divine in every sense,
A creature so elegant
Creative, gallant and immaculate.

The bravest of creation
Smart, strong and sound
Loving, caring, lovely, careful
The woman, a little god.

Homemade, homemaker
Groomed and grooming
A confident confidant
A loyalist and a faithful
Submissive, calm and resilient.

Pure,  genuine companion
Quiet, honest giver
Fair, jealous lover
Godly, decent soulmate.

Save her the drama
Heal her the trauma,
Clean her the stigma
And clear her of the dilemma.

PROFILE
Ngozi Olivia Osuoha is a Nigerian poet/writer, a graduate of Estate Management with experience in Banking and Broadcasting. Her first longest poem THE TRANSFORMATION TRAIN published in Kenya is available on amazon. She has published over eighty poems in over ten countries.

Read Poetry: Date Nights, by Jei Nacalaban JP

I have a friend named Aaron.
He told me that,
To be able to find the one,
I need to look at other people.

Ridiculously loyal as I am,
I refused to do that.

Hard as I try,
Nobody can send electrical signals
Across my chest in an abnormal
Lightning speed,

Giving me chest pains, making me out of breath
Like you do.

Was I even in love? I wonder.
Look in my eyes, can you see the pupils
Of my myopic eyes dilate,
As it looked at you

Walking towards me with that
Irresistible smile,

Wait. Am I hearing fireworks nearby?
Or my head starts to hum violently?
That could be my chronic migraine,
Acting out or just that,

I’m too excited to sit across you
In our table,

Leaning closely as I can,
Listening to you talk,
Watching your lips move,
Mouthing words,

I’m trying to keep up with the conversation,
Trying to stop the urge to kiss you.

Kiss you? What? Did I say that out loud?

Do you know that a human heart can normally
beats
A hundred and twenty per minute? No?
Mine does.

It’s like running a hundred meter dash
Towards you,
But you make the world spin in slow motion,
While turning the second hand
Of my analog watch, twice as fast,
The contradictions spinning,

As I panic,
My face turning red.

You looked at me, and I realized
I want this.
I might not deserve it,
But there’s nothing better.

Feelings they come and go, they usually do.
But these feelings, they won’t go, not with you.

Late night conversations,
Fast food chains,
Small talks and arguments,
Memories piling up one after another

Maybe Aaron was right, I need to look at other
people,
to realize that I already found the one.

Read Poetry: Young Heart, by Hala Emad 

genre: Romance, Sad

 

The Bonbon

He took it with him with all the candies

Someone has to tell him, because

The bonbon is what this little girl owns

And whose her shadow only belongs

To his shadow, as the place she dwells.

 

He took the sugar,

The dream in green color,

My little toy, the beaker

And the tea’s flavor

Leaving jealousy for the boiler

Who when got jealous, did fritter.

 

He took my red flower,

The shells around my mirror,

My barbie doll, my laughter,

The feast scent and savor,

The dream that I just did texture,

My lipstick and my eyeliner.

 

He took the chocolate and its magnitude,

He embittered by his absence and solitude

Its beautiful taste and attitude.

Someone has thim: “I forgot any rude”,

As well as I decided to grow up not screwed.

By: Hala Emad

 

Read Poetry: “Sleep No More”, by Kim Michelle Ross

Sleep evermore my love,

Your betraying lies,

Unhinged and broke my heart.

It was the blackest day,

At the brightest hour,

When my love finally soured.

Your despairing pleas,

Failed to sway my forgiveness.

Bang, went the gun, it had to be done.

Splashes of red my only recall,

I did not care, love was no more.

My regrets numbered none.

I’m glad you’re dead,

And but a fading memory,

Yet, I will sleep never-more.

Read Poetry: OUCH!, by Andrianne Philippou

Ouch…!  
 
This comes as no surprise, you see 
I always felt this had to be. 
There is a certain path you know, 
a way to learn, a way to grow. 
For here the road is split in two, 
one track for me, and one for you. 
 
So as I walk, my steps unsure, 
I stumble slightly, sometimes fall. 
And as I struggle hard to stand 
and carry on without your hand, 
I realise that I’m doing fine. 
Horizons beckon, the sun still shines. 
The rainbow hasn’t lost its colour, 
and so what if the poppy’s pallor 
needs a little extra spark, to stir the  
meadow or the park? 
 
I know that I will find my way 
(despite the tears that make me stray), 
by daring to believe my dream;  
the trickle of a mountain stream 
that flows, cascading to the sea 
and finds release, as so will we… 
 
I’m holding on to all that’s real;  
the way you laugh, the way you feel, 
the way we share a thought, our passion, 
a sense that this is beyond fashion. 
For how else can you touch me quite,  
and know my soul, and fit so right? 
 
For me, this journey holds no fear. 
So please, unlock your heart, my dear…  
 
 
© Andrianne Philippou – 
26th April 2008  
 
 

Read Poetry: 25, by Clen Nyambose

Genre:  forgiveness ,coming of age

25
Means I have survived a lot
Saw daylight in a solar eclipse
I am learning to breathe again
A love affair with the lungs
Where inhale is ecstasy and exhale is torture
The is no more room in forgetting
I have buried too many skeletons in here
So much so that they outweigh the living

\25
Should feel like a new begging
Like painting footsteps on landscapes
This is where the mind escapes
Hope is clutching on to your loved ounce’s hands like forever
But forever is planted in our memories and it doesn’t always bear roots
It sees what we see, loves who we have loved
And like us it mourns when their gone

25
Is acknowledging the living
Sometimes this also means forgiving does that our gone
“Dad I know that you’re gone, but am not yet at the point of forgiving’’
16 I was angry
20 I tried forgetting
But 25 seems to be the hardest
This is me learning to survive within myself
A battle ground between the mind and heart
I am rooted to this centre of gravity
Where the only anchor that seems to hold me down is family

25
Is a mystery
A domestic domicile of wizardry
Where fruition of one’s future is alchemy
I look to the stars trying to plot destiny
So I fish hook the world and bate it with poetry
But words seems to be my only provision for the mourning
A meal that consumes me hole heartedly
Maybe am an oddesy, no maybe am an artist
See what the world has left of me?

