Category: poet

DEATH BOUTIQUE, Poetry by Lionel Walfish

 Genre: Comical Farce
—-

Stepping on the lower stones that led to hallways bare, the master of the shop appeared, and beckoned to a chair. “We’ve got a great array to choose from sir”, he flipped a tiny switch. “There are those outside, who think that this is only for the rich.” The room went dark, a screen lit up, and he began to ‘pitch’. “The Pyramids look good to-day. Locked in a tomb is a very fine way! The Tour Eiffel, a man once fell, his skull did crack on landing. On the bateaux Mouche, a gentle push, saw Madam’s lungs expanding.” “Niagara Falls, on a gray windy day, a little raft will do ya . Row to the ledge, just over the edge, while singing Hallelujah. From The Empire State, observation is great, and we’ll ship you over for free. You go to the top, pass the sign that says ‘stop’, and over you go, one, two, three. In India, there is a hall, The Tajmah, and it’s very tall. We’ll bring you to the highest tower, and you’ll be gone within the hour. In London town, you know the bridge; it runs across the Thames. We’ll hold you down, I’m sure you’ll drown, ensnared in lily stems. We’ll take you to the northern wilds, a place you’ve dreamed of as a child. And just to show you that we care, you’ll be eaten by a polar bear. A small deposit, right now will do. No fuss, no muss, we’ll see it through. Ten thousand Francs, right now will do. A special price, and just for you ! ”

 

 

 

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

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A jumbled up mess, Poetry by Krystle Nicole Martin

 Genre: Life
—

I haven’t written much in a long while and since it’s almost the new year I figured I would try something for a bit.

I’m scared.
I don’t know what tomorrow will hold.
I’m not even sure if there will even be a tomorrow.
I don’t want my hard work to lead me nowhere.
I don’t think I thought this through.

I’m a jumbled up mess.
I’m either here nor there.
I’m a wandering soul.

My feet stay planted.
My eyes have wandered what could lie in the horizon.
My mind races.
My body is numb.

Is this what faith is like?
Is this the way it’s supposed to feel?
Is this what trust is like?
Is this the way I’m supposed to go?

I can’t write eloquently.
I can’t write to save my life.
I can’t write to understand.

Where am I going?
Where is my resting place?

I know, I’ll go Home.

 

 

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

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DREAM, Poetry by Mary Freericks

Genre: Family
—

 Does sleeping
in a teen agers bed
turn me young again

peachy,
juicy
electric?

The Eiffel Tower grows
from its base
into a monument.

A metal ring tree
leans towards
the window.

And a chandelier
flat on the wall
hangs from air.

One photo of a poppy
larger than life
unfurls its petals.

I rest my head on her soft pillow
my body under her lavender quilt
What dreams will I weave?

Granddaughter, you are off at
college and I am in your bed in your home
as you stretch into life.

Discover the world.
your Indian roommate
your Chines suite mate.

As you lift your new window
I so comfortable in your bed
your miniature poodle snug at my side

relive my hipster days.
See through a translucent veil
your rainbow world

love trembling on roaring seas.
balancing on a pyramid
as hands give way.

 

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

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Gestures, Poetry by Tuoyo Palmer

Genre: Sensual
—
 
A tarry bright smile
Whispers of soothing sounds
Tantalizing spices of seasoned aroma
Fragrances which evokes the upliftment of an unconscious soul
Beauty in it’s modest nature
Life unwraps as it flips into series of previewing pages
Flashbacks of captions that entreats the mind
Distorted emotions creates a wavering countenance
Tales of trials
In pills and in portions
It disintegrates every story into pieces of treasured gold
Laying up bounties for a mysterious quest
 

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

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Magnet Effect, Poetry by Jellian Nacalaban

Genre: Love
—-

 Conflicting sides of the universe:
Left and right; yin and yang; North and south,
Opposite side of the spectrum.
Like two forces on either side of a beam
With the fulcrum on the center – balancing
Equating without negating each other;
Take out either of the two and the other will be nothing,
An empty subset of the cosmos.
There won’t be one thing without the other,
There won’t be this without that;
There won’t be me without you.
We are like two opposite sides from different magnets,
That when directed by some greater force attract,
Like different jigsaw pieces from the same puzzle,
We fit – edges and all.
It’s science.
It’s a systematic arrangement of nature,
That you and me belong together.
Like left and right, yin and yang, north and south
Opposite side of the spectrum,
Pre-destined by the universe to coexist,
And balance each other. Forever

 

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

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Lament for Cill Àirne, Poetry by Tom Roche

Genre: Save Nature
—-

(this is a modern-day adaptation by a non-poet of the sixteenth century poem Cill Chais)

Now what will we do for trees, with the last of the oaks laid low? There’s no talk of Cill Airne or its households and it’s cathedral bell will be struck no more.

