Category: poetry

‎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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THE GREATEST GIFT, Poetry by Augustine Sam

Autumn in Florence
Is a mélange of the elements of charm
A yawn away from the steady shivers lying beyond
At dusk, a wistful stroll along eclectic memoried boulevards
With echoes of church bells in tow
Unveils a canny sense of things
A nostalgic glimpse of old things,
Old people, old places,
Bequeathing their secrets unreservedly,
At the end of a tacky, melancholic day

Genre: Nature, Weather, Italy, City

THE GREATEST GIFT
by Augustine Sam

Autumn in Florence
Is a mélange of the elements of charm
A yawn away from the steady shivers lying beyond
At dusk, a wistful stroll along eclectic memoried boulevards
With echoes of church bells in tow
Unveils a canny sense of things
A nostalgic glimpse of old things,
Old people, old places,
Bequeathing their secrets unreservedly,
At the end of a tacky, melancholic day

It is autumn in Florence …
Even the blind can tell
For a whiff of that dry Tuscan air,
Disguised as a romantic breath on the cheek
Now wafts soothingly, alluringly,
Like the caressing whisper of a lover at dawn
The gaiety, the gossip,
The veritable quality of the decline of the year
All of it a mishmash of this season of gloom
And caught in the midst of it, you and I,
‘Cause in our souls, a conscious dread had sprung

It is autumn in Florence …
Even a tot can tell
From the inexorable surge of parched foliage and withering flora
Now palpable like a beauty queen wilting with the passage of time
As an impotent sun looms
With a staggering degree of poetic frenzy, like a bad omen
Over that little piazza I call lair and you call refuge
Jaded, like the dream that steered us here
Nadir, like our possibilities, and poised to snap,
Like the fragile thread holding our sanity together

It is autumn in Florence …
Even the inebriated can tell
For the Tuscan sky is daubed with gray-hued awnings
A kaleidoscope of waning streaks, epitomizing
The artistic finesse of the heavens
A subtle connotation, a riveting verity that
Four times a year the seasons change without fail
That now leaves must turn sallow and plummet, and flowers must wither
And with them, everything except us,
Must leap beyond their prime

It is autumn in Florence …
Even a troll can tell
From that lingering mystery of vitality and lethargy,
So exquisite, so sophisticated,
That no longer obscures the daunting haze that strains the air
In the flush and bloom of early womanhood, you …
Radiant like a new moon on a starlit night
Cunningly oblivious of the secrets of my tears
Paying no heed to the disheartening dread that swathes me
For in this season, with every leaf that falls,
And every flower that withers, your days are numbered

It is autumn in Florence …
Even an obtuse can tell
From the stunning sight of Fiesole transformed into violet by the magic of twilight
And now, here we are—you and I—ensnared by a dream
Unraveled by a foe, invincible and vile
Like injured rebels ferried home to roost
Desolate hands too volatile to reach
Ardent eyes too doleful to watch
As your frailty eats you up with delicious cruelty
The way a vulture does a prey
Causing every fantasy within the limits of our amorous deeds
To evaporate, along with the last breath in your lungs

It is autumn in Florence …
Even dreamers can tell, for
The vestiges these bleak nights amass were once stacks of hope
On which now abide memories undimmed
A better friend than you life never gave
You were the bloom that autumn failed to erode
The warmth that winter couldn’t pinch from me
The wind that summer could not smother
The flare that’ll forever be my spring
But more than all this, my love,
You were life’s
Greatest gift
To
Me.

©Augustine Sam
http://augustinesam.wix.com/authorsuite

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DANCE IN THE BLIZZARD, A Poem by GT Zinn

Cover me up. Fall over my head
Lend me your words, dream in red
Glisten is that salt on your skin
And I ask to wash up in your sin
Baptized within the salty rain
Scorched but not feeling all the pain

Genre: Life

DANCE IN THE BLIZZARD
A Poem by GT Zinn

Cover me up. Fall over my head
Lend me your words, dream in red
Glisten is that salt on your skin
And I ask to wash up in your sin
Baptized within the salty rain
Scorched but not feeling all the pain

Can’t see past my face, it’s absurd
They say you can’t dance in the blizzard
I say who really needs to see anyway
Only her eyes I gaze so we’ll dance away

Make me move the moon just to be bane
Underwater, are my thoughts really that sane?
Sparkle sparkle from each iris eyering
I’m grounded, but believe that I am flying
Is it rude to conclude and have not a sight
Maybe it’s a feeling that I hope to incite

Can’t see past my face, it’s absurd
They say you can’t dance in the blizzard
I say who really needs to see anyway
Only her eyes I gaze so we’ll dance away

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Earthworm, Poetry by Reena Prasad

Between the beef eaters

and man haters, I wallow

swallowing all the shit

My entrails living up to their fame

Genre- HUMANITY, NATURE

Earthworm
by Reena Prasad

Between the beef eaters

and man haters, I wallow

swallowing all the shit

My entrails living up to their fame

not yet dragged out by rapists,

or blown into balloons by revelers

working overtime, adamant not to let

the poison go unfiltered

back into the soil

when I add my bit

(c) Reena Prasad.

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The Poet’s Pen, Poetry by Eleanor Mell

It’s difficult dear Lord to say,

The feelings that I have today.

At times, I’m joyous with my life.

Genre: Hope-Faith

The Poet’s Pen
By Eleanor Mell

It’s difficult dear Lord to say,

The feelings that I have today.

At times, I’m joyous with my life.

At times I’m sad because the strife.

It seems I have a Poet’s pen,

A talent that has always been.

But dear Lord it makes me mad

About the words I could have had.

