Poetry: A Full Life of Narrow Streets by James Fitzpatrick

Genre: Romance, beauty, history, geography, love, wildlife, sad, Ireland, America, literature, books, defiance

 Beneath the broad columns of Herculean Pillar,
Weeps the springtime feather dance
Of freezing frothing blanket.
He lies on Irving’s rocks across the Henry,
Painting words of Freedom’s March across a furrowed brow,
Till tiredness creeps it’s feet on lonely eyes,
Counting mountains
As they frown down from above.

On the first crack of the distant Bell
A teary head raises from a bloody pillow,
And sings out the count, to defiant beats.
Flakes drift softly round a faraway moon,
As drizzle melts the lines of morning strollers,
With the hoofs their companions, embossed upon the heather.

His eyes close as he settles to dreams of futures possible,
Picturing rows of steaming turrets, sharpened blades
And crumbling fear, as they draw known faces on fancy paper.
He hears whispered talk of sagging brows and lobbing smiles,
Scribbling and Scripting our morning news where
New artisans paint Headlines in his head,
“Work, save, and Beg.
Make ends meet,
Work those streets,
Bare them writers, debaters,
Leaders, loiters,
Teeming with poor lice“.

Upset now, he straightens, filled with sculpted fear,
And flagging hope,
Devouring ideals of painful labour,
Darkened evenings and prose.
The Narrow Alleys echo his comrades screams,
‘They are Flogging the undesirables‘.

Cries of the deserted ring out
As sweat now pores on dirtied boots.
On A One page of women Jubilant,
Black Coffins swim across the oceans, and the Singing corpses chant the Voters Slogan
‘The great appear great,
Only because we are on our Knees’

The Parisians have embraced the soul of his youth, stole his heart,
Hardened his resolve,
And emancipated the print of the newest chapters.
He’ll fall upon the lords great will,
The ‘Singers’ and ‘Wobblies’ will call and cheer,
While unrest leaves lanes of torn and listed books.

It’s a world only make believe could make so real.
Locked in, Locked out,
Fattened Guerrillas stalking shadows,
In concrete jungles of law and lands.
Their people Long since, Ner’ forgotten,
For He hears their whispers in his sleep.

This Farmers land, had workers lead their kin to the gates of Slaughter,
Then scavenged, begged and stowed to the cloudy Hill
Of Overlooking
To remorse or return, is a question beyond the door of the living.
He must Shed not for the defiant butcher,
But more for the life now gone,
Since sold to an aging critic.

He was Born in to the Poor mans world,
But now freed from it’s chains,
Must help make what‘s fallow ripen.
On the streets where rubble were once great walls,
Where mounted high, the heavenly stag did Breed,
In fields where blight had starved their plates,
He would toil and drive and Dig and Build.

That day, That day in May,
Upon a hazy heather pillow,
A life of history filled a lonely man.
As He lay and held the hand of glories past,
He raised a fist to salute the one which had just begun.
He shakes hands in his dreams with the men of the mist,
Along hills,
And at the edge of great towns.

James Fitzpatrick
Seamus Mac Giolla Phadraig

James Fitzpatrick is an Irish Poet based in Dublin.

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Genius In Me, Poetry by Thato Pricey Ratlotlong

Genre: History, Identity

Genius In Me
by Thato Pricey Ratlotlong

I intend to reach the universe without losing my soul
I’m the Great Grandson of the Forefathers
Like those four sons who were left by their four fathers
I will claim & protect my birth right
From the East to the West, its dawn then comes night

The soil keeps the flash of those before us
We can’t all speak the so called universal language
Its jewel that brightens up our Africa
Before the sun came to pass.
Trust in your native self, and write the next page

We are caged, by our thoughts
We are lost! We can’t see the Genius in Us
Their tombs are engraved the words that fought
Our weakness
The Pyramids sculptured that which is taught
Our inventions
Fallen Kings, still cry for their kingdoms
They never trusted the Genius in Us

Tremor shook, we stood
Unveiling the thoughts we never understood
Encrypt the codes of poverty
Decode the codes of poetry
Revising the education Africa taught
Regain the genius you lost
I Am the Great Grandson of our Forefathers,
Genes of their Nature is with Me,
I Am the fruit birthed by our Godly Mothers
I have their Genius In Me

– Thato Ratlotlong
Twitter: @Priceythato

 

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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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The Master, Poetry by Pete Stones

‘Come up upon the wind’
roared the Master to the sails,
‘hard-a-port, aye aye sir’
echoed down the rails

Genre: Fantasy, History

The Master
by Pete Stones

‘Come up upon the wind’
roared the Master to the sails,
‘hard-a-port, aye aye sir’
echoed down the rails

the prow in tumult groaned,
tacking wildly was her shape,
his lonesome figure smirked to see
the shallows of the Cape.

Gripping to the mainmast
while the ship pitched and yawed,
‘I’ll see thee soon my friends’,
the Master madly cawed.

Wraiths upon the weather deck,
tempests in his soul,
guilt sweeping off into the sea
to be buried in the shoals.

She opened up a seam,
but the water remained at bay
ghosts like oakum stayed the wrath
as the ship did naught but sway.

While his lips did quiver in solemn prayer
to his knees the Master fell,
‘Please release from me this earthly keel,
all city, sea, and dell’

Waves arose like the fingers of God,
and by an act of grace
the Master washed away,
a smile upon his face.

 

    * * * * *

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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Genius In Me, Poetry by Thato Pricey Ratlotlong

I intend to reach the universe without losing my soul

I’m the Great Grandson of the Forefathers

Like those four sons who were left by their four fathers

I will claim & protect my birth right

From the East to the West, its dawn then comes night

Genre: Rhyme, History, Identity

 

Genius In Me

 

I intend to reach the universe without losing my soul

I’m the Great Grandson of the Forefathers

Like those four sons who were left by their four fathers

I will claim & protect my birth right

From the East to the West, its dawn then comes night

 

The soil keeps the flash of those before us

We can’t all speak the so called universal language

Its jewel that brightens up our Africa

Before the sun came to pass.

Trust in your native self, and write the next page

 

We are caged, by our thoughts

We are lost! We can’t see the Genius in Us

Their tombs are engraved the words that fought

Our weakness

The Pyramids sculptured that which is taught

Our inventions

Fallen Kings, still cry for their kingdoms

They never trusted the Genius in Us

 

Tremor shook, we stood

Unveiling the thoughts we never understood

Encrypt the codes of poverty

Decode the codes of poetry

Revising the education Africa taught

Regain the genius you lost

I Am the Great Grandson of our Forefathers,

Genes of their Nature is with Me,

I Am the fruit birthed by our Godly Mothers

I have their Genius In Me
– Thato Ratlotlong

 

Twitter: @Priceythato

 

 

 

    * * * * *

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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