That dwelling where lived the generous couple most honoured but neglected by State. Overtaken by crippling species its woodlands and visitors will be seen no more. Duck’s voices nor geese do I hear there, nor the Eagle’s cry over the lakes, nor even the bees at their labour bringing honey and wax to us all. No birdsong there, sweet and delightful, as we watch the sun go down, nor cuckoo on top of the branches setting the world to rest.

A stain on the boughs of CillAirne is descending neither daylight nor sun can clear. No hazel nor holly nor berry no dances or bon-fires nor wood for the violin.

I call upon Hazel and Enda to send the army our way: that CillAirne, the townsland of our fathers; will rise handsome on high once more and till doom – or the deluge – returns – we’ll see our woodlands no more laid low.

 

 

 

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

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96 written for today, Poetry by Dora Marii

Genre: Spiritual, Life, Awakening, Hope.

 I will not carry the torch,
I will not steer the solar chariot.

My eyes open – crystal doors,
My nostrils pant – in the air superb,
My lips awaken – for You,
And for the two of us alone.

I’ve been searching for the Beautiful in the Mislands
But the infinite is there, where they’ve said,
The beautiful Old, with their invisible wings.

I’ll take a bath in the perfect drink
The same sour cup of the Winner.
My fragile essences will be born
Just for You, just for Us.

And the space – just for us !
I see me flying, I see me floating.

© 1996, 2013 Dora Marii

 

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

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Lining of My Mind, Poetry by Shannon Laws

2016 stands outside the window, framed to be seen,
stands politely ‘til the door opens
the right door
at the right time
The future comes to me quickly

Tea or coffee?
A blanket for your lap?
It’s cold outside where time weathers
as a pacific swirl over the peninsula
hooked on peaks

cold. still.

It rains in my house.
The fire is out.
Wet paper see-throughs to wooden table.
Drips creep across the low areas, finds them all
—both the dark and the hidden.

I’m swept up into this ungraspable moment Future comes to visit.

What we desire more than seasons or weather
is the comfort of being a stranger, more so with ourselves.
It is better not to know.
So I wait.
Wait for something that vanishes as soon as it arrives.
It’s appearance not unlike mowed lawn
—the stalk of the dandelion snapped.

It’s there. We know it.
Whether we walk on it or not.
The merciless motor hums in the distance and every so often
a breeze from the south carries the leaky-green odor of grass.

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

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Sweet Wine In New Calabash, Poetry by Nestor Dzenchuo

 
Sweet Wine In New Calabash
How Blissful Thy Rosy Smiles, Honey
In Thy First Lob Into My Arms
The Grin Of Thy Upturn’d Mouth So Sweet
When We Dissolve In Blended Embraces

Thy People Produce The Best Of Raffia Wines
When I Taste The Sweet Of Thy Breathes
In Thy Kisses Merrily Must I Drink
Of A Rare But True Romance In The Air

How Blessedly The Day I Gleams’d Thee
In Bare-feet Thou Strut To Stream
Carting Water Calabash I Wish You Were Mine
Not? That Summer And Where It A Dream?

Now Thou Lie Cleav’d In My Love
Sweet Wine In New Calabash
The Scent Of Thy Breathes Like Fresh Wine
Recline Thou In My Promise Under My Thatch’d Roof
 

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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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Oberon, Poetry by Robin Goodfellow

Genre: Pain, Life

—

Unborn leaves dance to sounds

of a bell’s hymnals, echoing

through May Day’s eve.

Amongst the light-rilled mist

and through the golden pavement,

upon a shore of stained glass

sat the shadow of a man,

whose life lay blessings from before.

How many prayers have fallen from his weary lips?

Crying out the names of his lovers and beloveds?

Racing dreams through his fields of melancholy?

Giving to sweet temptations upon loveless flowers?

Laughing at innocence, with warm hands, warm hearts,

while saving himself for winter’s sharp embrace?

And yet there he sits, the Courts moving without

him, never knowing the foolishness entwined in

his heartbeat.

He loves himself.

He hates himself.

But all the same, he continues to die,

never knowing the despair of his lies.

 

 

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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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