We are born eventually knowing that we will die,
Yet that reality brings fear, faith, infatuation and a mystic that is unmatched in our existence,
From scriptures to sacrifice we are godless to what is to some a God requirement of this universe,
Some try to reverse and stop the inevitable,
By shaping themselves with man made plastics and superficial substances or some try by nourishing
themselves with fruits and vegetables,
Each to his own on this journey of mortal life,
That has demonstrated the best and worst in humanity day and night,
Each breath we all take is our possible last,
No matter how much wealth and domination one has he or she cannot bribe or escape the mortal
hourglass,
At times it seems we take that for granted and do not reflect on others we have witnessed pass,
For they have and continue to remind us that we are not greater than this magnificent earth & universe
that surrounds us,
Because simply we are just precious pieces to something greater that we cannot conquer , outlast or
outclass.
Category: poet
Read Poetry: War Cry, by Megan OKeeffe
Don’t open my door if you aren’t going to close it when you leave
Are you listening to me?
I deserve respect no matter my size or shape, just like everyone else
I am not some object to conquer or kill
Are you listening to me?
The Taliban cannot just board my dusty school bus and fire three shots at me
I am not some object to conquer or kill
You, with your rough whiskers, must face the consequences of what you take
The Taliban cannot just board my dusty school bus and fire three shots at me
You are right to fear that I may know too much, that education is serving me right
You, with your rough whiskers, must face the consequences of what you take
I am learning that a woman is worth more than just how much she can please a man
You are right to fear that I may know too much, that education is serving me right
Do your worst, I will still be standing against you at the end of each day
I am learning that a woman is worth more than just how much she can please a man
My name is Malala, your bullets will not silence me
Do your worst, I will still be standing against you at the end of each day
I deserve respect no matter my size or shape, just like everyone else
My name is Malala, your bullets will not silence me
You cannot just close this door after you open it
Read Poetry: The Fall, by Lucy FitzGerald
A cloud of smoke haunted us
until an empty gale blew it away
A susurrus of dead leaves and poison dioxide
I sat silent
benchside
cess
benchside
sycophants
A ménage à trios of social decay
And while I was breathing
Death’s frozen kiss
they cradled their own disgrace
My company
a cigarette
snug between bones
I drift away
taken up by the death shroud
of mixed Autumn and cyanide
Falling
Until
something sweet
something warm
a candle in the pit
We ran to a campus cubicle
where we lined
lines on Lovecraft
Remnants blow away
with autumnal foliage
As my torments ripple
my eyes open.
Read Poetry: Found, by Iddris Nya
Good night!
I dreadfully feared this phrase.
As it reminded me dark was nigh;
All after years of hiding myself in the quicksand of sin.
Ignoring all chances of redemption and sticking to my old grave plan;
“Live, marry and die”
An experience that led me harms way.
Each night was a time to reflect,
On the pictures that came,
Along with memories that drove me insane.
I doubted every bit of myself in the dark;
Mornings were lit with pretence and all thinking;
“He’s indeed a lovely boy”
Filled with wicked pride,
Scratch opening dead scars and turning them into painful and itchy sores was my occupation;
And like the man from Uz I loved this Job.
This story seemed impossible to end;
Until a book was opened, and a pen was picked,
Writing out every piece of word is joy I can’t explain;
I was found,
By a God’s blood;
Too much of these information spoils me;
How?
These questions they ask.
Mobilising my grateful gut to speak;
There’s a certain man,
He came from heaven’s door,
His glorious apparel and being the world couldn’t take,
So they made for him a house with two crossed woods,
They said, “we’ve ended his light”
But he shone the more;
As this man was God’s own son.
Viewing from afar I was called unto an impactful association;
Under the shed of his blood,
Gradually my nightmare turned into history,
My recurring days revealed his glory,
Like the stars in the sky, he unmasked my sadly expressions,
Anointing my head with gladness,
My lips now taste sweet as wine.
I am found,
Ever dwelling in the beauty of his presence,
He changed me from being just an image,
to being his ever lasting essence,
My King, I became
My story, I rewrote.
My place, I found
And in him, my head is crowned.
By: Iddris Nyande
Read Poem: TEARS, by Pallavi Deepchand
Walking through the rain,
I try to forget the pain.
I try to ignore the sting in my eyes,
because I know a strong girl never cries.
I begin to run, run from my fears.
But I am followed by my ever-present tears.
I want to leave these familiar places,
leave behind all of these frequent faces.
But where will I go?
What will I do?
All I know am I had to get far away from you.
But something keeps me here,
crying one last tear.
Read Poem: The Lectern’s Rise: Life Goes Ahead 2, by Lawrence Mathebula
They frown a lot and say, you don’t
belong
But days with them my God here still prolongs;
Each beat the swift pulse in it, fire flies
‘Gainst throngs that wind louder that,
I should die
One happyless, unfortunate human
being
Passed by the best a daily hour fleeting.
