Category: Uncategorized

Beaten Path. Poetry by Naseha

Song on my lips, dust on my boots, and dark night around me I take a moment;
A moment to look around as I travel the worlds unknown.
My Arabian horse – Lester, smiles at me in the light on the lantern, we are lost again
In the dense of the mossy thick forest, echoing with wing’s drone.

Genre: Rhyme, Reflective, Philosophical, Hope, Romantic

Beaten Path
by Naseha
http://www.naseha.world

Song on my lips, dust on my boots, and dark night around me I take a moment;
A moment to look around as I travel the worlds unknown.
My Arabian horse – Lester, smiles at me in the light on the lantern, we are lost again
In the dense of the mossy thick forest, echoing with wing’s drone.

The yellow parchment of my dog eared tanned leather bounded sweaty dairy;
Which I so lovely call my logs, is eagerly waiting for my ink and quill
The stars speak, the midnight has passed, I pack away the day,
As I decrease the flame, from my mouth, see the creeping wet chill

Lester is snoring; peaceful with the mossy air of forgotten foggy forest trail
After a month and half in desolated the parched land of dust
The spirit in me, forces me out of my cozy cottage filled with aroma of mushroom
To take on the paths not known, under star, sun, or fog, walk I must

Lester, my trench coat, my log, my quill as my companion, I travel to embrace
The mist of the height, the thirst of stark, the lead of unseen brook
The tame of terrain wild, the serenity of the rushing gale, warmth breath of trees
Old, knotty, patchy, all safely, frozen for eternity, in pages of my book

Off the beaten path, away from comfort of known souls, under the Canopus
On creaking, dry mattress of a thousand yellow, green, and red
Occasional ease of the stained bedding in a lonely Inn on a highway, lit by single lantern
I give in to the insanity in me, to find, to seek, on virgin gravels to tread

I close my eyes as I walk, to lose the known paths, in getting lost in terra incognita
Only then can I chance upon inebriation of charting the chartless in rife
Maybe with few silver coins in the pocket, no mansion to pass on, but richer by far
Lived a million lives with each unsung path, I chart in chronicles of my roving life

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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

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A Remarkable Tale from the Land of Podd, Poetry by Ed Newman

In a faraway land, in the Land of Podd,
folks felt themselves each just a little bit odd.
Why in fact, not a few,
not even a dozen,
and not just a sister or uncle or cousin…
‘Twas the entire country caught under this spell,
each believed only others were anything swell,
and each felt discouraged just a smidge by his lot,
and this is what happened, believe it or not.

Genre: Humor, philosophical, hope, motivational

A Remarkable Tale
from the Land of Podd
by Ed Newman

In a faraway land, in the Land of Podd,
folks felt themselves each just a little bit odd.
Why in fact, not a few,
not even a dozen,
and not just a sister or uncle or cousin…
‘Twas the entire country caught under this spell,
each believed only others were anything swell,
and each felt discouraged just a smidge by his lot,
and this is what happened, believe it or not.

It had been a bad year, and in addition to famine
there were enemy troops on the borders of Salmon,
their unfriendly neighbors near the Mountain of Yore
and the King was near certain that his land was done for.

So he needed a messenger to save their lands
and he sought out a hero from the kingdom’s bands.
But each made excuses, for this and for that,
One said, “My hair’s funny,”
and “I can’t wear a hat.”
A second, who resisted, said his nose was too fat!

The king tried reason, and he also tried terror,
but quickly realized that the latter’s an error,
so he promptly decided to appeal to God,
’cause these were strange people, these people of Podd,
for nothing was wrong… though each thought he was odd.

The king finally saw, although quite peculiar,
that the land would be lost — including their ruler! —
if he couldn’t find someone to carry out this task,
but there seemed no one else in his land left to ask.

Yet the Kingdom was saved, it turned out in the end,
all because the king knew that to save his own skin
he would have to step down from his throne, to the street,
and even though he didn’t like his own feet,
he became a great leader by hiding it inside
and he ran ‘cross the hills to the far other side
to bring back an army or some kind of troop
to finish forever this enemy poop.

I guess that is why some are kings, some are not.
We’re all quite the same, and we’re all that we’ve got.

 

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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

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My Reality Within A Dream. Poetry by Roderick Dupree

Something about her was different

No words exchanged but she was my woman of interest.

It was her eyes that guided me to her heart

Her mind was the epitome of art.

Genre: Love

My Reality Within A Dream by Roderick Dupree

Something about her was different

No words exchanged but she was my woman of interest.

It was her eyes that guided me to her heart

Her mind was the epitome of art.

Never made for perfection

Definitely built for protection.

She stands in independence

With a walk of confidence

Attitude so modest

With the soul of a goddess.

