Nobody promised you a manual on how to face the burden of heartbreak and loneliness.
This life doesn’t equip you with the first aid kit to pull together and repair your soul after you face the sad reality that you have to save yourself from every hell you go through.
Genre: Addiction, Life, Society
FILLED GLASSES & LIT CIGARETTES
by Noemi Moncayo
Nobody ever said it was easy.
Nobody promised you a manual on how to face the burden of heartbreak and loneliness.
This life doesn’t equip you with the first aid kit to pull together and repair your soul after you face the sad reality that you have to save yourself from every hell you go through.
Your lungs were not made to inhale the toxic smoke you use to numb your mind. You liver isn’t meant to handle the alcohol intake on the nights you feel so empty there’s a hollow vibration in your cries.
Your heart was not prepared for the hands of lovers who are masters of broken promises and had the audacity to drop it.
Your ears were not made to hear words that resonate in the back of your mind and make you contemplate weather death is a train you want to ride on.
Your eyes, fragile glass crafted by God to see the beauty that this life has to offer, were not meant to see her in your bed with another.
Your lips were not meant to quiver when the first tear falls after you feel your heart sink to your knees. Love is not supposed to sound like an apology when it resonates off the walls of your mouth.
Kisses are not meant to burn your lips when you pretend you don’t know the truth.
You shouldn’t have to force yourself to pull her closer and you shouldn’t have to look away when you see yourself dead inside her eyes.
The truth is; bottles and packs can numb the pain, but not if she’s the one filling your glass and lighting your cigarettes.
She stands tall, proud.
If heaven was a voice
It would be hers.
If love was lost
It could be found in her eyes.
Her walk oozes confidence,
Her lips convey wisdom.
Genre: Feminism
THE OTHER
by Randa Shami
She stands tall, proud.
If heaven was a voice
It would be hers.
If love was lost
It could be found in her eyes.
Her walk oozes confidence,
Her lips convey wisdom.
Her words fall on deaf ears.
Her words are viewed as the punishment,
And her body the prize.
The breasts that come in different sizes.
Yours for the taken,
Her golden cherry,
Your final destination.
The only thing you listen to.
Naive .
Thinking she can use it as a weapon.
Proud that her heart did not beat for you,
But her legs opened gladly.
Naive.
You are the winner.
She lost everything.
But her walk only gains power.
It mirrors yours now.
An undeniable stance which shouts
‘I am the hierarchy’
‘I am the definition of double standards’
Her words are still wise.
But even her own ears have closed to the noises her lips make.
They utter hateful words behind her back.
Call her names,
Slut,
Dumb girl.
Then she runs to you.
You who walks the same walk.
You whose words are less wise.
You who made all the rules.
Let her say
‘I know what I want’
Let her dare become that brave.
Disregarding
Her words, actions
Only the materials draping
Over her temple will define her now.
And you will use this as an excuse to
Invade, destroy and conquer
What once was her temple.
Tears will fall from her eyes
And with every drop love is,
Lost, hated, forbade.
You place your hands under her chiselled chin and use her tears to wash away the,
Blame,
guilt.
Provoked?
Were you?
The body will die it is the soul that is the prize.
A woman she is
Women they are
One is nothing without the other.
“For the longest time I was taught
Certain shadows should stay in the darkness.
I have spent far too long trying to make sense of what this is, trying to merge the pieces together trying to love my circumstances.
I have realised I am the closest thing to nature.
The sun absorbs me and becomes darkness, you look up at me in cold breeze and get lost in my stars.
Constellations weaving together revealing my ancestors.
Genre: Motivational and Inspirational
MY BEAUTIFUL CIRCUMSTANCES
by Takudzwa Mudiwa
“For the longest time I was taught
Certain shadows should stay in the darkness.
I have spent far too long trying to make sense of what this is, trying to merge the pieces together trying to love my circumstances.
I have realised I am the closest thing to nature.
The sun absorbs me and becomes darkness, you look up at me in cold breeze and get lost in my stars.
Constellations weaving together revealing my ancestors.
I have began to believe that whenever a shooting star happens it’s my people celebrating – singing of high praises and sweet goodbyes.
You are yesterday’s “I got through it”
Today’s “sunset”
Tomorrow’s “sunrise”
Ten years ago you were the apology.
At this moment in time you are thunder and lighting.
You have not done all this inhaling and exhaling to be timid. You are the night sky and everything in it. The victory within your skin is a melody. An arrangement of notes that only a whole orchestra full of rich heavy brass tones fighting with the whisper of a trembling harp could fathom.
Why tame our feathers when we can fly.
Expanding our wings so they are as big as our dreams.
There’s no need to apologise because I have found comfort within the shadows.
