SLEIGH, Poetry by Brian Anthony Hardie

Something not absent about to be spoken…

On the spotlight day, back from the child’s Eye camera eye.

Now stop does what was While you left.

Within a mile I felt the Memories following behind.

Genre: Relationship

SLEIGH by Brian Anthony Hardie

Something not absent about to be spoken…

On the spotlight day, back from the child’s Eye camera eye.

Now stop does what was While you left.

Within a mile I felt the Memories following behind.

Meaningless this is And should be, for the feeling too real to pass on By life.

To sob I need to rid myself of Such tremor.

Yet no possible route the way I came in would relieve pain here and now.

Much worth To grasp for my burning of our flag waving Passion.

These words pull the tears with no such Mercy.

My (I want) panic (to kiss) alleviates (you and)

What love (say I’m) I should have put forth (sorry).

Maybe from the film I project the Audience tear.

Eyes so innocent my mind would Arrest the one invoking.

Flailing around my Panic dance.

Still on the street while nausea

Entertained. To cry would forge the rage

I harmed so badly with.

So to sit with past in

The flame my only way to mend hearts alike…

about.me/BASSCLEFSNCHEE

* * * * *

Watch Poetry performance readings:

Watch Poetry made into Movies:

MESS, Poetry by Damilola K Fashola

Genre: Love, Relationship, Romance

MESS by Damilola K Fashola

I just want to run naked through your mind. Swim through your hair before sliding down your temple and finding a bench within your earlobe. Give me the nod and backwards I will fall into you. I will fall into you. Gooey Ozzy Messy you. Dirt first. Grit first. Torment first. In your vile mediterranean I will lay and get to know you. What they all ran away from I will make love to and we will fight our demons together… Lie to me. Lie with me. Lie in my arms. Let us become liars who lie together. Your a mess and I love it. I’m a mess to. Can we be friends? Can we be more than friends? Nah I’ll probably mess it up and we’d become a big mess like one of the pieces of my life lying on the floor you just walked over. I’m tryna tell you something. I’m tryna tell you something deeper than me. And already you’ve hurt my feelings and I’m here taking it more personal than I should. I’m becoming emotional. I’m being emotional. Sorry I get that way at times. Thats just the peak of my flaws and no its not because I have a vagina but I’m human just like you and though you’re taught not to be expressive about it… I no you feel. I know it hurts sometimes and you have no one to call on and sometimes you try to call out but your voice is lost under sniggers and suppressed thoughts of not being allowed to. Your allowed to. Around me you’re allowed to be you. Flaws and all. I promise not to use them against you. Though I’m blunter than your average. So I might… without knowing so and for that, I ask you to forgive me now. If we’re ever gonna work that is. Do you want us to work. Maybe we shouldn’t.. Your a mess, I’m a mess. two messes…

Can we make love happen?

Mending Mother by Leslie Caplan

I looked deeper in
aching to abyss to understand
And I understoodtand
And I understood

Genre: Healing, Family, Relationship

Mending Mother by Leslie Caplan

I found a photograph at the bottom
of an unopened box
Crackling cardboard dried out from
being rained on
I reached in
Sifting through old letters,
scrawls of random thoughts,
poems that turned into
a thousand page book

I poured it out
onto the open floor
let the air in
let the stream of yellow light
spill in
and wrap around each keepsake

At the bottom,
under the fold and crease where the box
holds itself together
was a picture
At first I thought it was me
But it was you
as a young, budding woman
in a black and white capture
of your innocence
How hopeful your eyes gleaned
how deep the longing for what’s ahead

I held the photo in my hand
sat under the window and let the light
magnify your face
I saw myself
The face of the womb in which I grew
before I was even a thought
in your world
So long before an injection of insane
came in and corrupted your radiant youth
and the palpable wisdom
held in the cup your hand

So young and ivory skinned
Plump in cheeks and heart
And even though the picture was black and white
I saw the rosy tint of freshness
on your face
Your rich light almond eyes
I could see right through

You were lovely.

To the core of my holding
Soft before the world you inhaled
made you bitter to a pucker
Your hands mirrored mine
The shape of your brow
the shine of your lips long before
they dried out from all the salted cries you swallowed

You were beautiful.

