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Read Poetry: The Ocean & The Wind, by Vikky Lonie

Genre: love, passion, life, nature, trust, companions, friendship, support,

She was the ocean
Humming enchanting song
Temperamental
Often wrong

He was the wind
Gentle but strong
Effortlessly Kissing her
As the day is long

She complained of her flaws and all that had gone
He told her he loved her all along
She dismissed his words
He didn’t understand her rage
He was flawless on every new page
You don’t have rips or breaks nor tone
You are the wind so strong and bold

My love you misread what you are told
I’m only strong when you are mad
I’m only bold when you’re sad
My strength comes from you
I’ll protect you from your storm
I’ll hold you close and whisper your name
Until you feel safe in my arms once again
When you are calm and glistening bright
I’ll tell you it’s all going to be alright
I’ll never tire of your changing moods
For I am the wind it’s all I allude
I’ll tell you I love you till the wind is no more
And the ocean has dried up revealing the floor

Read Poetry: Midnight poetry, Chisala Kataya

Tonight, I write about poetry.

Poetry that we made together at night.

That night you undressed, your pleasures now naked and I did stare, not at the geometry that is your curves. That math that fucks up my mind.
Before I left fucks inside.
Before I gave enough fucks to know you, and not in the sexual kind. Though that is to be expected of course, but I mean the rest.
And by the rest I mean her,
like that goldfish swimming in her bowl, freely not caring about whose eyes were watching.
But mine, right then, taking in her definition that is woman.
She’s well defined.
Like those panty lines I contemplated which side to push, before she pushed me away, before she let some body else in.
But me.
My other head was throbbing to the idea of being inside.
The words eating at my flesh like mosquitos in the night, in spite of this I told no lies.
But only that I would leave her essence satisfied.

I came on her thighs.
My seed on her thighs.
Again not sexual.
Because those seeds were my cries, tears shed because she’d told me about her broken life. And of course she’d have tried to fix it with sex and kisses.
But that tingle I felt that night was about that first time I met her, in that corner of that bar. Self concious about her weight.
She’s a medium now.
But she told me about her friends, that said she’d never out weigh her grades, because she already out weighed the crowds.

Out weighed the crowds.

Out weighed their crowns.

Her highness seated on her thrown.
That is I faced her head on, like a kid she loved her shapes said she wanted another round so she could chase away those ghosts. Ghosts that made her taste sounds,

“You’re ugly,”

“You’re fat.”

Shes asleep right now,
her breathing poetic, it’s like the crickets hear her sing.

She’s free.

19/09/17✅
http://chisalamypoems.blogspot.com/2017/09/midnight-poetry.html

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Read Poetry: FEAR OF THE UNKNOWNS, by Gibson Kuria Chege

Uncertainty is crowding my mind,
Like clouds heavy with rain
With conflicting thoughts crushing my brain,
Leaving waves of doubts behind,
Am afraid am losing the war to the fear
The fear of the unknowns

My mind is under siege
With winds of doubts cruising to and fro
Causing blurred visions and swiping out
dreams
I have no peace of mind the nightmares have
taken root
Too many decisions to make
Very little time, they are argent
My mind has become a double agent
Torn between the Do’s and the Don’t s
Doubts casting brain incisions
Haunted by a lonely feeble but persistent
voice
A voice that has only one question… “What
if?”
I’m Running out of time , yet am lacking
precision
An Old friend is back in town
He wants us to meet and catch up
I know we need to catch up for old time’s
sake
But, What if…?
What if this ain’t a coincidence?
What if he is changed to wrong?
There is a new girl next door
She is beautiful
i know i like her
And i think she likes me too
I can tell from the way she looks at me
Especially when am working out
I should ask her out instead of staying
indoors time in time out
But…What if?
What if my feelings for her are not
profound?
What if its just another infatuation??
What if it will end up as another fring??
Am tired after work
The sun is setting on the horizon
It’s a nice sight by the shore
I should take a walk by the sea as i enjoy the
the breeze to help me unwind
But …What if?
What if the wind blows too strong
Too strong for the banks to hold and water
comes running ashore and carries me whole???
What if…?What if…?What if…Am just
swimming in
fears of the unknown???
What If????!!!

