Category: poet

A BROKEN WOMAN, Poetry by Eshema Momoh

Broken by the past and circumstances;

Broken by self and others;

Broken by decisions and actions;

Broken within and without;

Broken in places that should be whole;

Genre: Sad, Dark, Depression

A BROKEN WOMAN
by Eshema Momoh

Broken by the past and circumstances;

Broken by self and others;

Broken by decisions and actions;

Broken within and without;

Broken in places that should be whole;

Broken and frustrated;

Broken and hurt;

Broken pieces small and big.

Needing restoration,

Needing hope,

Needing healing,

Needing love,

Need the pieces to come back together.

No one knows how broken I am,

No one knows how much I hurt,

No one understands the pains,

No one can feel the brokenness for me.

I am all alone in this broken state in a broken world,

A broken life.

Who can help me out of this brokenness?

Who can mend me and make me whole again?

Who can heal the Brokenhearted?

Then I hear words of hope,

A song of deliverance….

Alleluia! The great Potter wants to put me back together again.

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Watch Poem turned into a MOVIE: The Pumpkin Beast by Kathy Figueroa

Watch poem turned into a movie.

Poetry by Kathy Figueroa

Produced by Matthew Toffolo

Voice Over by Steve Rizzo

Visual Design by Yujin Song

The Pumpkin Beast by Kathy Figueroa

Watch poem turned into a movie.

Poetry by Kathy Figueroa

Produced by Matthew Toffolo

Voice Over by Steve Rizzo

Visual Design by Yujin Song

The Jack’o’Lantern gone mad, Poetry by Paul Parent

The fog drifts slowly, creeping mysteriously over hallowed grounds.

The resting home of the dead was filled with scary sounds.

There is this Jack’o’Lantern and the cemetery is his home.

He has been there since 1784, and decides this is where he will roam

To those who walk bravely in the cemetery at night.

The Jack’o’Lantern will give you such an eerie fright.

Genre: Horror, Rhyme, Gore, Halloween

The Jack’o’Lantern gone mad
by Paul Parent

The fog drifts slowly, creeping mysteriously over hallowed grounds.

The resting home of the dead was filled with scary sounds.

There is this Jack’o’Lantern and the cemetery is his home.

He has been there since 1784, and decides this is where he will roam

To those who walk bravely in the cemetery at night.

The Jack’o’Lantern will give you such an eerie fright.

Ghost friends create mischief with him too,

Their hair stands up with just one blood curdling boo.

A cat with raised hackles sits on a tombstone with a hiss.

And a zombie out from a grave wildly shakes his fist.

Around in the cemetery in circles flies a wicked witch,

Her cackle loud enough with a high piercing pitch.

A spider web might be cast upon a face or two.

The web is icky and will stick to you like glue.

Jack’ o’ Lantern’s smile was up and not down.

Now, not a pleasant smile but only a frightening frown.

The Jack O’ Lantern throws flames only to have fun.

He laughs in a frenzy watching people wildly run.

If he saw that their clothes were not singed and blackened scorched,

He would bite them if they dared come onto the rickety old porch!

If that did not work he would stand on his feet

And chase them all screaming, running down the street.

If ever on Halloween you are in a cemetery and lean over onto a grave,

Dare to be frightened or dare to be brave.

It is only one night throughout all the years.

You have nothing to be scared of – perhaps only your fears.

Remember: The Jack’o’Lantern lives for Halloween.

This is the night he could be nastier, nastier and chillingly mean.

At one time he was a good pumpkin – this is so sad.

One day he snapped his lid and went absolutely mad.

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POETRY, Poetry by Caiubi

but bitter
more bitter
a keepin abstence
well said from who looks
shiping the simple silence to burning words
a pray

Genre: Life, People, Society

POETRY
by Caiubi

but bitter
more bitter
a keepin abstence
well said from who looks
shiping the simple silence to burning words
a pray
a flame as an answer to the world
mute river
deaf move
inert stone
the matters is the poem
imperious hand in a missin work
brings to incandescent spirity
and all call thought incinerated act
water throught abort a will
to you
to everything
to a glorious achivements that only one can do
this poem
gathering mountain of shame
waiting to raise a mirror hand
and nothing
suspect of amnesia
lying absorved
desperade
…
don’t be afraid
play an end
blink love
crimson leaf

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Plastic Limitations, Poetry by Maka Nyingwa

Dolls lined up in neat rows of ten,
each equally afraid of lies, pain and disappointment
Drawn with aching smiles and soulless eyes:
cages are imprinted with redundant words to spark interest

Genre: Life, Society

Plastic Limitations
by Maka Nyingwa

Dolls lined up in neat rows of ten,
each equally afraid of lies, pain and disappointment
Drawn with aching smiles and soulless eyes:
cages are imprinted with redundant words to spark interest

A new era of egocentrically selfless dolls pollute the aisle
while the rest are left to decay into the dust they rose from
And as damaged beauty is glorified,
hearts are lost to the physical eye:

Money, magnified, manic
Absent, apathetic, abandoned
Grated, generic, glorified
Empty, effortless, edited
Damaged:
the end of each relationship is the beginning of every insecurity…
Damaged.

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HUMID ROOM, Poetry by Gokul Baby Alex

I feel I am not alone in this room

It breaths and crawls with my antics

So much of emotions brewing here

So much of humidity lives here

Genre: Philosophical

HUMID ROOM
by Gokul Baby Alex

I feel I am not alone in this room

It breaths and crawls with my antics

So much of emotions brewing here

So much of humidity lives here

A plenty of sweat and despair is born

Simmering out of sickness

It grows weird in my eyesight

I have another humid half

I know it is not made up of my days

I know it is not cooked in my dreams

It may be the other end of my porous beliefs

They see through the wedges of my pupil

A world full of half-baked ideas

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FILLED GLASSES & LIT CIGARETTES, Poetry by Noemi Moncayo

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.

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THE OTHER, Poetry 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.

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.

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‎PANDEMONIUM, Poetry by Vanessa Anthony

The past’s place misplaced
The future lacking in grace
The present looking faked
How much more can I take

Genre: Dark, Emotional, Pain, Despair Death

‎PANDEMONIUM
by Vanessa Anthony

The past’s place misplaced
The future lacking in grace
The present looking faked
How much more can I take

Drifting in and out of shadows
No focus in the hallows
Darkness darker than dark
Here I lay, stark

Illusive mirage
Emotional barrage
Unbreakable chains
Unspeakable pains

Broken pieces
Heart beat ceases
Once again in darkness
Droned in madness

http://www.vanessaknowspoetry.blogspot.com

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MY BEAUTIFUL CIRCUMSTANCES, Poetry 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.

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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