Category: poetry

Read Poem: Babalonshi, by Robert Meacham

A louder wind fanned through a coppice gate.
Above the crypt hung a cloudy canopy
And in mysterious form,
There you stood unveiled,
Whispering dark caresses.
A sky scored of specter gray
Belched angry storms
That rang clear with madness-
The pleasure of chaos.
Mute spirits summoned the black festival;
The four squared altar and roughly hewn
Held intolerable desires.
Your body lay in flames of infernal fashion,
A labyrinth passion fed.
Your petals bloom the scented flower of death.
Assailing from your pure and perfect eyes,
And bending from your fervid lips,
A slow sweet breath of yearning,
As a celebration of your birth swept the skies.

Read Poem: Prophet, by Arthur Rosch

Oh lord, oh lord,

what has befallen me?

That which I hoped to make straight

becomes more twisted.

That which I should understand

only becomes more strange.

How did I land on this unexpected shore?

What am I to make of the walking wreck of myself?

I can still think, still work,

still speak in poems

in the sleepless time of the night.

It is a mixed gift, this life, it is hard

to feel so completely lost

in complexity I don’t know how I made.

I wanted to be a radiance

but I am more like a garbage can

tipped by a starving animal in predawn hours.

I pick myself up,

I sweep my contents

into a tidy pile,

but each time I think to rest,

I am again overturned.

I speak to you, o lord,

like the wounded Jew,

like the baffled bloodied prophet,

like the broken fated sage.

I take help from any quarter,

even those with dangerous denizens.

I take comfort with the scorpion,

I sleep with diseases,

I’m astonished that I’m alive.

Oh lord, what has befallen me?

You see, I have nothing but questions.

It could be much worse, I freely admit.

It could be much better,

I ruefully entreat.

Pieces of me have gone numb.

Whole continents of my psyche are submerged,

drowned, forgotten.

I am the world I have made.

I am a man, dreadfully incomplete,

unwilling to meet the terror,

reluctant to behold the fire,

shrinking always from the worst case,

taking the hand of any wiser being,

like a lost child who needs to be led home.

I shall try now to snatch a bit of sleep

from the bottom of the night’s cup.

I’m glad we had this little talk.

I thank you, awkwardly,

like one who has opened the wrong gift

at the wrong party.

Oh, is this for ME?

I’m not quite sure it fits,

I’m not sure how to use it.

I’ve broken it a little

but it still works. See?

I’ve tried, I’ve hopped on one foot,

I’ve danced insanely.

I’m still here,

waiting for your soft voice

to bring me peace.

Read Poem: PRETTY BLACK GIRL, by J. Lathen

A lil Country girl was she
Her skin was smooth and chocolatey

She would walked to preschool with her Daddy right by her side
Ummm she remembers the smell of the early morning breeze

Oh my that was a good memory

Pretty black Girl didn’t have a care in the world
In Girl Scouts she was the only lil black girl

Pretty black didn’t give it much thought like most would
She was happy she got to go to an upper-class neighborhood

She was called the N word at school
By a white girl
The word rolled off her tongue so effortlessly but it shattered Pretty black’s world

Although Pretty black didn’t know what the word meant at such a young age
It seem to be powerful because the white girl said it with such rage

What a dreadful memory

Umph! Pretty black really didn’t pay it no mine
Because it was very few there of her kind

The Teacher would say, “repeat the pledge of allegiance after me”
Pretty black didn’t have a clue she wasn’t in the land of free

Although mama & nem had limited education
They made sure pretty black went to school everyday without hesitation

Pretty black would go to work with her mother whom she adored
Only to watch her clean white people houses and scrub their floors

Pretty Black vowed that she would never be nobody’s maid
The image of her mother cleaning houses have never strayed

Pretty Black felt the need
to do what her Parent’s couldn’t do and that’s go to school and succeed

PRETTY BLACK GIRL

Read Poem: Too Young, by Camille Deluca

Too Young, written 11/2/79

I was too young to ever see
How good you would have been for me
To see you grow from day to day
I wish they didn’t take you away
I try to forget but I never will
There is always that void to fill
Everyone said it was better this way
I never could have made him stay
Of us, he didn’t want no part
This truly broke my loving heart
I hope you’ll forgive me for what I’ve done
Without you baby, I never really won.

Read Poetry by Jasmine Lowe

I am home alone in my chair in the dark
The clock strikes twelve and I wonder where the time has gone.
I decide to go to bed, and so I begin to get up
But to my surprise I hear a knocking at my door.

I decide to ignore it and continue onto bed
Who in their right mind comes knocking at midnight?
So I climb the stairs as quietly as I can
But creaking sounds emerge from the wood.

I walk down the hall and gently open my room door
And to my surprise I still hear the knocking.
I walk across the floor and reach my bed
And climb in between the sheets to finally get some sleep.

I slowly fall deep into a slumber
Falling deeper and deeper until I am about to begin a dream.
But then there is a slam, and so I spring upright in fear
For someone has entered the front door in a wild furry.

I jump out of bed half disoriented and grab my gun
This crazy person has got to get out now!
I slowly creep towards the door and slip out of my room.
I move down the hall with Remington rifle.