Look at myself; his shadow by him is
nigh,
I walk, it’s seen, in heaven above the
skies,
My choiristers known that I’m inspiring
kings.
Pace forth a stallion stride for the living
Need days the next, and thee, should
carry on
Leaving behind, all a heap of years gone
To sleep while here, days unto them I
step
Close to begin; and ending my last lap.
Read Poem: Exile, by Sujoy Bhattacharya
Post modernism was polishing posterior part of civilization .
A raven raised its bruised beak to battle with
the ugly bestiality .
A bovine call disturbed the desolate
domain- traverse tranquility.
I was standing on the bank of Yamuna
full to the brim –
as consummate as a pregnant woman
at an advanced stage .
My magenta look craned up to salute
dark clouds pouring down torrentially
melting meticulously .
The fugitive sun took prolonged shelter
behind the murky clouds .
Bacteria and virus were rejoicing with jubilant
exuberance infesting on human bodies .
My moist feet were eager to soak warmth
from the core of the earth !
Feline fidelity frowned at the frozen fossil
of moral inertia .
The ether wave echoed a shrill cry floating
around the globe .
Granules of gorgeous glitters made a
garland to pay last homage to the corpse
of human civilization.
I descried a floral chariot descending from
the void to abduct me to an alien planet
for researching human psychology .
Read Poem: No Matter Papa Repents…, by Matthew Scott Harris
Every blasted acrimonious misdeed
aye indelibly perpetrated
affecting ye and the Punim for life
hounds me doggone soul night and day
venomous wrath torments, strangles, racks…
every bone in mine entire body
suicidal ideations haunt every
waking and sleeping hour,
perhaps previous attempts to communicate,
(albeit poetically – for no rhyme nor reason)
fell short, asper yours truly
to claim accountability, culpability, responsibility…
unwittingly subjecting thee, a prized progeny
with legacy, where
diabolical, emotional, psychological… trauma
compromised your care free growing up years
namely while residing at 1148 Greentree Lane
exacerbated by mine self absorption
countless hours misspent
whiling away precious time
mesmerized more so
with computer technology,
versus prioritizing fleeting moments
with “mother” and/or offspring
yes..he now pays heavy price
pursuing amorous liaisons
gallivanting, flirting, emailing…
impacting (obliviousness
pitifully lame retort unacceptable)
feigning much ado about nothing
snappishly barking anger
such vitriol (mine)
sabotaged once in
lifetime golden opportunity
to foster, kindle pinterest
with spouse and daughters
subsequently deepening rift
rivalling Mariana Trench
love’s labour’s lost forever
frittering away compounded
half heartedly seeking employment
even though – NO LIE
inexplicable debilitating anxiety
buzzfeeding panic attacks
plaguing my psyche
since…birth, incapacitating
maximizing potential abilities
playing havoc pledging troth
with counterpart exhibiting
mental health challenges
unfairly begetting deux darling lasses
thee bearing brunt of pennilessness,
at aforementioned residence
unlivable, horribly untidy,
toxic with mold, cluttered…
such offal sight, sounds of screaming,
(when Shana nonverbal), stench…
now suffer (PLEASE BELIEVE)
suicidal ideation plagues my conscience
pointed objects quite inviting
remembrance of things past,
a worse fate than death!
PLEASE FORGIVE DADA…?
Read Poem: GUILTY, by T. Jarmon Hildreth
I don’t have to say your name
or hide beneath hyperbole and metaphor
or change the details to protect our guilt
neither one of us are innocent
we both created a storm
that left behind enough pain to last lifetimes
I dare not pretend this is in honor of
the beauty we were in the beginning
no
this is an ode to a tragedy that will always be
the you and me that we became
Read Poem: never-ending sun, by Kristen Corbisiero
Run away with me,
To a place where the things we worry about don’t matter,
Where the sun melts into the sky,
And the birds sing so beautifully we forget the sun never sets.
Stay here with me in the paradise of our own making,
Dancing and play in the sunflower field,
And we can laugh without worrying about the wrinkles around our eyes,
Blinded by the magnificent blooms.
The sun never sets,
So we never have to worry about the night and her stars,
Or wonder if the moon misses the sky,
Wonder is the stars truly do light up the sky,
Where are you stars…
Did the moon take you…?
She can’t. The sun never sets,
Eclipses anything, everything else,
Here we are, trapped in the paradises of a never-ending sun,
Dancing and spinning and laughing until we cry,
Never noticing the stars were hidden behind our eyes this whole time.
POETRY FESTIVAL. Submit to site for FREE. Submit for actor performance. Submit poem to be made into film. 