The Soundtrack to Your First Embrace, Poetry by Kim M. Russell

WILDsound Festival's avatarWILDsound Festival

Genre: Love, Relationship

The Soundtrack to Your First Embrace

You fold your arms around her

With a whisper of wings,

Your breath in her ear

Like sea in a shell, washing

A distant shore and yet so near.

Your heart gallops,

A startled stallion

Running for cover,

Unsure of your lover,

Holding her with bones that creak

Like sails on a galleon.

Clothes rustle

As your fingers brush her face

In your first embrace.

© Kim M. Russell, 2016

    * * * * *

Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

Watch Poetry performance readings:

Watch Poetry made into Movies:

View original post

Society Poetry: SLYME by Michelle B. Assor

SLYME by Michelle B. Assor

Prime Time!
No time to dawdle or rhyme.
No time to swish this ghastly mite.
No time to flowingly write.
Camera lenses ogle
through the dark eyes of the iPad.
Beware roaming pens…..
You will be chomped and your ink run dry
Bet you didn’t know devices bite like mites.
Slyme!
Pens prepare for your finale.
No more writing rights!

No time to listen to melodic chimes.
Free time demands a puny dime.
Flat faced phones are advanced.
C’mon they are not that smart,
but they sure know how to keep
blushing face to face conversations
woolly worlds apart.

Spaced out…..
Slyme!
Where am I? Mars or the Moon?
Earth is too flat. I’d rather be as high as a kite
Yet I’ve forgotten how to climb a tree to take flight
If time permits I’ll slink the clock,
forego my stinky socks
and try to hurdle that trunk.
I’m salivating for that slimy lime
dangling high from a branch
on some wayward, distant ranch.
It’s begging me,
Be mine, be mine,
Slyme!
No time.

No time to reinvent the mime,
No time to whisper in your ear
“Be my Valentine”
Daytime-Lunchtime-Bedtime
It’s all the same suppressing chime
There is no half time, part time,
Only foolish fulltime

The cat is no longer in his hat
He doesn’t purr
And he’s losing his fur
Who, Who, WHO is Horton?
Looks like his trunk
is severely shortened.
Oh, but I do have one special wish
Yuck, no it’s not a slimy fish
I want that grimy, green grinch
The one who stole Christmas.
He ought to mind his own business.
SLYME!

The grimy, green grinch

    * * * * *

Deadline for POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

Watch Recent Poetry Readings:

Watch Previous Poems turned into movies:

Society Poetry: I WAS FINE AS MARGARITA by Gloria D. Gonsalves

I WAS FINE AS MARGARITA by Gloria D. Gonsalves

I was fine as a wallflower
creating words
in apolitical world.

I rhymed innocence
of my dwellings.
I weaved songs
of many sunnier smiles.

I was love blended
with verses of sunny centres
and new beginnings.

I had no race.
I had no religion.
I had no status.

I was simply Margarita, or
Daisy.

Then I was plucked
and got flung
into a political world.

Now I am something else.

I am slogans.
I am hashtags.
I am protests.

Sometimes
I recall old self
and wave with love.

Most times
I wish they saw me
as day’s eye, or
the beginning of hope.

    * * * * *

Deadline for POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

Watch Recent Poetry Readings:

Watch Previous Poems turned into movies:

Society Poetry: Social Fretwork by Dermott Hayes

I posted a thought,
it flew away
down through dark,
cavernous cyberways,
to bump and grind
with other lonesome thoughts
in the hotbeds of social fretworks.

And worried then
where it might go
unguided, misunderstood
to liaise, frolic and fret
argue, debate
opinionate
in a world of posts,
untethered,
away from me,
gone, awaiting its return,
alone

    * * * * *

Deadline for POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

Watch Recent Poetry Readings:

Watch Previous Poems turned into movies:

Society Poetry: Consumer by Jeremy Duhart

Consumer

I want it all, goods and services. Money’s not a problem, I’m excited when purchasing. On the internet stores I stay surfing looking for the product to make my life perfect. There’s always something to buy to fix all of my prefects and defects, just need a 16 digit card number and an address for FedEx. I’m looking for value not trying to give it. I want it in seconds, too long is a minute. Sacrifice my rent payment for some reckless spending. Can’t get my mind off that new product, it’s addicting. That ad I just saw definitely has me influenced. Can’t wait to exchange this old thing for the newest. The coolest gadgets and fashion are waiting in my wish list. I’m in line online looking for my next wish. Spent hours shopping from home. Don’t cook, don’t clean, the DIY movement is wrong. I have a life full of improvement via products I’m consuming.