I looked deeper in
aching to abyss to understand
And I understood
That somewhere along that paved line of your life
your heart caved
and shattered into too many pieces
to pick up and put back together
and you had to pretend
to be unbroken
pretend to love the man you married
and bore three daughters with
that you pretended you knew what to do with

And all you could do
was raise them inside
the shattered chamber you held together
for the sake of their survival
praying they’d thrive
in spite you

and I did.

I can speak for myself and say I did
And I took what was good in you
sane and whole in you
and I found my way
with what you did give me

life
courage
fire

and eyes so deep they blink
off the stillness of a photograph
and shed a tear so fertile
it grows life
mends and heals and breathes into
my whole life
within and without you
my life in honor
of you.

www.courageousheartinmotion.com

* * * * *

Watch Poetry performance readings:

Watch Poetry made into Movies:

From the Water, Poetry by Allison J. Call

Like many of you, I burrow seasonal trenches

Up and down and through,

Weaving my way through the ideology

That tomorrow’s winter will ever be colder than today’s.

I prefer a Sunday dance around a newspaper

And a misty cup beside my father’s silence,

Genre: Relationship, Family

From the Water by Allison J. Call

Like many of you, I burrow seasonal trenches

Up and down and through,

Weaving my way through the ideology

That tomorrow’s winter will ever be colder than today’s.

I prefer a Sunday dance around a newspaper

And a misty cup beside my father’s silence,

And I prefer the cold hands of a February morning

Tightening its delicate grip around

My most vulnerable.

I prefer all this, all this to what’s really.

My father counts one every year,

Because dawn is MY years old,

I control the seasons

And he couldn’t possibly die.

He is too wrong, too opposite of me.

Too set in his ways to let the ice grip him

As it grips me.

He’s too much my father to be a poet.

And he never told me that he was, and if he

NEVER told me he was, then

How can it be?

And outside, mint-mist fog ripples like a clock ticking

Wildly without a cog to push it

And without a hand to tell.

I come alone in the morning into the minty smoke

That has sky for veins.

I come alone on a Sunday

To count the drops of the lapping lake water

Or the warm, black metal tins along the edge of it.

In silence, war wears no coat and makes

No promises.

War’s tangled colors are the ticking fog, the water, the tins,

The newspaper dance, the warm coffee.

War is my father whom I cannot define

And of whom I come from without definition or border.

From the water I come virginal, frozen.

From the water I come a bastard, an orphan,

And alone.

I come from my father but I am not my father.

I am the water.

The morning light water.

* * * * *

Watch Poetry performance readings:

Watch Poetry made into Movies:

THERE IS ME, AND THAN THERE IS YOU, Poetry by Kristen Corbisiero

There is me, and than there is you,

Two fools who happened to cross paths,

And find stability in the utter chaos around us.

I found you, in the coldest part of my heart,

While you craved the darkness you sought in me.

So I’ll use you to ease into the noise of my cluttered mind,

Genre: dark, (toxic) relationships, love, and personal.

THERE IS ME, AND THAN THERE IS YOU

by Kristen Corbisiero

There is me, and than there is you,

Two fools who happened to cross paths,

And find stability in the utter chaos around us.

I found you, in the coldest part of my heart,

While you craved the darkness you sought in me.

So I’ll use you to ease into the noise of my cluttered mind,

And you can use me to try and tame you demons.

I think I see the Devil lapping at our heels,

To devour the saints we deluded ourselves into becoming,

For the tainted sinners we always were.

There is me. And now there is you,

Two scorned lovers in an exile bestowed only by those we’ve loved

(It doesn’t matter that they are we. Or we are they.)

I feel you in the deepest part of my bones,

Where my hands have found trouble and grace.

I lost it all when you dug yourself in my heart

Its ice and frost melting the waters that would flood my soul and

And that is the moment we drown.

There is me. There is you.

Two people who happened to know each other

From along time ago, from a past that is better left buried.

I want to fight, for what we had become, but I had be beaten and I was bruised.

So I‘ll sit here on the edge, holding onto every ‘if’ and every ‘maybe’,

Everything that crashed and brought us to our knees.

And we chase and we fall for the same thing every damn time.

But never into each other,

Now into the arms of something better, someone new.

Now there is me. Only me.

