Category: poetry

Read Poetry: FiVe YeArS aFTeR, by Sara Thomas

You were born
Five years after
I was broken,
And you grew
Inside my emptiness

I loved you
From day one,
I kept busy
With your neediness

I held you
Close to me,
I was scared
Of my fearfulness

You grew up
The years flew,
You were tired
Of my sadness

You were smart
The world your oyster,
I was embarrassed
By my unworldliness

You became a man
The pride I felt,
Gave me strength
In my loneliness

You grew old
At last you
Understood me
And I could rest
In my peacefulness

#parenting #love #loss #family #mental health #poetry #life #peace #forgiveness #acceptance #childhood #relationships #identity #grieving #hope #growing up #mothers

Read Poetry: Grief is the price we pay for love, by Abi May

I screamed today.

A silent scream.

Nobody saw.

Nobody heard.

I clenched my fists

And breathed in deep

A silent scream

Nobody saw.

Nobody heard.

There were no words.

None to speak

None to say.

I closed my eyes

Shut them tight

My face was creased

And stretched

Muscles tense

But soundless

My silent scream

Came from the heart

From a place so deep

There are no words

I didn’t cry

I just bore down

I screamed alone

Without a sound

There is no why

Nor where and how

For what, it can’t be said

But for whom.

I screamed today.

A silent scream.

For her, that dearest one

The one who now is dead.

Theme: Death and bereavement.

From Abi May – http://www.avalleyjournal.co.uk

A poem I wrote in one of the moments of deep grief. Both of my children (Pax and Catherine) have passed away before me. A mother’s worst agony is to bury her childre

Read Poetry: Confessions, by Lizardin Bain

You say I’m pretty. You say I’m kind,

But does it ever cross your mind,

That you’re being awfully abusive.

 

Of course, it doesn’t. Why it should?

The nicest words they never could,

Hurt anyone or be intrusive.

 

And people think so, and my brain,

It tries to cope, but all in vain.

My heart prefers to be preclusive.

 

You sing those tunes without a care,

You fail to see that I can’t bear,

The notes that sound to me illusive.

 

I understand that I am flawed,

But all I see is brutish fraud,

Who is as rude as he’s delusive.

 

I do not trust when someone says:

“I fell in love in three short days.”

It’s highly doubtful and allusive.

 

Your words are brining only pain,

They are constricting, like a chain,

And I can hardly take your glee.

 

But you’re urging me to stay,

And not allowing me to say,

My desperate, urgent plea.

The anger hops up to the front,

You end up sliced. You end up burnt,

You cuss, you spit, you flee.

 

I ‘m left alone. I’m left unbound.

Denied a voice, denied a sound,

Like cursed, unwanted sea.

 

I curl inside. I close the door,

Refuse to roar and feeling sore,

I throw away the key.

 

And I am failing to confess,

And I am failing to express –

How love confessions hurt me.

Genre: love, relationship, hurt, another point of view, confession, sad

Read Poetry: Notion, by Lucrezia Mancini Nardi

Once thin skinned like orchid petals all
frustration was mistaken for tears.
Then resilience took over so to cry
only having the feeling of no amend.

So far bones resounded metal cold,
lack of nearness is not about fears
but to save weeping for better times,
trying to roll over any sign of dead-end.

Whether eyes or not drops come from
They’re salty stories and may reveal
promises made to oneself but unkept in life
like the notion tears fall not at our command.

– I own all rights to this poem –

Lucrezia Mancini Nardi

Read Poetry: Curse Coffee Cups, by Andrew Green

Curse the coffee cups and spoons
The yellow fog, the window panes
Curse the dying of the light
Curse the rage against the night.

Curse daffodils, satanic mills
Pleasure domes, the albatross,
Comparisons to summer day
The last man in, an hour to play.

Curse roads divergent in a wood,
The knock upon a moonlit door
The airman’s helmet and the hawk
Painted women and their talk.

Curse Gunga Din, curse Kubla Khan,
Curse the Tiger burning bright.
Curse Dulce Et Decorum Est
Let Drummer Hodge not find his rest.

Unstop the clocks, unmuffle drums
Forget the honey with your tea.
Forget the grin of bitterness,
The look of rooms returning thence.