Too hot
Language has transformed from spoken to virtual.
Words now less spoken than texted with emojis.
Smiling faces looking at screens not seeing
what lies underneath their walking feet.
Dirt roads made into concrete constructing
freeways until they are complete.
Skyscrapers and buildings our ancestors wouldn’t recognize.
Mass creation on a scale not imagined by past lives.
Simulation of all things moving closer to perfection.
Or an illusion so good we delude ourselves into satisfaction.
The drive for knowledge and relaxation is the sponsor for robotics.
Creativity advocated by heavy usage of hallucinogens and narcotics. Development is going so fast the future can’t brace enough.
Are we coming in too hot?
    * * * * *

Deadline for POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

Watch Recent Poetry Readings:

Watch Previous Poems turned into movies:

Society Poetry: Pocket Sized Wreath by Cassandra Swan

The elephant-grey, cracked walkway clacks with alacrity:  
as the tedious, stiff facades in a talentless circus of mediocrity  
plod, and trek to their typical, mechanical homage – a life my   
insurrection rejects!  Instead, at a lowly, junk-ridden, rickety   
desk – on sixteen-hour, voluntary shifts – I regurgitate injustice.  
  
Will I ever switch my rabble-rousing, misanthropic existence  
for a steady salary, car and otiose days off at Christmas?  
Swivel chairs – in an unholy, goldfish bowl – with chains!  
Pub jaunts, cream cakes with petty, civilian saints,  
and dreary, clock-watching years, with lottery syndicates.  
  
This rantipole poet re-mortgaged her lifeblood to repossess time:  
decrypting the tangled-web of a tortured mind’s production lines.  
My supernatural re-incarnation – as a poetic, psychic surgeon –   
pledges petroglyphs of Donatistic lyrics, and complex lamentations.  
I survive by devouring plentiful plenilunes in valiant dimensions.  
Jekyll and Hyde’s allotment cultivates fine verbs and nouns.   
  
Fifty years devout, sterling service awards and android-head,  
with an ingot watch, a pension and an orthopaedic bed!  
Yet, starving lyricists live eternally in folios: their cicatrices  
flood like wordy blood, as knife-edged, quality-controlled rectos  
cut into eternal ebbs and flows of etymological, mystagogic tides.  
  
An android’s watch – rasped by retirement, coronary and death –   
ticks on as a by-passed heart, gasping for breath:  
under a charity shop counter, it flops; limp as an amaranth,  
in a swiftly-decomposing, demoralised, pocket-sized wreath.  
  
This wage-less wordsmith’s spine-chilling lines will outlive  
the hands and face of mechanised life and time; by sculpting  
denticulate epistles – with a scalpel – into epidermis then epitaph. 

Copyright Cassandra Swan

 

    * * * * *

Deadline for POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

Watch Recent Poetry Readings:

Watch Previous Poems turned into movies:

A Slow Train to Gwalior, Poetry Movie by Amitabh Mitra

A Slow Train to Gwalior by Amitabh Mitra

Amitabh Mitra is a poet, visual artist  and a medical practitioner at East London, South Africa. He heads the Department of Emergency Medicine at Cecilia Makiwane Hospital, Mdantsane, Eastern Cape. Widely published, Amitabh’s love poetry revolves around the city of Gwalior, India to which he originally belongs.

Amitabh Mitra

April Past, Poetry by Slowmoto

April Past

A devil in my calendar
He eats, lives, and breathes
Pour in happiness
To exhale disgust
Do you see that me?
To this demon I remain hostage
No amnesia,
Or Armor,
Or Alternate belief
I hate this month
Being torn apart
By the devil it revives in me

Poet: Slowmoto

@slowmoto
Genre: relent

 

 

      * * * * *

 

    * * * * *

Deadline for POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

Watch Recent Poetry Readings:

Watch Previous Poems turned into movies:

About these ads

Occasionally, some of your visitors may see an advertisement here
You can hide these ads completely by upgrading to one of our paid plans.

UPGRADE NOW DISMISS MESSAGE

Society Poem: Now We’ll Never Know, by Deborah Johnson

 Deborah Johnson
author “For Just five Minutes-Heaven, YES-Hell.NO”

Now We’ll Never Know

so cute

photo by Pinterest

Look into these precious eyes and tell me she doesn’t feel anything? Look into these eyes and tell me that her life doesn’t count? Look upon her face, her hair, her eyes, her skin and tell me she wasn’t in the womb, beautifully and wonderfully made? How many must cry out for the lives of those aborted before someone listens to their tears? “A Mother’s Heart Denied ” I wrote about the aching of the heart of a childless woman.  This poem approaches these precious little lives from a different perspective. ‘Mother who acted on her “CHOICE”:’

When I found out you were in fact  for real

Not letting myself believe, dream or feel.

