Category: poet

JUST ANOTHER WALK, Poetry by Milena O. Laska

I disappeared.
An exit in the other world
Walking for the tribute
Just another walk in the pain
This World is for you?

Genre: Rhyme, Love

JUST ANOTHER WALK
by Milena O. Laska

I disappeared.
An exit in the other world
Walking for the tribute
Just another walk in the pain
This World is for you?
Just another walk
On the other side
Give me your shoulder
And just another life
I need you
I want to be with you
Looking for the tribute.
I dry my tears
Armed by my fears
With their shields and spears
Killing me by loving you,
Tender Angel.
Come soon, again,
I need to be armed again,
You dont come in vain,
I need you, guarded by you,
Angel.
Mild and tender
Through this worlds thunder and rain.
Just another walk for the tribute.
Armed my fears and tears
I dream and dream and only you Angel must know
What I mean, calling you from the other side of love.

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so here is mine, Poetry by Ghada 20

You are the love

you are the fate

you are the soul and

its mate

Genre: Romance, Love, Relationship

so here is mine
by Ghada 20

You are the love

you are the fate

you are the soul and

its mate

you are a dream

and debate

you are the morning song

and relief

you are me… my very

special case.

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Spooky, Poetry by Billy JnoHope

choose your phantom

wear it well

candy for your fears

Genre: Dark

Spooky
by Billy JnoHope

choose your phantom

wear it well

candy for your fears

as daylight ends

masks taunting every door

life tricks and death treats

in the hands of the beholder

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After the War, Poetry by Stone Fox

There was nothing remotely familiar,
I could see no one and every one all at once.
These people were lost, they were all dead.
Salem grew dark-blushing from a freshly spent temptation.
A seduction created from the ideas of rash men,
that was then danced into destiny’s details by the devil.

Genre: War, Society, Political

After the War
by Stone Fox

There was nothing remotely familiar,
I could see no one and every one all at once.
These people were lost, they were all dead.
Salem grew dark-blushing from a freshly spent temptation.
A seduction created from the ideas of rash men,
that was then danced into destiny’s details by the devil.
It continued breeding shadow as every flame,
owned by the light was savagely snuffed-out.
Murder was now on a most elegant hunt.
Each diminishing spark documented each kill,
becoming a growing list of victims.
Meanwhile the thick lingering Blackness
kept a informal score as the shadow grew in strength.
Secretly, far off in the distance, a melody of sweetly soft smothered shrieks
signaled and started a symphony of serenely sobering sobs.
Sobs that began shaping and shifting into
unarticulated sighs and cries that never faltered.
But still, it was met with one lone menacing Nightmare.
A over stayed it’s welcome Terror.
It circled any remaining flame of light like a bottom feeding vulture.
Pushing it’s poor neglected lies unto any and all close by ears.
It could be heard loudly whispering to your hopes and dreams:
“Fret not” it almost always began,
“For though you have truly lost it all-your lives included-
there is a promise to clothe you.”
There was no hiding the disdain from it’s voice or face at the last two words.
But as quickly as the emotion appeared, it was replaced
with a plastic sneer as it finished with,
“All things look good, even better, dressed in our monograms.”
I found it’s night terror or tall tale amusing,
meeting this Nightmare face to face
as my insistent smirk escaped my control,
unnoticed by all including me.

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T H E I N T E R N M E N T, Poetry by Melodic Rose

They will lie and impale you
Throw your bones to the wolves.
They will castrate and frustrate you
Bound for damnation.

GENRE: Political, Social Commentary

T H E I N T E R N M E N T
by Melodic Rose

They will lie and impale you
Throw your bones to the wolves.
They will castrate and frustrate you
Bound for damnation.

They will toss you bits
Of mouldy bread
You will eat the shreds of
Flesh hanging over an open carcass.

Gorge your belly
with the repugnance
of rotting meat.

And they will tell you to be happy.

Be satisfied that your palace is made
Of dirt,
Your throne built from the bones
Of the dead.
The floor a sweltering dingy pile
Of crud.
Because it is still a palace,
After all.

They will offer you bare bits of change.
Dangle precious pearls before your eyes.
Taunt you with every sort of desire,
your flesh has longed for

They will beg you to dine at their table.
Make you an honoured guest,
If you will only sacrifice
And sacrifice you will.

For they will pour vials of poison
Into your veins.
Drive blades through your sockets,
Remove your tongue with the blade
of the knife

And toss the gun from hand to hand
Playing games with your very fate.

