Category: poet

Smiley Plant, Poetry by Sharky

Hey you, you’re acting a little weird.

You know you’ve got Mary Jane at the palm of your hands?

Controlling you so.

But You’ve got a certain smile that I haven’t witnessed in awhile.

Mind you if I try your smiley plant?

Genre: Peer Pressure and Curiosity.

Smiley Plant
by Sharky

Hey you, you’re acting a little weird.

You know you’ve got Mary Jane at the palm of your hands?

Controlling you so.

But You’ve got a certain smile that I haven’t witnessed in awhile.

Mind you if I try your smiley plant?

I’ve heard her be called a blanket.

Is it like a cocoon?

Protecting you while you become stronger?

How do you get out of it

and when do you know you’re ready.

I’ve seen people never drag themselves out of that land.

That tell me of the magical land while you’re on it.

It’s like a ticket to a land of bliss.

But I guess that’s why some people hate it.

Some people hate feeling truly happy.

I’m forgetting little details

I’m forgetting more than I feel like I should.

Why does it not seem important to remember that person’s name?

The pain in my heart

The emptiness that feels like it’s crawling, tearing, coming out of me

Ripping me apart.

It feels less brutal like this.

Hey, you’re acting a little weird.

You’ve got a smile I have witnessed in a while now.

Can I try some of that smiley stuff?

Does she make you feel like you’re being whisked away?

Does she feel like it’s protecting you from the past and present.

Do you feel like it’s torturing your future?

Cracking the whips at all of your plans

Making you alter the course of your steps.

Do you ever regret taking that first little blow

or do you regret the actions following it?

Hey Mary Jane, you know you’ve ruined my life?

Taking that first little puff, taking that first blow

Altered all my future sayings.

Hey you, you’re acting a little weird.

You know you’ve got Mary Jane at the palm of your hands?

Controlling you so

But You’ve got a certain smile that I haven’t witnessed in awhile.

Mind you if I try your smiley plant?

    * * * * *

Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
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RAGING BATTLES, Poetry by Saloni Verma

A young girl walks bare feet,
Amongst the gunpowder and debris,
She looks at the bloody bodies, now covered,
She mourns deeply for her beloved.

Genre: Rhyme, Romance, Love

RAGING BATTLES
by Saloni Verma

A young girl walks bare feet,
Amongst the gunpowder and debris,
She looks at the bloody bodies, now covered,
She mourns deeply for her beloved.

The world was such an empty place before,
Then came her prince-on-the-white-horse to the fore,
They shared a bond that could last forevermore
The world wasn’t so empty anymore.

He was a soldier of the state,
Serving the country was his fate,
He loved his girl and his nation,
He was his country’s true citizen.

They walked the lush gardens hand-in-hand,
They scoured for shells in the golden sand,
They ran gleefully in the rain,
They were not aware of the upcoming pain.

One day, he got called for his duty,
He was called to serve at the front;
They were taught to show no pity,
The enemy had to face the brunt.

The girl was left alone to ponder,
The state of her lover she often wondered;
She passed her days lying in wait,
She couldn’t leave everything in the hands of fate.

She heard the radio day and night,
Heard the horrific results of the fight;
They often recounted the names of the dead,
With worry did her forehead always sweat.

He called one day, “How are you, my love?”
“Lying in your wait”, she only sobbed.
He told her of his friends’ death,
She only said that she was sitting with awaited breath.

He recounted the booms of the guns, the missiles, the bodies,
He told her how they had to live as a quarry;
He said he was proud to fight,
He said he was content he was right.
Though the barrels made him shiver,
He had always the strength-filled quiver.

She longed to see him day & night,
She heard from them one twilight,
He had been martyred by the enemy’s cannon,
“He was our bravest soldier”, said the Captain.

Her heart burst with paramount grief,
Battles raged in her heart as on the streets;
“How ironical”, she thought grimly of her loss,
That it should come at a time after their country had won.

She walked then between the gunpowder and debris,
She now only felt the thorns of the roses, on her feet;
Come and see the blood in the streets, her heart cried
Come and see the blood in the streets!
Come and see the
blood in the streets!!