You’ve left to find yourself again,

Because you found you didn’t like who you became with me

You lost you mind, let it sink in the loudest part of our love,

So it fell in between the silence of the noise.

The thawed ice frozen once again, freezing back into place.

And the stability I found is numbing.

There is no longer me and there is no longer you.

Just two souls intertwined than detangled.

So we pray and pray, to be cleansed of the demon and devils

To find grace and peace in the walls of a pagan god.

Because I still feel the Devil lapping at our heels

Hungry for the sins we’ve yet to commit,

Waiting to wash away its innocence, and bath in the cruelty of our love.

We come to find the things we once found stability in,

Are the things that lead us further and further into the chaos of our broken minds.

* * * * *

Watch Poetry performance readings:

Watch Poetry made into Movies:

I’m Sorry, Poetry by Jaco Potgieter

Standing in the ashes of my sorry I dream of what could have been.

Looking at the grey and black I wonder about what came first and last.

How it would have been if I spoke or remained silent a little longer.

What this moment might have looked like if I did more or didn’t do.

In this now exist only the scarred and broken remains of what if?

Touching the torched wood of our togetherness, it crumbles to nothing.

Genre – Dark, Hurt, Love, Painful, Relationships, Sad, Redemption

I’m Sorry by Jaco Potgieter

Standing in the ashes of my sorry I dream of what could have been.

Looking at the grey and black I wonder about what came first and last.

How it would have been if I spoke or remained silent a little longer.

What this moment might have looked like if I did more or didn’t do.

In this now exist only the scarred and broken remains of what if?

Touching the torched wood of our togetherness, it crumbles to nothing.

Dusty maps in my hands of roads traveled brings no peace, they end here.

Then I cry at the joke of it all, the tortured reality of the path of destiny.

I’m sorry.

I use the fragments of what should have been to clear a new path.

Then I summon myself to this home of catastrophic annihilation.

I scoop up the remnants of us from the debris with my hands.

I bow my head and with my tears water the green seedling of our new creation.

Submit your POEM to the Poetry Festival: http://www.festivalforpoetry.com

WATCH POETRY READINGS (see what we can do when you submit):

WATCH POETRY MOVIES (see what we can do when you submit):

Love, Poetry by Bryan Chan

Do you have morphine?

Cause it hurts just looking at…

Nevermind that

Those lines fall flat

From the actual words

Which one contemplates

When one is inert

Genre: Rhyme, Love, Relationship

Love by Bryan Chan

Do you have morphine?

Cause it hurts just looking at…

Nevermind that

Those lines fall flat

From the actual words

Which one contemplates

When one is inert

To react

In the presence of the proverbial angel

Flawless at every angle

Even the proverbial cripple

Would undeniably be able

To “proverbially” stand for that

A wit as sharp

As the shiniest harp

That has played at my heartstrings

Mozart and Bach

Unfamiliar to my ears

But all so distinguishable

By the fragmented soul

Which attains this heart

This is me

This is he

In love at the seams

It shows in his ability

To abuse his mind

To speak of words

That never exist

In the presence of the girl

As “extrasimpobashalant”

Than his mind can conjure

When in a situation

Such as this

Or in every other time

He thinks of her kiss

Skin of moonlight

Eyes of starlight

Born of twilight

That’s what she is,light!

Photons of an infinite spectrum

Indefinable by refraction

As every angle is

Critical

To every fibre of my being

I fall into folly

Clair de lune?

Not even close,Debussy

Mona Lisa?

Who is she,Davinci?

When compared to the beauty

A portrait which flows

In the crevice of my mind

To the centre of my soul

She moves in beauty

As natural as Gaia

The foundations which makes her

An ever lasting fire

Of hope

In a world

With no tomorrow

She is my beacon

My bacon

My sunny side ups

The simple happiness

When I wake up

Each morning

I am the jester

I am the fool

She is the murals I look upon to

At the chapel of sixtus

A few feet away

Yet unable to grasp

Yet i grasp it’s beauty in full detail

How can this be?

How is this real?

So here I am

A feet away

A meter from your existence

A mere milimeter in distance

Of space

But I am a light-year away from the red

Numb

Dumb

Glum

Drying in the sun

Like Patrick and the sponge

When you are the lamp

How can the one thing that gives me life take it from me? That is she.

