Oberon, Poetry by Robin Goodfellow

Genre: Pain, Life

Unborn leaves dance to sounds

of a bell’s hymnals, echoing

through May Day’s eve.

Amongst the light-rilled mist

and through the golden pavement,

upon a shore of stained glass

sat the shadow of a man,

whose life lay blessings from before.

How many prayers have fallen from his weary lips?

Crying out the names of his lovers and beloveds?

Racing dreams through his fields of melancholy?

Giving to sweet temptations upon loveless flowers?

Laughing at innocence, with warm hands, warm hearts,

while saving himself for winter’s sharp embrace?

And yet there he sits, the Courts moving without

him, never knowing the foolishness entwined in

his heartbeat.

He loves himself.

He hates himself.

But all the same, he continues to die,

never knowing the despair of his lies.

 

 

    * * * * *

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:

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.”

 

 

    * * * * *

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:

Fontanelle, Poetry by David Leo Sirois

Genre: Rhyme, Life

 

Fontanelle

Clocks have been stripped from all walls

as well as all forgotten gods

in an orchestrated effort to disorient us all

 

in the cylindrical silver corridor where time abides

in its own loneliness almost absent at this time

 

Even the eyes of my eyes cannot trace

how long it has lasted & how far it will stretch its

long thin limbs It is not available for questioning at this time

 

At this time we cannot say or guess

the trajectory of flashes on/off

to open wide eyelids & shut them down again

 

The space between seconds is

interminable unbearable at times & the length of

my spine immeasurable this moment

 

The crown of my head quietly lifting off

of its own volition

 

Fragile circle of my fontanelle The point of gentle

pressure from below The tiniest bit of dust is

all I am capable of carrying at times

 

My questions sing in an unbroken flow of

legato notes a melody of urgency

toward a certain yet forever unexpected end

 

The rest is silence he said & let go of his breath

 

 

    * * * * *

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:

The Battle, Poetry by Glen Hill

 Genre: Rhyme, Life

Captain McLeod stood staring out to space,
A tough old man, with scars on his face,
Deep in thought, deep in contemplation,
Onboard his planet orbiting defence station.

Distortions were seen far off in the stars,
Above and to the left near the planet Mars,
He finished some cake, and wiped it on his shirt,
He looked directly at an officer “Go High Alert”.

The officer pushed a button, lights and bells rang out,
People scurried everywhere, thinking “what’s this all about”,
Cannons were charged, and hospitals were manned,
The Captain thought “The bastards are coming, earlier than planned”

Lieutenant Webb reached his fighter, and primed it for launch,
Another tough nut, so brave and so staunch,
The squadron leader, the who commands repect,
To run from a fight, a thought he’d totally object.

Patiently waiting, His dash was all aglow,
Waiting for the order, waiting to launch, to go,
The green light was given, and his throttle went down,
He was followed by many, the ships were all around.

Eighty alien warships, decloaked right ahead,
Webb saw these huge ships, and banked left instead,
A frontal assault, is suicide he thought,
He didnt want to risk his men, he didnt want them caught.

“Fire” the Captain said, then repeated it as a shout,
As he watched the alien warships, their fighters coming out,
Gunfire suddenly erupted, as the cannons locked on,
And the aliens retaliated, with shots before long.

Webb maneuvered broadside, and engaged their ships,
Gunfire was everywhere, but Webb just pursed his lips,
His squadron had fanned out, and given free run,
This is going to take awhile, before they will be done.

“Ready the nukes” the Captain announced, as he sat in his chair,
“They are here to destroy us, they’re not going anywhere”
Damage was taken, to both sides of the fight,
Whole floors were blow out, then sucked away from sight.

Explosions now riddled, most of the alien warships too,
Some were dropping away, the Captain knew what to do,
“Webb” the Captain said “Nukes are coming your way”,
Webb knew that meant one thing, he needed to get far away!

Part 2
Webb radioed his squadron, saying “That’s enough fun”,
“The Captain will be firing nukes, so we have to run”,
With a few more alien casualties, and happy with his deed,
The entire squadron reversed course, Then took off at speed.

“We cant nuke every ship” an officer had said,
But the Captain had an idea, a plan formed in his head,
“No we can’t hit all the ships, yes you are correct”
“But i intend hitting most of them, and have a chain reaction effect”

Just then some flashes were seen, from an alien warship,
As fifteen were ships were launched at them, ones with a pointy tip,
“Boarding Party” the Captain yelled, as he pointed at his crew,
Half the bridge crew departed, for their armoury rendezvous.

“Launch the nukes” the Captain screamed “And hit every second one”
A whoosh of big projectiles, jet streaks brighter than the sun,
By this time Webb and co, were all clear, almost home,
And rounded the back of the station to the launch dome.

Webb knew about the boarding ships, and sprinted for a gun,
He locked and loaded with heaps of things “Time to have more fun”
The boarding ships hurtled toward the station, aliens by the airlock seal,
They slammed into the side of the hull, puncturing through steel.

