Category: Uncategorized

BETTING, Poetry by Agbaakin O. Jeremiah

 Genre: Life
—-

you toy with Luck

cloaked in a shawl

of overlapping probabilities;

stake your coins by their heads-to-heada.

but numbers can become apostates of logic

when statistics reshuffled, backslide

into the skin of Chance.

you ask how that could happen-

how a giants’ spine can be bent

within the silence of a seconds.

in Série A,

a third division side could demystify a favourite.

but frequency is like a slow stream

that suddenly bends around;

and screams waterfall into depth.

you don’t tame numbers like cubs

for that’s how to be screwed over and over again

by these jinn of numerals

giggling in the betting house.

 

 

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
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 Mr. Façade, Poetry by Esther Oyebode

Genre: Relationship
—

eyes wide; tears streaming,
the slap across my face,
awake me from dreams and fantasy,
to hear the reject clearly.

the fist in my stomach
remind me of former regrets.
the leg against my neck
shouts game over,
tearing my pride apart,
killing me till I really died.

how did I fall for the hug
that seemed to scream
of how I can be cherished;
or the smile that held my gaze.

Heaven’s apple got me enticed,
even Eve in the garden had no choice.
I was mesmerized by his beauty.
my body fitting every inch
got me believing I was right
with choices made.

only five nights before
his eyes spoke the words aloud
I want you
the handshake screamed
can I know you more?
his approach spat
let me take you to a place
his voice whispered
I want you forever.

 

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
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Broken, Poetry by Austin Thomas

Genre: Society
—

 What does it mean to be broken? Damaged beyond repair maybe? When I speak of being broken I am referring to the emotional state of a single human being. That human being I am making reference to is I. I like so many young boys and girls fell into the false reality of someday meeting my Juliet and living happily ever after. So, that would mean I had to have thought of myself as Romeo. Well, this story doesn’t have a happy ending. I don’t wind up getting the girl nor do we fall romantically in love. What I earlier on mistakened for love turned out to be a ways off. Jordan was her name. Alike the shoe, she was well sought after and not easily obtained. Before, I knew it I was in head over heels for her. With time, we grew apart from one another. It just so happens that we share the same zodiac sign and birth month. Every February I can’t help but think of her.

 

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
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Ganesh or dumbo, Poetry by Damian Corcoran

 Genre: Memory, Spiritual
—-

Ganesh or Dumbo

What you don’t know
doesn’t hurt you
Ganesh or dumbo?

Unsaids like viruses spread
Insinuating into the tendons
To bring us down
Ganesh or dumbo

Cute and childlike
Meek and mild
Drinking milk

Ganesh or dumbo?

A drop left Suspended
A Silent whiteness
A witless witness
Ganesh or dumbo

Globule stretching downwards
Fearful flight
Forestalled Swoosh

Ganesh or dumbo

plop it drops
From chin to bowl
Innocence lost In an

instant of Ignorance

Or choice of ignorance
What Remains is
By default
Ganesh or dumbo

Big words like wisdom
And forgiveness
Cut deep in stone
Are no competition
For dark vengeance
And memories unforgetting

Ganesh or dumbo
 

 

 

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The Second Cup, Poetry by Michael Westcombe

Genre: #Family, #Kids, #Life, #Love & #Relationships.

 —

 How sweet this brew, unsugared, blended tea,
Infused with my love for you, and yours for me!
So blessed, from rich estates, and Darjeeling,
Expressing so much of us, our mutual feeling.

And as the pungent liquor slowly pours,
I reflect on this love of mine, and of yours.
Our children, like the issue from the spout
Are sometimes here, but much more often, out.

So much survived, and much more shared
Leaves both of us with nerve ends bared;
And this, the gentle ritual of brewing tea,
Provides for me, an essential sheltering lea:

Because your welcome presence lifts me up,
I always pour for you, the second cup!

 

 

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In Memory of 2016, Poetry by Felicia L. Smith

Genre: TRAGEDIES

memoryof2016.png

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A jumbled up mess, Poetry by Krystle Nicole Martin

 Genre: Life
—

I haven’t written much in a long while and since it’s almost the new year I figured I would try something for a bit.

I’m scared.
I don’t know what tomorrow will hold.
I’m not even sure if there will even be a tomorrow.
I don’t want my hard work to lead me nowhere.
I don’t think I thought this through.

I’m a jumbled up mess.
I’m either here nor there.
I’m a wandering soul.

