Read Poem: Seasonal Asset Disorder, by Jayme Villa-Alvarez

Winter is coming.
Another summer surrenders to the fall
There is a melody I’m softly humming
How many losses can I recall.
In the somber sullen wake of my disgrace
I seek redemption to save face.
There is a gnawing underneath the skin
A haunting howl amidst the din
The storm winds settle and blow back
I have plenty of strength to make up for what I lack.
Gravity has got me down again
The heart resounds a pulse from within
Autumn is nigh
I breathe in the earthen air
And simply sigh
And summon up a prayer.

Jayme Villa-Alvarez, 9/11/17

Read Poem by Arattrik Biswas

arknight.home.blog

Maybe I was meant to be this way.
A broken ugly mess.
Don’t know where I’ll go from here.
Dreams I dream less and less.

I know you think you don’t deserve me.
Or anything I do for you.
And you have fallen so many times.
You don’t believe anything to be true.

It’s hard to believe that life is fair
When I’ve fallen my last step.
Further and hopeless, distance grows.
There is but the ultimate escape.

I know you feel like this is the end.
But I’m with you till the end.
And if you fall get right back up.
Your armour, only you can mend.

I wish I could have your strength.
I wish I could be more like you.
I wish I was anyone but myself.
There is so many things I wish I didn’t do.

It’s never too late for you to stand.
I’ll give you all the strength you need.
I can nurture and care all I can.
But I can’t germinate a seed.

Do you think I have not tried?
I fall every moment I stand.
I’ve tried and lost my last breath
My hourglass has run out of sand.

I wish I could make you believe.
I don’t never want you to go.
Tell me why can’t I follow my heart.
And tell you what you need to know.

This is my battle, this is my fight
I can’t let you come and see
You are my last sacrifice I’m making
You have to stay away from me.

You are always worthy of saving.
I will fight everything for you.
Why can’t you accept after everything.
I will always and forever love you.

And I always did, that’s the reason.
I’m leaving you and everyone else.
I can’t look at my reflection.
And let you near someone who fails.

You leave and I’ll follow you.
Through the gates of hell.
I’ll tame the Furies and Cerberus,
I’ll hammer in Hades’s last nail.

You should not have come for me.
I’ve fallen and become ruler of this race.
Now this is your last battle symphony.
And I, your nightmare in flesh.

No matter what you may become.
You will always be my own.
No nightmare can frighten me.
Losing you is the worst fear I’ve known.

Finally I lay here in your arms.
As how it always should have been.
Blood flows freely from my soul.
As my body feeds the green.

This isn’t what our story was.
This cannot be how we lose.
Without you there is no me.
Your blade has now but one final use.

Live for your life my dove.
I was far too gone to pause.
One last wish upon a star.
That you find your lucky cause.

I promise your memory I’ll hold.
And cherish every day just the same.
And every time I see a star.
I’ll think of you and whisper your name.

Read Poem: He, by Missy Jones

Cool, calm, and collected
like the ocean on a sunny day
he smiles, happy and amused
he eyes shine bright
he reminds me of a flower
lovely and strong
He moves like a panther
fierce like one too
he looks at me like he loves me
maybe I love him too.

https://loverrpoet.home.blog/

Read Poem: Poem on a Flower, by Tom Evans

My flower was laden with dew,
So pink, so moist, and open;
Like lips that are parted in two,
Her center, her tongue, was golden.

And crossed by green blades of grass,
Formed in a triumphal arch;
Through which some great man could pass,
Or some great army march.

Read Poem: Truth Be Told, by Phil Ginsburg

“I saw truth flick a cigarette at those guys”
“Truth don’t even smoke,” somebody else said

Another witness remarked, “Truth didn’t do anything, the guys in the car just shot for no reason”

Three people said truth started saying stuff, stuff nobody wanted to hear and that some people told truth to shut up, but truth kept jawing at every body

An elderly woman said truth was in the wrong neighborhood; had no reason to be there, especially at that hour

Somebody said truth needed to get its head on straight, needed some correction, one person, who refused to reveal her identity said all the witnesses were liars

Every body is coming from a different angle here
Every cusp of a cause is claiming their truth is the real truth

It was discovered truth had been shot in the back

Apparently, truth tried to walk away from the scene that night, wasn’t looking for a fight, it was suggested that maybe truth was a victim of mistaken identity, that perhaps the guys in the car thought truth was truth’s half-brother, half-truth, that happens a lot

Five suspects alleged to be in the car that night were brought in for questioning

Nobody admitted to anything and no one who was at the crime scene was willing to go to the lineup and identify anyone

You can’t blame them
If they can kill truth, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill friends of the truth too

You should have seen truth’s funeral
People from every race, neighborhood, income, political affiliation, religion, showed up
Who knew truth had touched so many lives?