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Read Poetry: When You was in the World, by Linda Hay-Gibbs

When you was in the world My heart beat a little faster My song was more in tune

When you left it there was disaster

And I know I will leave it soon But Will I find You again I want to make amends You were my adventure My greatest love

My Fire My Pure from above I knew You were meant for me But Frankly You scared me silly and I did have pause If not the Greatest cause To run and I did! I ran far and wide I tried to forget! I lied but In my mind and heart you steadfastly remained Like a blood stain you can’t bleach away that pain A crater on Mars that will last till end of days It’s remarkable to me that so much pain and misery also draws such excitement and longing Such wishes and even if wrong it was good There was something given from above A rich long lasting thundering love but It was for naught because the pain was so intense no matter what was meant what was earth shattering was horror gathering caught between heaven and hell a clear hesitant bell to say run Run RUN and I did being the coward I am I couldn’t wouldn’t stand my ground because you swept it out from under me and I drowned in your excellency but burned in the pain of our destiny I called I asked forgiveness Told you I always did and always would have This heaviness My heart rolls around and from time to time remembers the white hot excellent love but quickly dims like a shooting star shot above It’s pain that replaces the exquisite It’s the pain I can’t resist The fear and betrayal of all My world turned upside down My scratching and clinging to sanity when all was calamity intermixed with you so I the fool just loved you for fifty years and remember thru all my misery and tears and try to think on the good like all proper people should and unglued the bad that we had but now You are gone And I know For the emptiness is low and so remember When you was in the world and my heart curdled and curled around your being and I hope one day to seeing you One more time Then I remember You were mine before anyone else but now theres nothing and the world is never kind even if I was blind Take that part of me with you I miss it but I’ve grown used to a partial heart it’s never mended just kept on beating without it being whole it’s all I know.

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Read Poetry: The Lady in Purple, by Kat Fankhauser

People watch other people.

They look to see if they have any defects,

if they do,

the watching person,

judges them without saying ‘Hello’

They go home and make up stories about,

“The lady wearing purple today.

Was drunk and drugged

she couldn’t walk straight,

kept falling over,

just like a drunken, druggie

homeless guy.”

Misinformation posted to Facebook,

or Twitter and so many other social media sites.

Spreads this story, sharing to their friends,

who share it with their friends, who

share it with their friends.

Strangers believing the story,

about the lady in purple.

Judging her,

without knowing the truth,

without knowing her or even her name.

There is nothing wrong with sharing posts,

but it’s wrong to pass on gossip.

Because that’s all it is

Gossip.

This lady in purple,

may not be a drunk or druggie,

she may just have a balancing problem.

Or an illness that makes her wonky,

forgetful, strange or different.

I’m not saying don’t share stories,

I am saying don’t pass along

Misinformation.

Judging a person just from a glance

then making up a story

Is not right.

We want to stop youth and others

from committing suicide or

harming themselves.

We need to stop judging

We need to stop posting lies.

We need to stop staring.

We need to stop misinformation!

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Read Poetry: Spread Your Wings, by Lana Rafaela Cindric

Genre: LIFE

Let me tell you something:
No one is going to look at you, broken and shattered
and think -
Damn, you are beautiful.
No one is going to come pick up your broken pieces
off the floor
and assemble them into a beautiful whole.
Hell,
even you won’t look at yourself and think –
I made broken look beautiful.
You know why?
Because all those writers lied to you.
Yes,
all those with their poems of scraped knuckles and
blood dripping down chins,
pomegranate songs and loves that ripped through you
like hurricanes.
Liars.
So you and I,
we are going to make a plan.
You are not going to romanticize days when your
brain tells you to smash that mirror,
you are not going to romanticize the lover who
doesn’t understand you
but still writes about you.
Here is what you are going to romanticize instead:
You are going to romanticize the first day of spring,
its gentle hands all over your body,
lifting you up until you are as light as a feather.
You are going to romanticize the tea and honey kind of love,
no hurricanes,
but sunshine that builds you up from within,
that helps you make it through the worst days.
You are going to romanticize the gentle hands of a friend
in yours,
telling you that it is going to be okay.
because it is.
And don’t trust poets,
we’re no good,
we love pretending that our jagged edges tantamount
to a beautiful disaster,

but in reality – there ain’t nothing beautiful
about shaky hands holding a cigarette and
empty eyes staring at the cracks in the walls.
You know what is beautiful, instead?
The days when you can look at yourself in the mirror and smile,
scars and all.
Music that makes your soul flow like a river,
books that offer comfort,
families flocking together like overgrown birds to keep you safe and warm,
friends that give you strength when you can find none,
lovers who make you laugh through tears.
Baby,
from now on
you are going to romanticize healing;
honey dripping down your fingertips,
August nights that stick to your skin,
the day you find your purpose,
long car rides and singing so loud that no one can shut you up now.
Bad news:
no one is coming to save you.
Good news:
you can save yourself.