Forget the friendly bombs on Slough
And men in brightly lit canteens.
Curse the damns of your content
The crumpling floods that force a vent.

Zero hour will never come,
We won’t ride a merry go round
Or Whitsun train that’s late away.
We won’t be naming parts today.

Stop the cannons, stop the charge,
Stop Hiawatha in mid song.
The eye will simply look on glass
It won’t look through; it shall not pass.

No knock kneed men will cough like hags
Three will never meet again.
Blood stained hands will be washed clean
And woods won’t come to Dunsinane.

Too many words crammed in my head
The rhythms dance, the cadence strong
I need new words to call my own
My head rings with another’s song.

Read Poetry: Our Solar System by Kurt Chambers

The moon shines so very bright,
especially on a crisp clear night.
The Sun is big and very hot,
and also covered in little spots.

Mercury is indeed quite small,
against the Sun it’s a tiny ball.
Venus is cloudy like a rainy day,
but much too hot to go out and play.

The Earth is blue and warm and nice,
and this is where I spend my life.
Mars is next and oh so red,
but there’s no life, it’s completely dead.

Jupiter is the biggest of them all,
but it’s just a giant gas ball.
Saturn looks cool with its enormous ring,
It’s the solar systems ultimate bling-bling.

Uranus always gets a laugh,
but it really isn’t quite that daft.
Neptune is next upon the list,
with its almost invisible disc.

Now we’ve come so very far,
from our friendly yellow star,
we come to Pluto which some do say,
is not a planet anyway.

Read Poetry: “The Craft” by Benjamin Hare

All those who wander should beware,
Because no soul is safe inside their mind;
Never look into the terrible stare.

On the night of the moon’s most devious glare,
Stay in your dwelling, soundly confined;
All those who wander should beware.

The damned ashes of lost forebears,
Eyes of vengeance and malice, better off blind;
Never look into the terrible stare.

Candle smoke and deafening pulsations penetrate the air,
Like a mortar and pestle, an axe to grind;
All those who wander should beware.

Venture out only if you dare,
But be enchanted, impossible to unbind;
Never look into the terrible stare.

And if you see them, say a prayer,
For the theurgic beings are the supremes of mankind;
All those who wander should beware,

Never look into the terrible stare.
“The Craft”
All those who wander should beware,

Because no soul is safe inside their mind;
Never look into the terrible stare.
On the night of the moon’s most devious glare,

Stay in your dwelling, soundly confined;
All those who wander should beware.
The damned ashes of lost forebears,

Eyes of vengeance and malice, better off blind;
Never look into the terrible stare.
Candle smoke and deafening pulsations penetrate the air,

Like a mortar and pestle, an axe to grind;
All those who wander should beware.
Venture out only if you dare,

But be enchanted, impossible to unbind;
Never look into the terrible stare.
And if you see them, say a prayer,

For the theurgic beings are the supremes of mankind;
All those who wander should beware,
Never look into the terrible stare.

Read Poetry: Cracks in the Sidewalk, by Irene Leland

When the cracks show in the sidewalk

The one that links your home and mine

I will know our love is breaking

And another path I’ll find

And when the hill begins to flatten

The one where we now often play

I will know our love is lessening

And I will go another way

Now I know smooth roads can be shattered

And mountains can be beaten down

Love can also lose its meaning

As though it never had been found

But if a mountain’s high and mighty

It can stand the greatest storm

And if a highway’s long and lasting

It will keep its stable form

And if a love is like that mountain

It will rest within the sky

And if a love is like that highway

It will forever lie!

But we never built a highway

And never climbed a mountain high

All we have is a sidewalk

And a hill on which to sigh

So when the cracks destroy that sidewalk

And the hill’s been trampled on

I will know our love has ended

And I will be gone…

Read Poetry: I’ll Be Damned, by Billy Dew

Praying all day to a god

But not taking action to help his people

You call yourself to be religious

But to me you’re just as evil

 

Sunday mornings 

You there when the doors open

Smiling and taking money

From the hopeless

 

Preaching “Will a man rob god”

When you robbing the congregation

Telling me about heaven

How good is your salvation

 

Thousands of denominations 

When there is only one creator

Prophet even said you will do greater things 

And you act like you’re not a savior

 

If that’s what you call living

Then I’ll be damned