Many testified how truth had always tried to make a difference, wasn’t afraid of being unpopular and how truth repaired their marriages and enabled others to face their conflicts and addictions

One person even claimed truth helped them give up fried calamari
It was very moving

At the cemetery, with the lowering of the coffin into the ground (You may not believe this, but I was there and saw it happen)
Truth opened the casket lid and got out, looked at everyone and said, “I’m not dead; you can’t kill me, I’m still here”

Then truth just walked off the cemetery grounds, still in grave clothes, crossed the street and went into this nondescript Chinese take out place and five minutes later got on a bus with what looked a carton of chicken fried rice

Some people were upset, “Where did truth get money for bus fare and food?” said one. Others blamed the media for hyping truth’s death in the first place to further their agendas

Truth, it’s been reported, was seen the following week at a police interrogation in Damascus, a divorce court in Akron, a perjury hearing in Allentown, Pennsylvania, a confessional booth in Holland and at a high school audition for “Cats” in Branson, Missouri

Truth, I just found out, was recently stabbed in a domestic dispute in Richmond, Virginia, but survived
Truth, it seems, gets around a lot

But maybe not as much as some folks get around the truth.

Read Poem: A Day in the Lake District, by Jacqueline Mead

With my husband by my side, I sit and reflect
Upon my image in the stream
At wonder in the changes of my being
The weather warm but windy, with oft a gentle spray of rain
I feel lively, lightness appears to be my gain

Sat at a spot of such beauty, it takes your breath away
Appreciating the silence, as you give thanks for the day
In front of you great Lakes of Water some world-famous being sailed or swam side to side
Behind you in contrast high Peaks and Mountains, waiting to be climbed
There are paths to be walked, Roman Forts to be found
Cruises to be taken, bikes to ride, hidden gems all around
Ice creams to be bought, footsteps to be walked
Pubs, Cafes, and Restaurants by the Water sought
There is history to be lived amongst the many Villages
There is romance to be read in Poetry of old
Wordsworth, Coleridge and Southey Poets of pure gold
Their stories and Poems, their legacies, forever being told

Dear Poet, pick up your Pen and paint a picture with your words
Tell the world your thoughts, let your voice be heard
Be it Romance or Nature that lets your mind wander free
I am your reader, paint your picture solely for me
I promise to take great care with it, treat it respectfully

Here’s thanks to all Poets new and old
Poets of great treasure with stories yet to be told
Do your best as Wordsworth, Byron and Coleridge, truly did
Be inspired light your candle, and be truly glad you lived

Read Poem: HeartBeat2019, by Lawrence Mathebula.

Still lifting, toiling ever a
sound beating
Awake you’re on, even when
I am sleeping
Tonight in darkness, still in
the light I awake
For all the breath’s full and
half intake
Of sips and sighs a spell,
‘Gainst death a stride excels
In the morning, early dawn
Again, sun’s fire on
Horizon stand a half
Till full fire’s enough,
Warmth’s given to my heart’s
Life beloved ever a part
Of me is found in thee,
That new hour I should see!

Read Poem: Piconni The Give Out Lover, by Rachel Kabura

Sending out thy truest love

Without a chance to bear

I shall reap what I sow

Affirmed were your decisions

Living proof of your deserter

Your gun pointed to my heart

My last words on your mouth

For I am Piconni the give out lover

Merciless and hopeless

For I remained chained to you

With your gun pointed to my heart

With the last love song we sang in the dark night

With the horrors we have faced

You are still my soldier

I am your war

For you have fought to kill

But I will not let you kill this love

For I am Piconni the Give Out Lover

Read Poem: ENOUGH, by Mirain

Let’s talk about the Swedish teen
Who’s been making headlines,
Appearing on screens
With Red Light warnings
About global warming
And the indifference of the masses.

Greta Thunberg –
With the might of an iceberg
She stands.
She’s stood alone and with many,
At home or abroad,
Stand does she
Stubbornly
Broad with defiance,
A “don’t fuck with me” frown
The crown of this image
Of a sixteen year old making a stand
For her unborn grandchildren.

How chilling.
How absolutely mad
That the people deemed not old enough to vote
Have had to consider
The load of trash
We’ve put on their heads,
Had to protest lest we burn the world to ash
Or make everything in it dead.
Their children will likely never see the coral reefs,
With thanks to Great Grandpa Donald
Who simply loved his beef!
Literal kids can see the pain
That will rain down on our fighting planet
Unless they right the wrongs in it.

