Category: poem

Sense of Time, Poetry by James Williamson

 Genre: Society

Time…

It never ends.
It never loses.
It never bends.
It never chooses.
Who to take.
Who to give.
Who should break.
Who should live.

Time…

Constantly goes away.
Constantly brings tears.
Constantly here to stay.
Constantly forms fears.
Fears of today.
Fears of all sorrow.
Fears of dismay.
Fears of tomorrow.

Time…

Holds no sense of self.
Holds no sense of existence.
Holds no sense of wealth.
Holds no sense of resistance.
Resistance from age.
Resistance from dying.
Resistance from rage.
Resistance from trying.

Time…

Builds wisdom within.
Builds beauty without.
Builds forgiving of sin.
Builds surety of doubt.
Doubt of finding peace.
Doubt of heaven above.
Doubt of wanted release.
Doubt of finding love.

Time…

Is made for reflecting.
Is made for giving.
Is made for projecting.
Is made for living.
Living for where time will take you.
Living not for where you have been.
Living with hope for the coming of new.
Living for it all making sense within…

Time.

By:James Williamson

 

 

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I’d Write You, Poetry by Nubi Vagant

  Genre: Love, Romance

I’d write you the stars, I’d write you the sky

I’d write you the rivers, That never run dry

I’d write you my heart, I’d write you my skin

I’d write you with red, Flowin’ infinite layers within

I’d write you my senses, My crumbling defenses

I’d write you my soul, My dark to black hole

I’d write you my breath, I’d write you my scent

I’d write you eternity, And every moment spent

I’d write you my love, I’d write you my lust

I’d write you my worship, Everything in gold dust

I’d write you in time, I’d write you in space

I’d write you a now, And a forever in grace

After all I’ve written, So much would still remain

I’d write myself to you, In pleasure and pain.

© mizzlenubivagant ( 17th March, 2016 )

 

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Sixteen Weeks, Poetry by Ene Elizabeth Adeka

 Genre: life, love, death

A tiny mound of flesh, as harmless as the sparrow’s egg
forged out of love or lust
the deed was done and so I came to be.
In my pulsing cocoon I lay
an unknown visitor devoid of sight, flight or fight.
Soon my cocoon of shelter will change in readiness for my arrival
and I am looking forward to my birthday
as with ecstasy I long to gaze upon the faces
of those whose loins I was forged out of.

I hear voices and a gruff voice says “stigma”
I wonder if it is my mother’s name or my fathers’.
Too many voices but it seems we are going to see the doctor.
My infantile mind says that must be my father’s name
but why does Stigma and Doctor seem to me an unusual combination?
Though I can’t feel, each part of me fears this trip.
Even though I am yet to meet these strangers I hear
My little feet try to break the barrier between my world and theirs
and yet my hands stay folded unwilling to stretch out and help.

I was forcefully ripped and torn apart
hacked to pieces by one whose honorable name
is engraved on a metal plate somewhere on a hospital door
In my prime, gone before my time
bud in flame, nipped in society’s name
A genius waiting to be unveiled turned voice of an aborted future.
The deed that made me ashen cold now lies somewhere in a plastic bin,
sent to a distant land by the hands of those who forged me
never to return from my errand.

My passing was celebrated with two cups of tea
and a smile of congratulation from Doctor to Stigma.
Before my ears were gone, I heard them call me fetus and
wish me a happy birthday.
My name is Fetus, I am sixteen weeks old…
How soon they forget me, their nameless, faceless, lifeless child.
But a voice says to me, can a woman forget her sucking child
that she should not have compassion on the child of her womb?
Yes, they may forget, yet will I not forget you.

 

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Be my Muse, Poetry by Vincenza Maria Mastrangelo

Genre: love

“Be my Muse,
Let me poetize about you.

Rivers and oceans of words are flowing from my heart and you’re a masterpiece of nature.

Be my Muse,
Let me lose myself in you essence.

My heart,body and soul are like an orchestra playing a concert for you.

Be my Muse,
Let me die writing about your beauty

 

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
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Hold Me While I Say Good-Bye, Poetry by Wendy

Genres: Love, Pain, Hurt, Romantic, Relationship

This is probably the last time you would see me
With my eyes closed and my breaking heart.
I won’t be blocking your way from here on
I just want you to hold me while I say good-bye.

This is probably the last time you would hear my voice
With my eyes closed and my breaking heart.
I won’t be calling you or asking how you were
I just want you to hold me while I say good-bye.

This is probably the last time I will smell your cologne
With my eyes closed and my breaking heart.
I won’t be holding your hand or hug you when it is cold
I just want you to hold me while I say good-bye.