Not one for lust but to be loved

Not one for games but to be cuffed.

Invests in herself to become the best she’s destined to be

Now that’s exquisite wine and not just another cup of tea.

Business over pleasure makes her distinguish

When seeking her vision my soul replenish.

Fate then rised upon existence

Once she admired my persistence

Breaking down barriers of resistance

Our love grew nearer in distance.

She’s the type when texts aren’t good enough

Phone calls are valued but end calls makes it rough.

Her smile of gold brings joy into my life

She’s the perfect diamond in the mist of wildlife.

No angel but a queen from a queen

No fantasy but my reality within a dream.

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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

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Play House. Poetry by John “John Kind” Ravenell Jr.

We think we’re grown don’t we?
Holding hands in public because that’s what lovers do,
We think we know how to love,
But inexperience got us not having a single clue,
To be simply put, we are making a poor attempt at being witty,
Trying to pass off what we have as love, yet too naive to know it’s shitty,

Genre: Romantic Irony

Play House
by John “John Kind” Ravenell Jr.

We think we’re grown don’t we?
Holding hands in public because that’s what lovers do,
We think we know how to love,
But inexperience got us not having a single clue,
To be simply put, we are making a poor attempt at being witty,
Trying to pass off what we have as love, yet too naive to know it’s shitty,

We take relationship advice from what we all call, “other wise”,
You better love me as I say, “other wise” I’m gonna-
Then we spit argue over marble counter tops, trying to buff things out,
No way to try to make it look nice, fights never bring our best side out,
To be simply put, I’m the daddy and she’s the mommy,
We are, who we are, because the roles gives us an organized lifestyle,

All I know is, I just got off from work and mommy you better kiss me,
How was our son? I’m hungry too, what did you get me?
Ah yes, my favorite dish your the best!
And you look especially beautiful for me, and only me, in that sun dress,
And my dearest thinks handsome, she adores me as her hard working man,
To take care of her and secure her is my obligation to her 20 year living plan,

To be simply put, our lives are designed by an idea our parents act out,
We would like to childishly fulfill those roles, but with a plastic door to back out,
Just in case if things take a different pace, becomes too real and less exciting,
But the appeal of love on the internet and reality tv is too inviting,

Who doesn’t play 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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Dear Brother, Poetry by Rani Powell

Everyday, when I tell you to be careful,
I’m not saying it just to say it
I’m saying it because this world doesn’t love you, no
Because you are only 8 now but soon you will be older
And then baby boy, the world will be much colder
They will not see you as I do,
with your warm eyes and caramel skin,
with your blue-rimmed glasses and unfunny jokes,
the curls in your hair and easy smile, no.
They see you as a Black Man.

Genre: Family, Love

Dear Brother by Rani Powell

To my brother

Everyday, when I tell you to be careful,
I’m not saying it just to say it
I’m saying it because this world doesn’t love you, no
Because you are only 8 now but soon you will be older
And then baby boy, the world will be much colder
They will not see you as I do,
with your warm eyes and caramel skin,
with your blue-rimmed glasses and unfunny jokes,
the curls in your hair and easy smile, no.
They see you as a Black Man.
As a menace to everything their good, clean society has.
The same society that was built on our father’s blood.
But it does not belong to you and you do not belong in it.

Everyday, when I tell you to be careful
I’m not saying it just to say it
I’m saying it because God help me,
you will not be the next news story
My heart would break to see your name up there with
Anthony, Eric, Freddie, Jordan, Kendrec, Kimani,
Michael, Tamir, Tony, Trayvon, Tyree, Wendell.
You are seen as a threat before you are seen as a person.
Your Blackness scares them.
They have already decided that you are nothing but a hood-rat,
nothing but a child-support baby, nothing but a tagging truant,
sagging pants, gang signs getting thrown up, two gun-shots in the air,
Crips and Blood running in the streets of a people who have already
breathed life and soul into this country.

Everyday, when I tell you to be careful,
I’m not saying it just to say it.
I’m saying it because your skin makes you a target.
And all it takes is ignorance, a bullet and a badge
to take you away from me.

 

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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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Hijo pródigo de la desgracia, Poetry by Francisco Fernández

No he vivido una guerra,
no he notado en mis manos el peso de la carne
y nada más.
No he respirado la ceniza,
ni los gritos me asaltan por las noches;
no he sentido la vulnerabilidad de la trinchera
ni el temblor del rifle ante mi enemigo.

Genre: Spanish Civil War, philosophical, social, motivational.

Hijo pródigo de la desgracia by Francisco Fernández

No he vivido una guerra,
no he notado en mis manos el peso de la carne
y nada más.
No he respirado la ceniza,
ni los gritos me asaltan por las noches;
no he sentido la vulnerabilidad de la trinchera
ni el temblor del rifle ante mi enemigo.