They know the gains!
They fathom this pain
Yet refrain from disdaining
‘Cause they know they have no time.
What’s yours and mine
Today
Is theirs tomorrow,
And, oh! What sorrow
To hand to them a broken world
With one end curled
Around a self-righteous paper straw;

“What more could we have done?
We tried to rack our brains
But it’s so much slower without planes
And steak just tastes insanely great…
But, wait!
Is that a pig-tailed adolescent
Suggesting I use compact fluorescent bulbs?
Telling me to act?
The Descent of Man by Darwin
Is littered with facts
About Natural Selection
And the vital role an erection
Plays in the continuation of us!
Yet she highlights that there’s nothing natural
In what we are headed towards
And thus!
We must change our ways and reap the rewards,
Or be engulfed by our greed
And burned by rays of UV
Slicing through the O-zone layer
One of the key players In our destruction…
What an eruption!
By a sixteen year old girl
Of accusations
and blame
For the state of
Our world!”
…said those too old to live to see
An exploited planet
Down on its knees
Wheezing up the mistakes of the past,
Our vast ignorance,
With children paying the penance.

She fathoms the tremendous gains
For humankind,
All animals and birds,
But faces the pain
Of trolling and attempts to stain
Her reputation
And belittle her frustration –
It pains me to state that
She will know the pain of fame,
Thanks to pricks like Brendan O’Neill
Who claims that “she is proof that the millenarian green
Movement is messing up
The next generation”
Whilst failing to fess up
About the generous donations
His racist, fame-hungry movement on Spiked
Receives from some US oil billionaires –
Greta’s generation is the heir
Of a planet compromised for a selfish choice,
But big-man Brendan dismisses this warrior
As a “weirdo” with a “monotone voice”.

He’s sadly not the first
To express a thirst
For the humiliation of the girl
Based on her autism,
By assholes who failed in journalism
So cling desperately to controversy
And hate;
Professional click-baiters,
These dickish haters
Mean not what they say
But what they say is mean:
“Can the BBC arrange for Andrew Neil
(a right-wing attack dog always hungry for his next meal)
To interview this Greta Thunberg character?
Because I guarantee we’ll never hear from her
Again.
She may even add a meltdown on national telly
Into the bargain.”
Words apparently do not fail
Helen Dale,
But perhaps she failed them.

Most recently
And shamefully,
A name from Murdoch’s columns
Makes a less-than-solemn attack,
Most likely for attention,
But maturity seems to lack
In those mature folk with a mic
Or a pen
Who jest and joke
Poke fun and then
Condemn a movement
Based on scientific fact,
Led by a “strange girl” who shouldn’t talk back
To big men and money,
As a cult.
It’s tragically funny
That Greta must ask
“Where are the adults?”

It’s time we all halt
And consider that Adam Bolt,
Painfully desperate
For disposable fame,
Supposes he can tarnish Greta’s name
With his playground-bully claim:
“I have never seen a girl so young
And with so many mental disorders
Treated by so many adults
As a guru.”
Apparently a psychologist,
Bolt wants to argue
Against the influence of the teen
By, like others, dismissing her keen
Sense of global justice
Due to a diagnosis of Asperger’s
And wrap it up in malice
To see how far it could spread.
By the time the worst of Greta’s warnings
Become reality
And our only home warming
To the point of fatality
This pathetic man will be dead
So he has nothing to lose
And publicity to gain
By expressing disdain
For a “freakishly influential” activist.
The only thing ‘mental’
Is that this controversial columnist
Publicly attacking the younger sister
Of an unapologetic fighter
For the future
Is a 59 year old man.
This girl fights because she can.
And must.
Ask yourself which of these two people
You can trust.

No pain, no gain.
Greta knows this.
A cheap ‘dis’ in the media
won’t make her remiss
In her mission
Because the Earth’s condition is
Dire.
Her generation needs a voice
And this girl – she breathes fire.
So if you’re offended
By the blame game
Of the doomed generation
And feel no shame
For the eternal damnation of
All. Life. On. Earth.
Then listen to her again!
Because again and again and again
A gain is overlooked –
The restored harmony of nature
Where we are not hooked
On poisons and fossils,
On plastic and money.
That frown on her face
Tells us it’s not funny,
It’s not honey-glazed hippies hugging some trees
That are down on their knees
Begging us to STOP!
And consider
The wider picture,
The future gains
Or the pain they’ll endure
If we don’t cure
The disease of the consumer –
It is our youths.
And they’re talking to you.

Greta Thunberg –
Stands with the might of an iceberg
And yes – icebergs nowadays
Are up against a lot,
As it gets hotter
They vanish into the water
And become millions of extra drops
In the rising ocean.
This so-called ‘ignorant, brainwashed child’
Is enough to inspire
A million drops to bind together
And stand behind her
Against the harsh weather
Of billionaires, critics,
Bullies and corporations
And speak as a generation
Representing every last nation’s
Unborn souls.
And when the opposition
Doles out its ridicule
And criticism,
And deniers list
The endless, unobtainable things it’ll take
To fix this
And their force like that of a tsunami,
Greta, please, you listen to me –
You alone are making waves
By braving the storm
To demand reform.
The way mankind behaves
Means the fight can be tough,
But, girl, you keep on standing
And you tell them
“I. Am. Enough.”