25
Is a dream at the edge of a nightmare begging me to jump in?
A myth of what a person is suppose be
A lapricon at the end of a rainbow
It’s digging yourself out of a grave
And willing yourself to fight
To live
Every breather is an act of defiance
The is a revolution brewing in our tongues
We are learning to untie ourselves from our bonds
To shed our masks and be ourselves
To love ourselves
To love myself
It’s knowing that life demands that we look beyond ourselves
That I am my brother keeper and loving each other demands that we dig deep

Read Poetry: The Words I Spoke, by Jordan Corley

Genre: Love, Hope, Life

I waited patiently for the world to follow
To adjust
To reset
And comprehend what I had just said
I gave myself the same courtesy
A minute
A day
Maybe two to process their meaning
They weren’t anything special
Nothing spectacular
Nothing memorable
The words that left my mouth
But something felt right
A click
An acknowledgment that maybe
just maybe I was meant to say them
They were meant to be heard
I waited silently for the world to follow
To stop spinning for a second
For just one moment
As I let the words leave my lips
Free my tongue of their grasp
Their power which clung to my thoughts
Through sleep– no sleep
What is sleep when these words are present?
In my thoughts
Always
Through daylight
And menial tasks so often required
To sustain life in this world
To feign sanity
Wrought by a wavering focus
They were nothing to be remembered
Really
Anything but important
To the outside observer
To a distant onlooker
But perhaps that’s why I remembered
The way they felt as I spoke
Why I recited the time
The place
The date of which I said them
Over and over
And over again
In my head
The breath that came before and after
I opened my mouth
The pause between each word
Each syllable
To ensure perfect deliverance
Perhaps that’s why they’ve stuck with me all these months
All these years
Later
They were honest
The last words I said to you

Read Poem by Oceana

Genres : love, hurt, revenge, spiritual, philosophical

No Right

You have no right to ask how I am
And no right to an answer
No right even to the thought occuring
Or the breath that bore it
That breathed our moment
In vengeful violence
Spitting and seething spite
In dark deluded condemnation
Of everything you claimed once right.

You have no right to the friendship
That you beat up
And threatened death to the life that bore it
But unabashed and unforgiven
You assume it
Say you don’t need forgiving
He was due it
You’re the master and there’s no chance
He could ever do it.

You have no right to claim regret
No right to say you are sorry
When to every other face is a different story
Where malice remains the prince amonst principalities
And you justify revenge with vivid stories
With you as the chosen one
With you enlightened and not undone.

You have no right to claim to see the truth
Or to be it’s living example
To uphold yourself as one of the few
Yet in the face of everything
This is what you do.
To god and yourself you must justify
Delusion that you can’t deny
Only you can answer why
Only then you cannot lie.

FRUSTRATION – Poetry Reading by Patricia Marvin

Poem performed by Val Cole

 POETRY 7 questions:

1) What is the theme of your poem?

The injustice that are going on in the black community

2) What motivated you to write this poem?

Watching the nightly news and seeing not just black lives but those who seem to not have a voice; and the many innocent lives taken by the hands of the police and nothing bening done in the majority of the cases

3) How long have you been writing poetry?

I’ve been writing for about 12 years.

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

Maya Angelou

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

I wanted to see how it sounded being read by someone else.

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

Yes, I do. Many of my other poems are spiritually based works.

7) What is your passion in life?

Teaching students with disabilities. I’m a Special Education Teacher.

****

Producer: Matthew Toffolo http://www.matthewtoffolo.com

Director: Kierston Drier
Casting Director: Sean Ballantyne
Editor: John Johnson

Camera Operator: Mary Cox

 

Read Poetry: ANNABELLE, by Fadrian Bartley

Object succumb to silence from an alley of dark void

Fouls air flowing through the old wooden window

The expression of fear on the face of an old woman in a rocking chair

One finger prick by a cushion needle, when utters a verse of old riddle

 

Reflection from the moon through a dusty curtain

With the sound of a rushing wind swiftly disturb

Something flowing in the misty air looking to be settled

Trapped to an object of affection, a gift the child find infatuated

 

Doesn’t breath, no eyes to see

No trace of heartbeat pattering

Hollowed look and strange eyes, rest in the hand of a little girl

Standing at the doorway with a length of hair blowing in the misty wind

 

A metamorphic grandma have seen

The child utters ‘’you are in a dream’’

The slamming window and banging doors, the frighten child scream

And dropped a strange looking doll on the floor

 

A prayer whisper from the old widows lips

While a thick dark cloud causes the sun to eclipse

Only to lid a candle stick, she spoke ‘’pick up the doll my child’’

Foot steps ascending from the wooden floor beneath, And the child was nowhere to be found

 

The silence patter with an heartbeat

A  leaking pipe dripping softly from the other side of the silence

Up the stairs on wooden floor

Are heavy steps from tiny feet’s

The turning sounds of an open door, there stand a doll with hollowed creeps