They will psychologically rape
The intellect out of you,
Shoot an arrow through your
Heart.
Plunge the dagger through your belly
and skewer you like a sunday roast.

You will be nothing but a pile of ash.

They will tell you to sit,
To laugh,
Be gentle
Be strong
Move like a semi automatic sliding door.
All gear clogged,
Created on a factory assembly line.

Until there is nothing left
Your body a host for spare electrical parts.

They will chain you up,
Beat you to submission.
Lead you like an animal to the slaughter.
Herding you into maximum security
For safe keeping.

Your ignorance, the only chain
Needed to keep you under captivity.

They have fed you fecal matter
And called it a gourmet meal.
Clothed you in burlap
And called it silk.

They will thread wires through your ears
pulse you with electrical currents.

They will radiate your very will to live.
Steal the words from the tip of your tongue
and tell you never to speak.

They will laugh at you,
puppet wire you
and pull you by the strings,
They have made you into the byproduct
of the their intention.
They will claim you were their i n v e n t i o n,

And you will dance on point
and learn to laugh.
Move like all the other droids.
They will remove the very breath from your lungs

one tear gas,
one vial of poison
one compromise
one deception
one war,
one institution
one moment
one historical m a n i p u l a t i o n
one vote
one protest
one force
one grand consummate scheme at a time.

They will call it a D e m o c r a c y

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Second chance Love over 60 years old, Poetry by Jonell Kirby Cash

A Ring, A Dance, A Second Chance

Jonell Kirby Cash
A Ring,
A Dance,
A Second Chance;

GENRE: Romance

Second chance Love over 60 years old
by Jonell Kirby Cash

A Ring, A Dance, A Second Chance

Jonell Kirby Cash
A Ring,
A Dance,
A Second Chance;

My darling’s gone,
Now I’m alone

And then
The Phone…
A love I’d known

Reminded me
That now I’m free

To Live
To Dance
Another Chance….

And Love Again

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Fallen Knife, Poetry by Gokul Baby Alex

The journey of a knife

That fell upside down

Out of its tainted edges

On a melting pot of love and life

In a state of inverted coma

Genre: Nature, Observation

Fallen Knife
by Gokul Baby Alex

The journey of a knife

That fell upside down

Out of its tainted edges

On a melting pot of love and life

In a state of inverted coma

Ten seconds before it could groove

A meaningful mist over the grass

Piercing through the foams of lust

Reached the wicked wounds of a heart

Of a cloudy mind, of an ellipsis creature

Caused no ache to the veins and vessels

Wrapped up in a silence, outside its mystic

Carried it away, carved it nice and plotted large

A picture so poisonous that only the wound is left

To cry foul on the flesh of its appetite

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Forgiveness, Poetry by Sherille Williams

His interest are no longer my interest.
Now this love that went on for so long has now become distant,
or should I say it’s the distance thats making my heart wonder .
They say shit like this makes the heart grow fonder. When he is around, all we do is bicker.

Genre: Relationship, Love

Forgiveness
by Sherille Williams

His interest are no longer my interest.
Now this love that went on for so long has now become distant,
or should I say it’s the distance thats making my heart wonder .
They say shit like this makes the heart grow fonder. When he is around, all we do is bicker.
His outlook on life is not the same when he first met me.
He cheated, which means all his morals and respect for me depleted my standards of what a real man wouldn’t do.
This made my heart bleed, because I thought I was his flower and seed, a seed that grew o’ so happily. Since then it’s been all backwards bends on my end.
All my deepest feelings are now complaints, and all his dreams is what he sees to succeed.
I mean, time and time again
I daydream of him being my husband.
My love for him runs so deep even
my G-spot senses him before he turns the corner.
Then, reality snaps me back and I recognize it’s just hopeful love that I’m fucking stuck in.
Holding on days he will change and maybe I can do the same.
Now, it’s not at all his fault because at times my emotions take me over the edge. I become weak and a bit needy instead. Give him head so he can forget the argument we just had.
Then I’m still fucking empty.
He never held me when I cried,
I just wanted a bit more attention and for him to stop thinking money will be by his side when he’s dead.
NO!
It’s not the bills, it’s his wife that will be there because once he dies I will too.
See my mind is misleading into thinking
everyone should love like me.
Now, statistically that extremely rare to find.
You know; the kind of spouse that sees things before it happens and that women’s intuition that never steers a man wrong.
A good women will make you shiver even after you bust a nut, making him wanting to kiss me on the forehead asking if I can hold him instead.
I hope one day this love theory of mine will come alive.
Yet its my fault, because I’m telling the story to all my family and friends of how much he’s hurt me, but I’m still with him in the end.
I love him and if forgiving includes spitting some poetry to mend
my heart then I guess this is where the true forgiveness starts.