And years ago what looked like a flicker is now an explosion.
I have reveled in the shade and all it’s spirits I have danced on tiptoes with them till the early mornings – hid them in between my ribcage.
Letting them savage every bit of my heart that’s left until my lungs were crying out with mercy, until they had came way too familiar with the loss of air.
Here I am now
I have spent far too long sitting outside the door, collecting my fears and storing them beneath the welcome mat.
Well I am dusting my feet off, leave the door behind me open. I have no fear.
There I will speak it into existence,
Until I can watch from a distance a whole house full of regrets collapse”
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Fuck love
Because that other shit is permanent
She said she would hate me forever
And man I’m learning quick
That she really meant it
This feeling is so senseless
This feeling cannot last
This feeling shit is trash
Genre: Sad, Romance, Relationship
Solutions
by Julius Wells
Fuck love
Because that other shit is permanent
She said she would hate me forever
And man I’m learning quick
That she really meant it
This feeling is so senseless
This feeling cannot last
This feeling shit is trash
To be feeling shit like this makes me want to be feel my wrist with glass
And slice
But instead I just…
I fill my life with brashness
I feel and hope that it’ll cover up the sadness
And the madness but it fucking doesn’t, it’s endless
And I can’t make sense of why love left me defenseless
From this cold cold world that life gives, and now in listless
I’m feeling like if life providing answers, I really must’ve missed it
You came into my life and made me feel complete
But I never learned happiness on my own, this shit is weak
And I’m somehow even weaker
Because I’m dependent on this thing and I’m searching for it like a creeper
Stalker. Hiding in the bushes looking for you
Hoping I can be whole again, hoping I can renewed
But instead I’m strangely feeling so empty
Love left me with potholes on the road through life and so I’m tripping
What do I fill it with?
How do I cement my path?
I can’t replace this shit with something I do not have
Since love left me, angst has been my tool
But the hole that love left is the size of a fucking pool
So I strive for hate and despair, until I’m fat and full
And I Ignore and avoid the strength of loves pull
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Autumn in Florence
Is a mélange of the elements of charm
A yawn away from the steady shivers lying beyond
At dusk, a wistful stroll along eclectic memoried boulevards
With echoes of church bells in tow
Unveils a canny sense of things
A nostalgic glimpse of old things,
Old people, old places,
Bequeathing their secrets unreservedly,
At the end of a tacky, melancholic day
Genre: Nature, Weather, Italy, City
THE GREATEST GIFT
by Augustine Sam
Autumn in Florence
Is a mélange of the elements of charm
A yawn away from the steady shivers lying beyond
At dusk, a wistful stroll along eclectic memoried boulevards
With echoes of church bells in tow
Unveils a canny sense of things
A nostalgic glimpse of old things,
Old people, old places,
Bequeathing their secrets unreservedly,
At the end of a tacky, melancholic day
It is autumn in Florence …
Even the blind can tell
For a whiff of that dry Tuscan air,
Disguised as a romantic breath on the cheek
Now wafts soothingly, alluringly,
Like the caressing whisper of a lover at dawn
The gaiety, the gossip,
The veritable quality of the decline of the year
All of it a mishmash of this season of gloom
And caught in the midst of it, you and I,
‘Cause in our souls, a conscious dread had sprung
It is autumn in Florence …
Even a tot can tell
From the inexorable surge of parched foliage and withering flora
Now palpable like a beauty queen wilting with the passage of time
As an impotent sun looms
With a staggering degree of poetic frenzy, like a bad omen
Over that little piazza I call lair and you call refuge
Jaded, like the dream that steered us here
Nadir, like our possibilities, and poised to snap,
Like the fragile thread holding our sanity together
It is autumn in Florence …
Even the inebriated can tell
For the Tuscan sky is daubed with gray-hued awnings
A kaleidoscope of waning streaks, epitomizing
The artistic finesse of the heavens
A subtle connotation, a riveting verity that
Four times a year the seasons change without fail
That now leaves must turn sallow and plummet, and flowers must wither
And with them, everything except us,
Must leap beyond their prime
It is autumn in Florence …
Even a troll can tell
From that lingering mystery of vitality and lethargy,
So exquisite, so sophisticated,
That no longer obscures the daunting haze that strains the air
In the flush and bloom of early womanhood, you …
Radiant like a new moon on a starlit night
Cunningly oblivious of the secrets of my tears
Paying no heed to the disheartening dread that swathes me
For in this season, with every leaf that falls,
And every flower that withers, your days are numbered
It is autumn in Florence …
Even an obtuse can tell
From the stunning sight of Fiesole transformed into violet by the magic of twilight
And now, here we are—you and I—ensnared by a dream
Unraveled by a foe, invincible and vile
Like injured rebels ferried home to roost
Desolate hands too volatile to reach
Ardent eyes too doleful to watch
As your frailty eats you up with delicious cruelty
The way a vulture does a prey
Causing every fantasy within the limits of our amorous deeds
To evaporate, along with the last breath in your lungs
It is autumn in Florence …
Even dreamers can tell, for
The vestiges these bleak nights amass were once stacks of hope
On which now abide memories undimmed
A better friend than you life never gave
You were the bloom that autumn failed to erode
The warmth that winter couldn’t pinch from me
The wind that summer could not smother
The flare that’ll forever be my spring
But more than all this, my love,
You were life’s
Greatest gift
To
Me.