* * * * *

Watch Poetry performance readings:

Watch Poetry made into Movies:

Whatever next?, Poetry by Alex Cottle

A seed

May find it’s way

among the soil.

Let it stay, let it grow…

or land they will, the flock of crows.

Genres: Dystopia, relationship, free will and love.

Whatever next? by Alex Cottle

A seed

May find it’s way

among the soil.

Let it stay, let it grow…

or land they will, the flock of crows.

Either way, it may die.

Maybe a butterfly’s wing beat will cause it’s ruin.

Perhaps it endures. Whatever next?

Shall we stand here, questioning, perplexed?

It will grow, taking up precious space.

Space that could more than easily be replaced.

It is time to decide, is it in our favour?

Will it flower? Shall we save her?

Or will we uproot it? Call me a traitor.

Nature! Nature! Hear my call,

please do not stall.

Do not make this feeling linger.

For is that not why you gave us minds?

What use is the mind, when we have conscience?

The smart decisions are almost always nonsense.

We feel bad, sad, clad in blackmail,

irons, chains.

But the tick is this my friend, my companion.

Whatever we determine is already determined.

The purpose,

of this seed, rooted inside,

grants you permission to think you decide.

* * * * *

Watch Poetry performance readings:

Watch Poetry made into Movies:

The Secret Life Of A Shadow, Poetry by Mahitha Kasireddi

Claim you know them?

All the life forms?

What if I told you,

Of another class alive?

No, Don’t fetch, my pal,

Genre: Fiction, Life, Relationship

The Secret Life Of A Shadow
by Mahitha Kasireddi

Claim you know them?

All the life forms?

What if I told you,

Of another class alive?

No, Don’t fetch, my pal,

It is only one

And one for all

The tier of a moving car,

Rising smoke of a cigar.

Like the battered wheat dough.

Turns into anything

Intangible, faceless being

Can’t fit into a case,

Or a tightly chained cage

Look at you,

Foolish to capture a vestige!

A phantasmal silhouette

Cast on the curtains

Against the moonshine of a winter night

Gather some guts to tear it down

With a mighty stroke of a knife

Look, it appears behind your trembling spine,

Enlarged, contracted

Slid and disappeared

Isn’t it taking you for a ride?

Don’t draw any sinister plans

Your wisdom, sorry

A major shortfall.

Why do the gravest of crimes

Happen during pitch dark times?

A faint column of light brings in a witness,

Records the ugly sins of a poisoned conscious

If you are still wondering

What is so fluid as wine,

thin as air, quick as a butterfly,

Like a feeble water bubble,

Refuses to go invisible.

Let me reveal to you

To your own,

For a quite long time now,

The unacknowledged chapters

Of the secret life of a shadow.

-Mahitha Kasireddi

* * * * *

Watch Poetry performance readings:

Watch Poetry made into Movies:

ONLY A MATTER OF TIME, Poetry by Coni Koepfinger

On Sunday we spoke
A few words, loving yet not a lot
On Monday we spoke
She was hopeful to move
Out of that sad situation
I was eager to help her be free again

Genre: Relationship, Love, Romance

ONLY A MATTER OF TIME
by Coni Koepfinger

On Sunday we spoke
A few words, loving yet not a lot
On Monday we spoke
She was hopeful to move
Out of that sad situation
I was eager to help her be free again
On Tuesday there was no more time
To say anything more
To plan anything
To get a bed or to pack
Dreams, new dreams gone.
Just gone.
We were so hopeful.
At last, after seven years, free.
If only we could see
The time vanishing
Right before our eyes
If only we could hear
It all winding down
In the human heart
Those slow burning embers
Of human desperation
Sizzling out to ash
Why is it always too late
To late to take out the trash
And to let the other love you
It’s always a matter of time
Isn’t it?
A matter of time.
Yet what is time?
And why am I still surprised
By my ignorance
By my arrogance
Why do we always want more time
Perhaps it’s ego
To want to know
To want to go back in time
To make the words all rhyme
To let our last words be loving ones
And to make more, just a little more time.

* * * * *

Watch Poetry performance readings:

Watch Poetry made into Movies:

The Secret Life Of A Shadow by Mahitha Kasireddi

Share this:

The Secret Life Of A Shadow
by Mahitha Kasireddi