This is probably the last time you would see me cry
With my eyes closed and my breaking heart.
I won’t be wiping your tears whenever we fight
I just want you to hold me while I say good-bye.

This is probably the last time you would hear me say ‘I love you’
With my eyes closed and my breaking heart.
I won’t be pinching your cheeks and leaning on your shoulders
I just want you to hold me while I say good-bye.

 

 

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
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Poetry by Patrick Hill

 Genre: Society

I am tough like Huey,
I dream like Martin,
I see like Malcolm,
I stand like Rosa,
I am educated like Booker,
I am the stature of Fredrick,
I am the embodiment of a civil right movement,
But I am the reflection of history,
I am the rebellion of Nate,
I am a leader like Tubman,
I am the community of Black Wall Street,
But I am the audacity of hope like Obama,
I am the most hated man like Colin,
But I am the most beloved person like Nelson,
I am the ascendant child of Africa,
But I am a citizen of a nation that is United States,
My oppression is of a third world,
But I have an opportunity,
I am from poverty,
But that won’t stop me,
Where I go,
My people will follow,
I am the example of greatness,
But endure failures,
I am victory like the revolutionary war,
But I still have a long way to go to be free.

 

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
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Can We?, Poetry by diankp

 Genre: equality, diversity, life, society, hope, friendship, coffee.

 
Can We?

By : diankp

Why coffee has different taste?
Because they grown in different place,
Grow in different soil, air temperature, drainage, et cetera
That’s why, we will get the different in taste.

Just like humans, just like us,
We are born and grow up with different belief, parents, friends,
We have a different situation and condition.

And we never choose the choises,
The choices that would make us different,
We will never be the same.

That’s why we can’t compare about taste of coffee,
We can’t compare about our friends,
Since born we are absolutely different,
Just coffee, just human, just people.

But,

Why society wants everyone to be same as other,
Why society made everything worse,
Hard to breathe, hard to face it.

So many hates,
So many violence,
Can we just spread the love?

Just like fragrance of coffee,
That made everyone’s happy,
Give peacefulness and felicity.

Can we?

 

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Unsaid Failures, Poetry by Patricia Mae Estenoso

 
Genre:Life

There are things I would choose not to write,
Like wishes for friends who came and went,
Hoping they will remember me still,
These things break my heart,
But I still write them anyway.

There are things I would choose not to write,
Like goals that went unaccomplished,
Trying to make up for wrong decisions,
These things break my heart,
But I still write them anyway.

There are things I would choose not to write,
Like feelings untold for a lost love,
Wishing I had told them sooner,
These things break my heart,
But I still write them anyway.

These are things I would choose not to write,
But I write them anyway,
Yes, they break my heart still
But I hold them as gentle reminders,
Of friendships to keep,
Of goals that could not wait,
And of feelings that should be said.
 

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The Caveman, Poetry by Simon Widdop

Genre: Relationship

The Caveman

We had an argument
not a big all guns blazin’ my mother was right about you argument
just a silly one
that made me regress
retreat to my cave
where I consulted with the great oracle YouTube
he slid over his recommendations
topping the bill

John Lennon and Yoko Ono on love | Blank On Blank | PBS Digital Studios

Five and half minutes later
I realised the Universe itself had channelled Lennon to me
to sit in front of me
slap me across the chops and say

‘ere lad you’re better than this, get out of this grump, go show that
beautiful
feisty
sassy
quick witted
Venus Incarnate
woman
that you absolutely adore her
you daft sod

So I did
but there’s a catch
a twist

I don’t want to love you like John loved Yoko or how Sid loved Nancy or how Johnny loved June or even how my own Dad loves my Mum.
I’ll love you how you deserve to be loved
not some fairytale “and they lived happily ever after”

I want the grit, the drunk calls when you’re out with the girls (and the obligatory holding of your hair whilst you’re in deep conversation with the toilet bowl with a glass of water on hand), the crack of dawn work day starts, that road trip down Route 66 we always talk about, to be finally able to kick your ass on Mortal Kombat, the “babe you’re too warm move over, wait come back I want a cuddle, ugh move over I’m too warm, wait come back and cuddle me”, I want to be able to reach a compromise on the choice of the Saturday night takeaway, I want that slight awkwardness when I think that you’ve sussed me trying to slyly inquire about your ring size. I want to be able to spend time in a random vegan cafe that we find just down that slightly dodgy looking alley but it does really nice lemon drizzle cake and serves that cat poop coffee that’s all the rage in San Francisco (allegedly)

I am going to give you the world over
I do love you
just let me show the caveman
how to water the bonsai tree

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