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Cover me up. Fall over my head
Lend me your words, dream in red
Glisten is that salt on your skin
And I ask to wash up in your sin
Baptized within the salty rain
Scorched but not feeling all the pain
Genre: Life
DANCE IN THE BLIZZARD
A Poem by GT Zinn
Cover me up. Fall over my head
Lend me your words, dream in red
Glisten is that salt on your skin
And I ask to wash up in your sin
Baptized within the salty rain
Scorched but not feeling all the pain
Can’t see past my face, it’s absurd
They say you can’t dance in the blizzard
I say who really needs to see anyway
Only her eyes I gaze so we’ll dance away
Make me move the moon just to be bane
Underwater, are my thoughts really that sane?
Sparkle sparkle from each iris eyering
I’m grounded, but believe that I am flying
Is it rude to conclude and have not a sight
Maybe it’s a feeling that I hope to incite
Can’t see past my face, it’s absurd
They say you can’t dance in the blizzard
I say who really needs to see anyway
Only her eyes I gaze so we’ll dance away
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Hair’s a mess, can’t get dressed
Can I shower, that’s the test
Done Ok, the shoes are on
Now where the hell’s my energy gone?
Another day has been a waste
Another day just cut and paste.
Genre: Motivational, Inspirational
M.E. – JUST CUT AND PASTE…..
by Bill Clayton
Hair’s a mess, can’t get dressed
Can I shower, that’s the test
Done Ok, the shoes are on
Now where the hell’s my energy gone?
Another day has been a waste
Another day just cut and paste.
Can’t get the hang of doing nowt
Want to do, wanna go out
Every day just the same
Precious life going down the drain
Another day has been a waste
Another day just cut and paste.
Made a plan, things to do
Gotta get out, meet with you
Head’s a traffic jam again
Cones are out, no working men
Brain’s just stuck in bottom gear
No way I’m leaving here
Another day has been a waste
Another day just cut and paste.
Another day down the drain
Another day, lots of pain
Shakes like hell, couldn’t yell
Could hardly even speak
Words not there, people stare
Me feeling like a freak
Legs like stone, feel so alone
Need to be safe back at home
Another day has been a waste
Another day just cut and paste.
Politicians do your sums
We’re not a load of idle bums
Don’t just stand and bang your gums
Don’t just cut and paste
ME won’t let us live
For that sin I won’t forgive
It gives a little, takes a lot
But beware our souls can’t be bought
My inner strength will work tenfold
To leave M.E out in the cold
To this Illness I will lay waste
Spread the word……
Just cut and paste…..
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Nights will flaunt life
to perilous laughter. It’s not all that bad.
An inability to join in, anyway,
it was the Saturday of the football game.
Genre: Flarf poetry
Humanity’s Collective Oulipo Experiment
by Jeffrey J. Garrett
Nights will flaunt life
to perilous laughter. It’s not all that bad.
An inability to join in, anyway,
it was the Saturday of the football game.
Sometimes they live in an occupied country,
and the occupying power has no intention of the world.
Pretty colorful, isn’t it? Sure, it might do just as much good to yodel
a taunting, singsong melody repeated a shocking number of times
over a twangy electric rhythm section that appears
to have gone insane.
The following are links to some movements of loneliness and like that:
while researchers suss out such questions,
to have complete fealty to the truth,
photographs of people in both pleasant settings
and unpleasant settings
to remember times with friends, thus suggesting that we can actually feel social chills
connecting with them.
What a party animal, right?
Obituaries are instances of journalistic biography.
A stylized mask that was also
a sort of optical illusion—
you had another mask.
You can write about the recently dead a million different ways.
We do it fundamentally impersonally,
resurrecting the last working days of the victims,
attention to the mind-fields of the socially isolated.
Isolation and our physical health.
Outdated conceptualisms and the reframing of race relations,
a future in which everyone commands a voice and
a platform, and platitude and a pogrom. A poetry.
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POETRY FESTIVAL. Submit to site for FREE. Submit for actor performance. Submit poem to be made into film. 