I hear creaking footsteps coming up the stairs
Slowly, I hear them enclosing with my own.
I’ve got him now; he won’t even know what had hit him
And so I round the corner to face the intruder.

A loud bang rings through the house
And a loud thumping down the stairs falls afterwards.
I know blood is everywhere, splattered all the way down the stairs
It will be a huge mess to clean up in the morning.

I decide to call for help to get this situation over with
But I hear nothing; I see nothing from the darkness
I smell nothing, I taste nothing
But I do feel something.

I feel liquid and it is warm and thick
I notice my eyes are closed and I look at what had become.
Blood, it was everywhere like I had expected
But what I didn’t was a hole through my chest.

The blood gushed out from my heart and through my chest
I laid there at the bottom of the stairs unable to move.
I was out of breath and desperately trying to figure out how to find more.
I saw my eyes begin to close as my attacker walked down the stairs.

He walked down the stairs and up to the front door.
He had grabbed my gun just in case I wasn’t gone yet
But I was completely unable to breathe even one breath.
Then he opened the door and turned back towards me and made a noise like the clock.

I am home alone in my chair in the dark
The clock strikes twelve and I wonder where the time has gone.
I decide to go to bed, and so I begin to get up
But to my surprise I hear a knocking at my door.

I am home alone in my chair in the dark
The clock strikes twelve and I wonder where the time has gone.
I decide to go to bed, and so I begin to get up
But to my surprise I hear a knocking at my door.

Read Poem: Bend Eternity, by Raj Viswanadha

When all dust and talk has settled down
Smoke and smokescreens withered away;
When passions and tempers have waned (somewhat)
And shields and swords stand no more in way;
Search deep within your soul then –
And find the steel to ink another way.

When tide and hunger have both been quelled
Grief and anger hold no more sway;
When joy and pain bring equal solace
And the wheel of fate toils your way;
Search deep within your soul then –
And find the clay to mould another way.

When you find yourself at crossroads
And care neither for the trail nor how you fare;
When fame and fortune smile upon you,
And blades of grass to serrated peaks, all
Bask contended in your caressing care;
Search deep within your soul then –
And find the whim to color another way.

When searing melody has vented notes,
How littlest levity is with irony fraught
And the gladdened beauty of the lonesome heart;
When lilting verses tell not just your tale
But hoary tomes in the Story of Man;
When gasping breath has not just laurels wrought
But sprung hope in the Song of Life;
Search deep within your soul then –
And find the fire to sing another way.

But whilst you delve into the yawning chasm,
And be you of great humility and gentler cheer
Profound revelations become yours to keep;
Reach into the world far and wide then –
And bend eternity to your humble way ….

Read Poem: FATHERLY ADVICE, by Aaron Marchant

It’s all very well, you being kind and giving
but kindly give consideration to my plea
The world will not just hand a chap a living
so take it by the ‘scruff’ boy just like me

I recall upon my debut playing ‘rugger’
some fool accidentally kicked me on the shin
I swiftly turned and ‘upper cut’ the bugger
and that’s the last I ever saw of him

Then in the army, first day on parade
the Sarge barked ‘give me fifty’ ‘on the ground’
I didn’t like the tone of his tirade
and to this day, his body’s not been found

And then there was the time I met your mother
I knew at once that Cupid’s work was done
and overcame objections from her brother
‘You never met your uncle, did you son?’

Banking was my profession as you know
I moved quickly to the top from humble teller
I can’t of course relate how this was so
But don’t go digging underneath the cellar

I made a side bet, on the golf course with the Major
My game that day was just not ‘up to snuff’
The Major was sure I would lose the wager
but instead I lost the Major in the rough

I got a visit from an income tax inspector
He insisted I’d not told them all I earn
I objected to his high and mighty hector
So, neither he or I completed our ‘return’

Yes, take a tip from me boy, don’t be shy
For life rewards the fearless and the willing
The game of life is either do or die
so be a doer son, and make a killing!

Copyright Aaron Marchant 2018

Read Poem: Haunted, by Jen Persichetti

You loved the thought of loving me,
but not the act

That is how you slept at night…
you played the victim
both in and out of your slumber

My nights were decrepit and empty
I slept only wanting to
continue doing so…ceaselessly.

I wish I could say that was an embellishment

I hated your manipulative ways;
they stay with me to this day

My memory of you is a bleak one
​ ~
perched on your favorite
stool in the kitchen
ranting about how miserable you were —
while sipping your morning coffee

Haunted; not thinking,
but knowing how unhappy you were.

I spent my weekdays dreading
the sound of the final bell;
when freedom was upon my peers

I walked off the bus to my dungeon;
with my backpack in hand.

Pathetically hoping for benevolence

I lingered outside,
preparing myself for
the tidal wave of emotions
I was about to endure –

Again.

copyright 2018 Jen Persichetti

Read Poem: Dreamer’s Awe, by E.P. Carry

Can you see?

We are 

but one star

within reflection

along a stream

as we breathe

the rhythmic rain

linked together like

a chain 

of inter-play

 

Can’t break sway!

 

Do we dream

that it’s too real

how we feel?

 

Gotta pray!

 

When you hold me

in your dream

does it seem

we’ve been 

set free?

 

Come together

what we dream . . .

our dream 

is a plea©