Category: poetry

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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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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