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Read Poetry: Monachopsis, by Stephen Perro

Draped in Liquid Laughter
Dawned with Pretentious Hope
fraught with silent Resolve
silent Resignation

I clamor; I wait
Pressed against the glass
against the glass of self-indignation
Watching people engage & Smile
on the other side of the window

It begins to rain
Dripping liquid, pretentious laughter
Crying, “Hope!”
Now, I realize that I am the One standing outside
The One, without an umbrella

My blog site is: apoetslaststand.wordrpess.com.

* * *

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Read Poetry: DEFAULT STATE, by Eduardo Escalante

“CHANGE your switch”,

I’m stepping out of the sad

resounding of

adulterated answers.

They hurt like bites.

The lies cage of likely beaten

I root through God’s absence.

The hatreds bringing

desolation to the innocent

while somewhere so close maybe.

You know sudden black. Don’t

you remember? Take

It out. Someone

will remember

time’s up.

Bitter lies, pallidly interweaving.

Outside my door,

Back to your hell.

And something

Important I’ve always been trying to say

Love. Not a foreign Kingdom or

a cold headstone without an epitaph.

* * *

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Read Poetry: Desks, by Tessa Foley

He would never have told her, drawn and cauterised

He watched her in cold concentration and believed

She’d one day touch his knee on motorways and wear his

Own green shirt to draw the curtains. He can note she’s not

Perfect from twelve inches close, but if that were true, how is it so?

That he can count his ribs with his heart’s top right tongue

When all that she does is touch finger to the bridge of her nose

Or scrabble at files’ spinal tab, one fingernail picking the stubbornest

Glue. When she spells ‘U’ on the phone, in the morning,

He thinks she means him and stands to the side

Of her pinched profiled face. When she yawns, he sees

Smokes of her hair on his pillows, when she cracks her wrist joint,

He feels the encircle of bones, She’s what he’d call his Darling

If he could catch all facets of her in his palm, till then

The ladling spoons of unreal sweet – she turns, looks

At the window with one sweated pause in her breath and his life,

Deadish minutes slip straight through the face when he

Sees her lean on one elbow, a desk or the door

When he shuts his eyes nightly, tartan spots till the dawn

He chills at the thought of next morning without her,

Though there in his distance, his thoughts roll in pleasing her,

Beneath sycamore trees, falling keys all uncut, in ten years

In an armchair with an infant or two, in a portrait above

A real fire, but still his words stick in his personal cellar,

One day he will tell her with never a stammer, but for now,

She’s impossible weather for him to enjoy, and for better

For worse, he takes someone else home, through

The dangling blinds, he will watch her walk by.

* * *

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Read Poetry: Writer’s Life, by Eirini Antoniou

It was a sad and cloudless morning

I took my pen out of my kit

And put a feather in my head

Did I really think it would help me to write best?

I ate an apple and drunk some tea

but the ideas were still not pouring out of me.

I started crying from despair

then I went to the fridge to eat a pear.

“Let’s see a movie” I told myself

“Or read a book that would be the best!”

I run with joy up and down

even my spider thought:

“we have a crazy one around”

The evening found me in the bathtub

thinking “that’s it, my fate as a writer it’s done”.

I threw away my pens and pencils

even my favorite notebook full of sketches.

Two months passed and I still cry.

I always thought I would be a writer for life.

I walk pass the places I loved to write

and I don’t speak with people I used to inspire.

Friends have left me all alone

and I have no one to turn to when I feel alone.

They say “you act like your best friend died”

which is true my writing has gone out of sight!

Searching and searching I sat by the sea

I closed my eyes and my mind was full of dreams.

An empty page came my way

and I started writing about my long day.

* * *

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