The songs and stories that I missed,

Because I lacked a sense of bliss.

Please forgive me for not knowing.

Lift my spirit—I’m still growing.

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Bloodshot Eyes and Tearstained Cheeks, Poetry by Amber Lee

I find myself alone with bloodshot eyes and tearstained cheeks
finally releasing the emotions I’ve kept suppressed for week

I lay here in this dark and humid room
wishing for one thing: to be next to you

Genre: deep, soul, dark, night, overthinking

Bloodshot Eyes and Tearstained Cheeks
by Amber Lee

I find myself alone with bloodshot eyes and tearstained cheeks
finally releasing the emotions I’ve kept suppressed for week

I lay here in this dark and humid room
wishing for one thing: to be next to you

I promised I wouldn’t succumb to these dangerous thoughts
but since you’re not around, they’re all that I’ve got

the voices of nostalgia are trying to convince me that things were better in the past
I’m starting to believe them, I want to go back

I know better than to think this, it drives people mad
for nostalgia just tries to make people long for the things they had

I need to domesticate my mind, before it imprisons me
so I find myself alone with bloodshot eyes and tearstained cheeks

afl 7/9/15

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Invisible Man, Poetry by Dawi Opara

I am the
Invisible man.
Not science fiction,
Nor of H.G.
Wells’s imagination,
But fact.
Transparent blacknuss
In white abstraction
Of reality.

Genre: Political

Invisible Man
by Dawi Opara

I am the
Invisible man.
Not science fiction,
Nor of H.G.
Wells’s imagination,
But fact.
Transparent blacknuss
In white abstraction
Of reality.
A vibrant, live,
Meaningful energy
With hopeless
Aspirations.

I am the
Invisible man.
Surviving centuries
Of indifference
And human denial.
Descending
Stairways into live,
Exploding nightmares.
Living the visible
Repercussions of
White kind’s
Scheme dream
For supremacy
As I attack,
Attempting to rearrange
A deranged mentality.

I am the
Invisible man.
Trapped in a
Deadly drain game
Of mental gymnastics.
An expendable,
Usable, reusable
Statistical test tube
Soul of the
Twentieth century search
To attain godliness,
All for the
Visible benefit,
Improvement, and
Propagation of
White kind.

I am the
Invisible man.
Scholar, athlete supreme
With visible expectations
Of reaching for more
Than invisible dreams,
For whatever
Towering heights
I soar to attain.
But to white kind,
They are simply
Invisible gains of
My invisible pain.

Yes, I am the
Invisible man.
From the womb
To the tomb,
Saturated with doom
And gloom.
Clever ideologies for
The destruction of this
Black invisibility
Are designed
For the destruction of
Black self-esteem,
To keep us out of the
Visible scheme of things,
To take us to
Annihilation or assimilation,
Siphoning this
Invisible black power to
The white nation.

I am,
I am the
Invisible man.
This jet-black,
Blue-black invisibility
That now threatens
White folk
Visible reality.

I am
The invisible man.
And I am
Mad as hell,
‘Cause you see,
I am the root,
I am the root
From which human
Life has sprung,
Yet I remain
Firmly entrenched on
The bottom rung.
My invisibility confirms
My right to be,
You see.
Even his history hails,
Proclaims this black-shinned,
Nappy-headed,
Big nose,
Big-lipped man
From the womb
Of Mother Africa
As the father,
The father of mankind

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saint irreverence (about Iggy Pop), Poetry by Tara Keogh

iggy silver leather
sexy slither and destroy
withers into
wriggles and writhes
across the tv eye
in real fun time
for his war zone
world serenade

Genre: Music, People, Rhyme

saint irreverence (about Iggy Pop)
by Tara Keogh

iggy silver leather
sexy slither and destroy
withers into
wriggles and writhes
across the tv eye
in real fun time
for his war zone
world serenade

pop goes the system
implode
explode
reload
all around
it came full circle
to enshrine you
holy and high
fin’ly recognized
as king of the game

punk rock
generator
agitator
tortured man
barking mad
as a hatter

the mercury’s rising
this brother’s on fire
the fuses are fizzling
desire is sizzling
glass is shattering
shards are scattering
as shadows frieze into
scorched scenes
of sublime obscenery
when he vanquishes
with vanguard vulgarity
as saint irreverence

and now he’s legendary
an incendiary tendency
to trash the tolerance
of the bourgeoisie
yank the leg
of the leviathan
undercut uncle sam
incarnate
as he creates
chaotic
melodic
cacophony
catapulting carnage
at the
humanity insanity
and
fucking the man
on his
rude
boy
crusade

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Stronger, Poetry by Dawn M. Simpson

The mother bird tended to her young with great pride.
She knew they would not always be by her side.
She tried to teach them with love in her heart,
The day soon came for them to part.
And then the mother bird looked at her empty nest.

Genre: Inspirational, Motivational, Nature

Stronger
by Dawn M. Simpson

The mother bird tended to her young with great pride.
She knew they would not always be by her side.
She tried to teach them with love in her heart,
The day soon came for them to part.
And then the mother bird looked at her empty nest.
She did her best
To fight back the tears,
As she thought about all the past years.
With uncertainty she asked “Who am I?”.
She stared across the vast blue sky.
And with the strong wings that she had earned,
With the fire in her soul that still burned,
She flapped her wings and began to fly.
To chase her own dreams until the day she died.
She felt the wind that lifted her wings,
The feeling that only true peace can bring.
She had flown full circle in her life,
Sometimes being full of strife.
But she knew who she was again.
And as she looked down on the earth beneath her,
She soared higher than an eagle.
Stronger than ever.

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