Sin embargo, eso no impide
que me sienta como un ángel
con el culo lleno de metralla.
Los libros me han susurrado la desgracia
de ser esclavo de esta historia,
de la Historia de España,
de la Gran Historia Universal.

No he sentido el frío del exilio
ni la orfandad de la infancia robada.
No merezco cartas ni medallas.
Sin embargo, no creo que mi lucha no tenga sentido
por estar lejos de las balas,
por ser mi espejo el campo de batalla.
La guerra a la que me enfrento cada día
es controlar al animal que habita mi estómago,
y prepararme para, llegado el momento,
impedir que la Historia se repita.

 

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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

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Lottie, we can fly!, Poetry by Elaine Longworth

Lottie and I had our garden party, with teddy and Barbie
We ate jam butties and chocolate bunnies,
We made them together, it seemed we would be forever
Lovely jammy and chocolate messy
I swept her up, laughing, heading through the gate, late
As always, stealing time, making it mine
We ran through the field, a path revealed
By other scurrying, worrying feet running to the beat of life

Sky so blue, a warm breeze as soft as a feather

Genre: Inspirational

Lottie, we can fly! by Elaine Longworth

Lottie and I had our garden party, with teddy and Barbie
We ate jam butties and chocolate bunnies,
We made them together, it seemed we would be forever
Lovely jammy and chocolate messy
I swept her up, laughing, heading through the gate, late
As always, stealing time, making it mine
We ran through the field, a path revealed
By other scurrying, worrying feet running to the beat of life

Sky so blue, a warm breeze as soft as a feather
Our hands entwined we slowed to a walk together
Starlings watched us, Jackdaws seemed to forbid us
Sky Larks sweeping and swooping before us
Greeting us with merry chitter chatter, scattering around us

Why do birds sing? Soft voice imploring the all knowing
Lottie they sing to remind us and invite us
To follow what makes our heart sing
Why do birds fly? Lottie they fly to remind you and I
We too have wings to fly,
Wings to make our dreams soar high in the sky
Bringing them and us alive with the beat of our heart song
Lottie, we can fly! Scooping her up, whizzing her round
Her feet off the ground, giggling to our momentary heart song

 

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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

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Suspended love, Poetry by Anna

Flood and smoke on cities

Silent waves of early morning breeze

With ease dancing with each other slow sensual dance

of merging their essence, creating new presence

Genre: Society

Suspended love by Anna

Flood and smoke on cities

Silent waves of early morning breeze

With ease dancing with each other slow sensual dance

of merging their essence, creating new presence

of feeling

To suspended wait for beauty of new day

Lovingly seek others beauties around,

in all forms, and sounds sudden moves and sights

Watching all rhythms of town, with no movement

After all day, just being it’s own universe of movies

https://playfulpriestess.wordpress.com/

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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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Wild Freedom, Poetry by Shawntelle Moncy

We are free like animals.
We are wild.

We climb trees for fun,
We swim to cool,
We sing
to feel free.

We are wild,

Genre: Life, Society

Wild Freedom by Shawntelle Moncy

We are free like animals.
We are wild.

We climb trees for fun,
We swim to cool,
We sing
to feel free.

We are wild,
We love to be loved,
Hug to be hugged,
And then run like the wild wind,
to feel free.

We are wild,
We make memories to remember,
We ruin and we build,
We wonder and we get lost,
to feel free.

We are wild,
Or at least we could be,
Forever lost,
To be free.

 

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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

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There Are Two Seasons, Poetry by Neville Johnson

There were two seasons
I sensed it the day we met
Before her and after her

Before her I walked alone
Before her I was sad
Jealous I was of the couples I saw
On the street, holding hands

Genre: Relationship, Love

There Are Two Seasons
By Neville Johnson

There were two seasons
I sensed it the day we met
Before her and after her

Before her I walked alone
Before her I was sad
Jealous I was of the couples I saw
On the street, holding hands

Before her, I was serious
Then I rarely smiled
Life we an obstacle
A mountain to climb

Then the rainy season stopped
Finally the sun came out
I looked up and thought
It’s time for change
That wind I caught

After her began the time she walked into my life
I refer to it as happenstance as the birds did sing
I mustered up my confidence, gathered my thoughts
Went over to the pretty girl and proceeded to get lost
Into her charms, so many I can’t count

After her, after her, how my life has changed
After her, I no longer mind the rain
For I am with her, an umbrella we share
Made of love and kindness
Never the worse for wear

There are two seasons
Before and after her
Before I was lonely
Then came a love so pure

Reprinted with permission of the publisher, Cool Titles, from WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG: Poems for People in Love by Neville Johnson ©2016

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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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