    * * * * *

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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His Red Rattle, Poetry by Chris Biscuiti

He tries so hard to grab his red rattle
Staring intently as his hands reach out
One day soon he will win this next battle
Previous victories leave me no doubt

Genre: Rhyme, Family, People

His Red Rattle
by Chris Biscuiti

He tries so hard to grab his red rattle
Staring intently as his hands reach out
One day soon he will win this next battle
Previous victories leave me no doubt

He might not be able to smash his cake
But he’ll definitely love the flavor
With all he’s accomplished make no mistake
It’s been a year we will truly savor

He’ll have birthdays where he blows out candles
and unwraps all of his shiny new toys
One of these years he’ll easily handle
all the goodies given to birthday boys

This year we get the best gift there can be:
Six months without spasms and seizure free

    * * * * * *

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Poetry by Derek Ray

Do you embrace the place
where the trees grow untamed?

Genre: Inspirational

Poetry
by Derek Ray

Do you embrace the place
where the trees grow untamed?

They seem to know
what we want to hide;
the simple oneness that exists
between you and I.

    * * * * * *

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Disappeared, Poetry by Ravjit Singh

The nights were warm
And the wind howled quietly
In his head there was a storm
It crept up slowly but violently

Genre: Dark, Horror

Disappeared
by Ravjit Singh

The nights were warm
And the wind howled quietly
In his head there was a storm
It crept up slowly but violently

He went from smiles in the morning
To tears and anger in the night
One moment he felt as if he was soaring
Then his own heart he would fight

Full of light while the sun was out
Clouded with darkness when he saw the moon
Like his emotions were wandering about
Lost and ready to collapse soon

Tonight the moon was full
And the darkness was heavy
He would fight and pull
Until death asked if he was ready

He refused to cry
But the light wouldn’t appear
Made this his last goodbye
And finally he would disappear

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LOVE’S REALITY, Poetry by Jonell Kirby Cash

My Love wrote me a poem:

“I’ve had you in my life…

Five thousand days and more,

You’ve been a loving wife”

Genre: Love, Rhyme, Relationship

LOVE’S REALITY
by Jonell Kirby Cash

My Love wrote me a poem:

“I’ve had you in my life…

Five thousand days and more,

You’ve been a loving wife”

What more can I wish for…

Five thousand days with you;

“You made my life joyful;

The happy times I knew”

***

Those days flew by—I didn’t know—

I’d be alone –I never knew;

Five thousand days –were not enough

“Our time was short…our days too few”

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Baby come home, Poetry by Mike Hill

In bed i wait for darling to come home

Wondering if he is alright or alone

I stare at the cling with tears in my eyes

Wondering if i could make alone another night

My darling is still gone and i want to here his voice

Genre: Love, Rhyme

Baby come home
by Mike Hill

Baby come home

In bed i wait for darling to come home

Wondering if he is alright or alone

I stare at the cling with tears in my eyes

Wondering if i could make alone another night

My darling is still gone and i want to here his voice

Its been a long time since we both made a choice.

He left in the morning and never came home

I waited and watched and stared at the door

Hoping to here his foot steps once more.

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Infatuation, Poetry by Anna Sue Benson

I am a skilled,
dedicated,
stalker.
When I can sneak out,
I walk across town,
over the river bridge,
creep up the one way street,
imagining the subject of my desire.

Genre: Dark, Horror

Infatuation
by Anna Sue Benson

I am a skilled,
dedicated,
stalker.
When I can sneak out,
I walk across town,
over the river bridge,
creep up the one way street,
imagining the subject of my desire.
One my way home
from work,
the grocery store,
running errands,
I drive by,
slowly.
I wonder
what the neighbors think
about my constant presence
on this quiet side-street.

This object of my desire,
this house,
is mine.
Mine in an unexplainable,
not of this world,
kind of way.
It’s perched up on a hill,
surrounded by trees,
vacant for years,
slowly succumbing to decay and neglect.
I peek in the windows,
see that a remodeling project
has been left unfinished,
building materials long untouched.
The pull this house has on me
is palpable.
I feel,
wholeheartedly feel,
like I should walk up those steps
and through the front door.
It’s my house.
The house makes me believe
the padlocks on the doors,
the deed in someone’s else’s name,
are irrelevant.
I want to,
I need to,
step foot in that house
feel its energy.

I’ve found out everything
I could possibly research.
Built in 1910,
changed hands 19 times
in 40 years,
owned by a company
in Bakersfield, CA
that has no business
owning a house in these parts,
a company
who hasn’t paid the taxes
on my house
in two years.
I imagine,
writing them,
offering to pay the back taxes,
take the house off their hands.
If only I had the means,
to restore it
to the way it deserves to exist,
I would.