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The Silent Warrior, Poetry by Maj Excel Escanlar

He stays focused on his mind
Imagining a place you’ll never find
He got his pen
And wrote his note
A poem for a person he once fought

Genre: Sad, Hurt

The Silent Warrior
by Maj Excel Escanlar

He stays focused on his mind
Imagining a place you’ll never find
He got his pen
And wrote his note
A poem for a person he once fought

This poet wrote for a special one
And she just made him out of fun
She’d just taken for granted
His love and effort
Then with his own will
She ran

He told others after that
What he’d been through
He was shocked
With words of wisdom came from his mouth
He now tell tales of hatred
As long as north reached the south

He didn’t try to hurt her
Or cursed the people who likes her
All he did was beg for her to go back
Too bad her pride was high as a garbage truck

He failed
He was pitied
All he had was a pen
A note
Or a typing machine
To express his feelings
No care
No effort
No one will be hurt
He thought

So He write
He cry
While tears on the paper dry
He’s fighting the memories
On his face
You can’t see any bliss.

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Dearly Beloved, Poetry by Marquis Green

And what, we ask ourselves to pick up the pieces because perfection is a picture not yet
attainable by protection.
We’re begged to let our hearts guards down, in some twisted attempt to let another in and board
up the damage found,
to take our hearts and bend the rules,
to look over pain, to not become bitter fools.
They’ll always ask “is everything okay”,
and you’ll sit there lying with grimace,

Genre: Love, Relationship

Dearly Beloved
by Marquis Green

And what, we ask ourselves to pick up the pieces because perfection is a picture not yet
attainable by protection.
We’re begged to let our hearts guards down, in some twisted attempt to let another in and board
up the damage found,
to take our hearts and bend the rules,
to look over pain, to not become bitter fools.
They’ll always ask “is everything okay”,
and you’ll sit there lying with grimace,
as you flimsily make your way out of each encounter forgetting each time to put yourself
together again, and your mind claws at its walls,
are we making the same mistakes again,
could we have found love again, and I’ll make my heart stand aside,
and ask if you could abide by my crazy demands,
because for some silly reason, my hearts demand is happiness.
We forgot what it was like to not know perfection but find it in each other,
and we started to learn how to live with regret,
and the burdens became heavier to hold,
still they became easier when we were together.
I met you on the side of a back alley in Calcutta,
and you met me for the first time as the dealer kept an ace under his sleeve to give Chris his
advantage. Don’t we all want that sunrise story,
that perfect encounter?
And yet everyone still looks down on my dearly beloved,
forced to hide feeling for ambition, as a hold of depression takes over and becomes her position,
her condition is worsened by the hate she keeps inside for herself.
I knew it,
I saw the signs.
I felt it, I wore the scars.
And I see everything and everyone pass you by, and all I know is that you’re running out of time.
Sympathy takes my emotion,
and my soul becomes a commotion,
gathering steam in an attempt to drown your sorrow,
and murder becomes the answer, and the mirror reveals all my horror.
Pain is gone. And we, as now one, can rejoice in the celebration that you are never alone.
And yet, you’re ready to let that go and I’m ready to let you go.
Was it a mistake, each moment that drives our abuse, each dose that douses our hopes, however
loose our bonds to dreams are, and happiness is never far.
And what will tomorrow bring?
Every new sound to hammer hope into a broken commitment will leave me without grounding,
and I’ll be left for dead at a destroyed altar,
and I’ve heard it all, found alone,
and all the walls marked with the words
to know life goes on, and that we will have the strength to move on.
And what did you find in me?
Some distorted truth, pinpointed poison
lies that helped you realize nothing’s perfect,
and the only time everything was normal was in this young love’s youth.
I feel it too.

I write this to you, my dearly beloved.
For the house we made has burned to the ground, but these bricks still stand.
Each picture depicts a crime scene, for we are all thieves now,
for stealing these moments from ones that we truly need.
For each person that took a part of you, I am sorry.
For each person who maimed your soul, I still worry.
For each ring that becomes a mirror into you, I am sorry.

Dearly beloved.
Today is 20 years ago.
17 we met.
3 we loved.
A lifetime, we knew.
Today,
we
grieve.

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