Category: Uncategorized

GENRE: Hope, Hurt, Philosophical, Relationships, Love, Nature

WATER! by Sinjini Sengupta

Here – I lend myself again. Here – I let myself vulnerable. Here – I offer myself to you.

To be used!

You like it; it is the way you wanted it.

I like it too, at first.

I don’t let myself think what comes next.

Because..?

Because, I know that all too well already.

No, it won’t change.

But then, who can stop me from thinking it would,

At least this one time?

And then, it comes. As it was always meant to do.

My wounds open, my heart bleed, my lungs feel gripped. I let you rip me off. My inside, my whole.

I break. I split into pieces, tiny and then tinier.

Here, I lose myself. Again.

And then, I see myself – in pieces so futile that no one notices. I can’t recognize myself.

In fact, it’s perhaps…

* * * * *

Deadline: FREE POETRY…

Genre: Society, Rhyme

Gods Providence by Lucille marais

Thy providence upholdeth,
For not my will but thine,
not what we know
or know not,
We trust
in his infinite wisdom, devine.

For thy kingdom ruleth over it all,
The wicked cannot hide,
Thy governance and thy hand,
hath turneth every tide.

Fallen, far from fear,
where feet have trod to and fro,
In thy sovereign hand and power,
‘Tis the season, for all to know.

For thy spirit is moving swiftly,
Transforming every kind
Woe to us
Lest one,
Lest one,
is left behind.

Thy power hath taken precedence
No other kingdom come,
The sons of God arising
No work of thine,
left, undone.

Only righteousness for thy glory
Resilient army for thy work,
For outside of thy will and way,
I, shall see it not.

Genres: Funny; Religion; Cats

Description; Suggested by a poem called “Pangur Bán” found in the margins of a manuscript and written around the ninth century by an unknown Irish monk.

Golden Legend by Richard Van Holst

I used to like the noise

and stalk his stirring quill

and he would smile, until

the day I stepped in ink

and pattered golden foot-

prints down his page. And then

my monk was cross and grabbed

me with harsh hands. But soon

he took a rag and wiped

my yellowed paws—he said

it looked as if I’d fished

for sun‘s last light in pools

at vespers. Then he stroked

my fur with kinder touch.

He kept me a long time

from climbing on his desk,

but now we both have learned

our passions to restrain.

Now I am much more calm,

wise in the ways of words,

content to watch him scratch

Genre: Sports, Life, Fantasy

Leaves and Grass by Thomas Sorrell

Pete Maravich and Oscar Robertson stand
on a moonlit basketball court in the heart
of the South Dakota Badlands – two hardwood
legends, set for some one-on-one on blacktop.
Pistol Pete, from Louisiana, nods at
his Ohio opponent, called The Big O.
He wants to say something, but a whistle blows.
Chief Sitting Bull is tonight’s referee and
he takes guff from no soul, alive or not. Both
men turn and listen to his instructions and I
take a quick trip around, looking at the crowd.
Ghosts of living and dead people line the court.
Hank Aaron’s there, 41 feet from Babe Ruth.
The two of them nod, politely. Mean Joe Greene
has a wheelbarrow full of jerseys, some his,
some not. The natives refuse to accept them,
fearing small pox or athlete’s foot or something.
John Madden, Walter Cronkite…

Genre: Love, Relationship

Opus no. 4

by: Maria Ana Francesca Ison

3/3/16

It’s sad to think that I am the only one who’s holding on.

I should’ve refused fake love but I didn’t.

Maybe it’s what drives me crazy as of the moment.

Those sleepless nights and lack of appetite,

Were mainly caused by the distraught you have brought upon my inner sanity.

I wished I didn’t even meet you.

If I knew this would happen, I would’ve left this philosophical gathering.

I should’ve avoided the risky meetings.

I could’ve escaped the tension.

But now the tremor on my brain was already formed.

No one was to blame for this.

No one but me.

Because I was the one crossed the Rubicon.

I was the one who didn’t have control

Indeed it was I who was more matured.

Though your years are indeed ahead of mine.

But when I got…

Genre: Emotions

RAGE … by S Moran (31.07.2013)

It’s barely contained
Within my chest
A feeling of rage
Threatens to overcome me
Those who accuse of judgement
Are the perpetrators themselves
Because they need the excuses to release them from their own
chains
Chains which will always inhibit them
Imprison their very soul
I’ve no need for people such as this
No desire to have them connected to me
Ulterior motives motivate their actions
And they can see no wrong in this
But the moment their true colours show
Your rage is ignited
And burns intensely
Control is up to you
You are required to be your own saviour
Contain this overwhelming desire to destroy
That which has caused such a negative emotion
Reflection is imperative to survive it
Pool the rage within
One day.
Some way.
It will seek out the deserved few
What was once yours
Will consume…

Genre: Society, Political

Mr. President

Basically I’m just and ordinary kid pursuing education

Living everyday with no motivation due to my country’s economic situation

Dollar bills going up and everybody’s loosing hope in the Nation

Parents cannot longer pay their children’s tuition

Families cannot even afford an expensive vacation

Our standards have depreciated and turned into business as usual for these politicians

Who have severally failed to put action into their given manifestos

People now cook their stew with no tomato

People now walk from Lekki to Ikeja because there is no petrol

Sick people now take herbs because they can no longer afford Panadol

What a country! Nigeria! I haven’t lost hope

I believe one day, our grass would become gold

Bribery and corruption would become old

And citizens could be bold to say, ‘I am Nigerian’

People would no longer say, ‘I cannot’ rather they would be saying…