My feet stay planted.
My eyes have wandered what could lie in the horizon.
My mind races.
My body is numb.

Is this what faith is like?
Is this the way it’s supposed to feel?
Is this what trust is like?
Is this the way I’m supposed to go?

I can’t write eloquently.
I can’t write to save my life.
I can’t write to understand.

Where am I going?
Where is my resting place?

I know, I’ll go Home.

 

 

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Missing Home, Poetry by Anyasi Ray

 Genre: Hope, Hurt, Rhyme, Sad, Society and Kids
—-

Home is gone, stolen by our enemy.
Home is broken, and nothing left for me.
Now I live in the wreck of an old van,
And my pillow is a soiled baking pan.
Sweet home, can I find another one new?

Home is not a place there is an army.
Home is where there is daddy and mommy.
Daddy is not here because of a gunman.
Mommy is not here because of a masked man.
The gunman and the masked man, shame on you.

Home is where all my friends are around me.
Home is where I can play with Salami.
I saw a pretty boy in a turban,
I tried to play with him here but he ran.
Why his mom won’t let him, I never knew.

Home is where I always fill my tummy.
Home is where my hunger makes me happy.
I can’t follow mommy’s nutrition plan,
When my meal is from the Bantus’ trash can.
Taste and hunger, my companions anew.

Home is where the cold will never catch me.
Home is where the insects will not bite me.
The sun has given me more than a tan,
And blisters I wear like a cardigan.
A pain more than this is only a few.

 

 

 

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Lament for Cill Àirne, Poetry by Tom Roche

Genre: Save Nature
—-

(this is a modern-day adaptation by a non-poet of the sixteenth century poem Cill Chais)

Now what will we do for trees, with the last of the oaks laid low? There’s no talk of Cill Airne or its households and it’s cathedral bell will be struck no more.

That dwelling where lived the generous couple most honoured but neglected by State. Overtaken by crippling species its woodlands and visitors will be seen no more. Duck’s voices nor geese do I hear there, nor the Eagle’s cry over the lakes, nor even the bees at their labour bringing honey and wax to us all. No birdsong there, sweet and delightful, as we watch the sun go down, nor cuckoo on top of the branches setting the world to rest.

A stain on the boughs of CillAirne is descending neither daylight nor sun can clear. No hazel nor holly nor berry no dances or bon-fires nor wood for the violin.

I call upon Hazel and Enda to send the army our way: that CillAirne, the townsland of our fathers; will rise handsome on high once more and till doom – or the deluge – returns – we’ll see our woodlands no more laid low.

 

 

 

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Welcome to Hell, My Son, Poetry by Justan Acre

Genre: Life

 You didn’t need to summon me; I was always close by. I have been with you since the first day you told me you wanted them to die. You hate the world for the way it has treated you blaming others for all you lack. Every step you take forward they push you two steps back. You hate because they hate you each and every one. “It is time to make them pay”, I whispered to you, then you bought the gun.

You called upon me then and I wished you well – “kill them all and look upon them as you stand next to me at the gates of hell” “If you do this there will be no turning back but remember they stole from you, they are responsible for all you lack.” ” Their names you do not know only the faces you see. The faces laughing, taunting, looking away, yes, alive no more will they be.”

I saw a brief hesitation in your eyes, “use the Gun!” I commanded “You hate them each and every one! Do not hear their cries, do not listen to their lies.” “And you will watch them pass through the gates as you stand next to me, stand next to me at the gates of hell.”

And I watched with so much pride as you stole their life the way they stole from you. Your rage gunned down each and every one, no mercy you did show You killed nameless faces, maybe some you did know. It did not matter, they were numbers, you laughed as the death number did grow.

“Time for you to take your rightful place, my son, for you have served me well. For your reward, it is here with me where forever you will dwell. ” No longer will you stand next to me, now you shall pass through the gates of hell.” ” The lives you took were for me not you, why would I care about your rage?” ” Your soul I take with me forever to live like an animal in a cage. Do not look at me with eyes filled with surprise, it is your hate that made me rise. You called upon me for many years, in your youth, it was I who wiped away your tears. I filled you with hatred, you knew no fears. “You know my name now say it!! I hear your heart beating within. Yes, I have many names, my son, but the one I enjoy is Satan!”

“I must leave you now, another soul summons me, one full of more hate. So enjoy eternity with the ones you killed, for you are all together behind the gate.” ” Yes, you fool, you served me very well.”

” Welcome, my son, welcome to hell.”

 

 

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