There was no time in my scheduled life for a child,

For being  a Mother and a wife, that’s just too wild!

Taking care of it was the simple fix,

Just get rid of “it” was in my bag of tricks.

I think of you from time to time

Wondering if your hair was the color of mine?

Wondering if green eyes sparkled in the sun?

Wondering what allowed you to have the most fun?

Beautiful brown hair tied with a bow,

Ponytail bouncing, Out Of MY Dreams, Go!

Haunted forever by the sound of your voice,

I wish I hadn’t listened to those saying, “It’s your choice!”

Oh, how my aching arms long to hold you so tight,

As I sit here and cry during the long, long night.

What if you had my ability to sing?

Laying your talents before the king.

He might have an opened a door no man could close.

Now, that song you’ll never compose.

Precious moments, hastily gone forever.

Now We’ll never know, no never.

‘Woman Wanting a child:’

So here I sit wanting nothing more.

Than for God to bless me and open that door

A husband and a child was the perfect dream

But it wasn’t going to happen or so it seemed.

These children of his belong to their mother .

There seems to be no room in their hearts for another.

My husband and I both love to sing.

If only we had brought a child into this world to bring

Music  that could soar to God’s very throne,

A dark-headed, green-eyed child of our own.

Her laughter delighting as we splash and we swim.

Thinking,”How blessed,” at just the thought of him.

Staring at the beauty of the perfect little hands.

Feeling how tiny and how much love they demand.

Holding his hand to make him feel secure.

What a joy to watch her grow and mature!

My heart missing those days, sharing our dreams

Talking of God and how heaven seems.

Discussing  guardian angels who guide and protect

Praying for God to love and direct.

Not letting myself dream about you too much.

Believing what could have been, and such,

But now it’s too late for our family to grow.

Yes, it’s too late, Now We’ll Never Know.

Psalms 139:16 You saw me before I was born. Every day of my life was laid out before a single day had passed.

The poem “A Mother’s Heart Denied”. This poem was inspired by Caleb a fellow blogger and his pro-life stance on abortion. Thank you Caleb!

Unlike · · Share

A picture is worth a thousand words. You will not believe this story. Well worth the few minutes it will take to read it.  About the picture: http://michaelclancy.com/ The-Hand-of-Hope-72dpi   “Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you”.   – Jeremiah 1:5 Photos from Pinterest, photographer unknown.

I will sing praises to Him

SAD IS REAL ANDHURT IS HARD If all you want to do is cry, watch thesunset and for 1 minute think on the beauty in creation and something good in your past and future. The next day for 2 minutes. The next day for 3 minutes, etc. Before you know it, you will have gone an hour without thinking about whatever is hurting your heart. Now, sunsets are an inspiration.  They are God’s art speaking to my heart!* My cure for depression: ” Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is admirable-if anything is excellent or praiseworthy-think about such things.” Philippians 4:8 Health is mental and physical.

©ASK FOR PERMISSION Deborah Johnson and debbie’s journey to health and hope, December, 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Deborah Johnson and debbie’s journey to health and hope with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. This includes all photography . Photography copyrighted through National Geographic.

Curiosity, Get Lost With Me, Poetry by Lizzie Heart

Genre: Rhyme, Life

Curiosity, Get Lost With Me by Lizzie Heart   

I have often wondered
about the birth of a lie.
The first historical untruth,
bearing the uncouth.

As it’s identity was told,
our ability to coincide was sold.
BUT,
what if we differently choose;
True or false never composed.

Contrast how we’re aware that a lie can existing anywhere;
Keying the ignition
of Paranoid suspicions.

Lies eradicated
and history re-rooted,
present day would contain
relations seemingly strange.

Altered existence
could challenge the persistence
tied to Truth’s scavenger hunt;
through the words that we say
and the events of the day.

I am impressed
by humanity’s depths;
with lies that possess and
spawn the obsessed.
A pattern seriously strong
with sincerity nearly gone.

Intriguing thought,
to have omittance and fabrication never taught.
Preventing, you know, one of those fights
that last straight into the night;
with frustrations strained
as resistance is so tactfully maintained.

Could it be,
trust would ease,
doubt decrease,
if society agrees
to murder deceptions
and allow civilization’s animations.

Only underwear and socks will be everywhere
and cause tempers to flair.
sounds good to me,
let’s start living life fair!

~
Lizzie Heart

 

 

      * * * * *

 

    * * * * *

Deadline for POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

Watch Recent Poetry Readings:

Watch Previous Poems turned into movies:

About these ads

Occasionally, some of your visitors may see an advertisement here
You can hide these ads completely by upgrading to one of our paid plans.

UPGRADE NOW DISMISS MESSAGE