I have asked around,
learned all the local history.
People are afraid
of my house.
The land around it,
encircled by many known
Native American burial mounds.
People wonder
if any other burial mounds
were disrespected
in the building of that home,
wonder if there is some curse,
some bad energy
for what might have been done
to a sacred resting place.
Local urban legends
revolve around this house,
the woods around it.

I am undeterred.
I pace the woods behind my house,
pondering a way
I could get inside.
I feel uneasy
the closer I get
to my house.
Maybe it’s that I’m a rule-follower,
I know, from a legal standpoint,
I’m trespassing.
Surely the uneasy feeling
couldn’t be that something is wrong,
off about the property.
I don’t understand
how something so right
could be out of my grasp.
I can’t accept that.
The house
pulls me in.
I don’t know how,
but I can make this happen.
It will be mine.

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A Mention of Minchin, Poetry by Allison Welborn

There will always be a percentage
Of people who don’t agree with your message.
Some will love you and follow your profession;
They will chant “Tim is God,” and you’ll be their obsession.

Genre: inspirational/motivational

A Mention of Minchin
By Allison Welborn

There will always be a percentage
Of people who don’t agree with your message.
Some will love you and follow your profession;
They will chant “Tim is God,” and you’ll be their obsession.
Some will adore “White Wine in the Sun,” and agree with “The Fence,”
But will completely reject your religious stance.
And some will hate you and will never give you a chance.
Some will get out of their seat and on the toes of their feet
When I say, “What do you think of Minchin? Here, I’ll give you a beat.”

“He’s loud and obnoxious.
He’s rude and rambunctious.
He will never make it as a comedian.
He’s overly sarcastic and rudely bombastic.
He’s offensive and aggressive.
He will always be a fool, scum, a godless bohemian.
He’s racist and tasteless.
He’s ignorant and arrogant.
I’m sure he’s heard it all, that fumigant.
How dare he use the word nigger?
Whatever happened to tar and feather?
It’s shit on a page!
Get off the stage!”

To them I would say,
“Here are a few questions if I may,
Did he offend you? Are you mad?!
Did he come a little too close to home for you, lad?
If you’ve answered yes, it was probably rightly due;
Maybe you should change your hue, or get a clue.
If you heard the words that were applied,
You’d know that he was on the right side.”

They would see what they were missin’,
If they would just give it a listen.
Your music is the Xanax to my anxiety;
When I’m down, your lyrics pick me back up entirely.
Every time I wake, something emerges in my gourd.
Why, it’s you; whether it’s a line, a verse, or a chord.
Surely I haven’t been misconceived,
For this is what I have perceived . . .

“He’s articulate and accurate.
He’s crude but shampooed.
He will be a hit or miss for the religious clans.
He’s clever and a scholar.
He’s relatable and inspirational.
He will be a fucking legend to his biggest fans.
He’s considerate and elaborate.
He’s honest but modest.
He has changed some of my views, for that I am fondest.
He’s one of a kind, a true performer!
He give me chills, even if it’s summer!
Like cheddar, he only gets better with age.
For Tim Minchin will never be caged!”

They fall back in their seat, in what seems like defeat.
“I’ll give him another go, maybe there’s more to Tim than I know.”
If I’ve done my part, perhaps they’ll have a change of heart.
I may have created a brand new fixation,
All due to a mention of Minchin.

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GENERATIONS, Poetry by Thomas K. Hunt

Fathers build and mothers smile
Bear their fruit to drop their seeds
Within us all lives a child
In soil rich beneath the weeds

Genre: Life

GENERATIONS
by Thomas K. Hunt

Fathers build and mothers smile
Bear their fruit to drop their seeds
Within us all lives a child
In soil rich beneath the weeds
Years of changing faces
Given eyes tell the truth
Aged lines leave subtle traces
Still, blossom from just one root
The torch we pass is everlasting
Red embers of bloodline names
Many molds from just one casting
Each one different but yet the same
Still the foe of time fights against us
Always the victor in the field
Though we struggle with mighty vengeance
We suffer a wound that never heals
Faces change to granite markers
Fleeting memories of what we were
Photographs in old footlockers
Become unfocused, faded, and blurred
Like the horizon steals the sunset
The ages rob our life of time
Yet like the sunrise in the morning
Another life is born from mine
Immortality does exist
Survived with each new fertile womb
Natures own enduring seed
Again will flower, again will bloom

Copyright © 2015 Thomas K. Hunt

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