The front of the ships opened up, and aliens poured out,
Webb and his crews were already coming, they weren’t messing about,
The aliens saw Webb, and he saw them, and scattered for cover,
Shots rang out and missiles too as they engaged one another.

One of Webbs crew, lobbed a grenade as the aliens were pinned,
The man who did it, sniggered and said “i think i have sinned”,
THe explosion ripped the aliens apart, the timing was a fluke,
“Instead of throwing a normal grenade, i think i threw a nuke”

Soon enough though, the aliens were gone the threat now is no more,
Webb had made it to the bridge, to checkout the warship score,
The Captains plan for a chain reactionworked like a song,
The warship numbers had significantly reduced their end wont take long.

The station is badly damaged, one more ship to go,
The Captain was making up his mind, as he paced to and fro,
One more nuke was fired, but the warship started to glow red,
“i think they will fire their main weapon” is all the Captain said.

The nuke had struck the last ship, as it fired out a beam,
And as the warship fell away,the station was cut in half clean,
The orbiting station buckled, then started losing height,
The Captain looked out from the bridge, the planet now plain in sight.

The evacuation was sounded, as the station became unstable,
“Get to your escape pods now” those of you who are able,
Escape pods ejected this way and that, as the station was erupting in flame,
Some people will be scarred from this, and they will never be the same.

 

    * * * * *

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:

The Sempiternal Sapphire, Poetry by Sohinee Dey

 Genre: Hope, Inspirational, Long, Motivational, Rhyme, Strong, Life,
Personality.

Out of nowhere, blowed the outraged zephyr,
Trying to diminish the glow of the sapphire.
Evocative and fetching all together,
Knew the wind not that it was nether!

Beleaguered by the wind, never did she cry,
Neither did she succumb into a mournful sigh.
Only believed that it will pass by,
And she will always hold her head high!

Ameliorated, she sat there,
Withstanding the wind; calling it mere.
Somewhere above the albatross cried,
Muffled and obliterated; in silent effluence, the wind crept by.

Then the sun shone in its full glory,
Nowhere was repentance; without it being sorry.
Engaged himself in a dalliance with the sapphire,
Scorched her; dissembling her in his fire!

Crestfallen was the sapphire now,
But promised herself never to bow,
Stronger she would be; made a vow.
Promised; a better route she would plough!

The rain came along,
Leaving behind a demure calmness behind.
Shy at first, then drenched the earth in ebullience.
Acting as an elixir for efflorescence.
The sapphire sat and let herself drench in petrichor.

Then the autumn was awakened,
Wherein the grip of the roots were slackened.
Left the greens and blooms to wither.
But a new beginning it was, for the sapphire.

The winter trailed in unannounced,
Froze the earth without an ounce of mercy.
Took the earth in its demesne,
But there she sat, shining in her ethereal flames.

The spring created an assemblage of blooms,
Cheered everyone out of their gloom.
The sapphire rejoiced in epiphany,
Without losing her shine; for fighting through all the infamy.
BY: SOHINEE DEY

 

    * * * * *

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:

A baleful banishment, Poetry by Sujoy Bhattacharya

 
Genre: Life

Placid calmness was patting her supple hands on my
fetid forehead to mitigate my mental moroseness .
My eyes weary were ailing for a dream- fed slumber .
A pair of butterflies in a copulating posture flying happily
to remind me the existence of happiness in my vicinity .
By the side of a flowing brook robed in with the velvety
attire of desolate serenity , not contaminated with the
frenzied din and bustle of morbid humanity ,I was retiring !
I was retired tired of wading through stubborn deluge of woes !
Woes that I invited in my life to feast on the residue of cinders
Cinders I loved once to scatter over the barrenness of discomfiture .
Hostile waves of defeats did not allow me to taste the sauce of victory .
The soul of Hitler appeared abruptly to gossip with my garrulous mind .
From behind the grey clouds effigy of burnt spirits frowned at me fiercely .
A dinosaur from the remote ice age frightened away Hitler to hades again .
The pioneer polestar waved her braid to foster me to carry on my choir .
Caesar the great , came to quench his thirst at the bank of the brook ,
fatigued and frightened to count the clones of the contemporary Brutus !
Socrates came coughing , holding the cup that contains his molten death , hemlock !
I prostrated at her feet to wash with the tears of Roman atonement , dew of homage !
Mona Lisa came dancing depicting a diagram of dreadful interrogation menacing –
I forgot to note the password to unlock the mystery of tears -laughter entwinement .
Something was being pelted into the placid brook to create tremendous turmoil .
I cast my inquisitive look to find king Midas on a pile of gold cubes, was immersing his avarice .
A bevies of beautiful elves were blowing conks at the Zenith to welcome white pigeons l
I closed my tormented eyes to hem it with the enigmatic sleep of profound amnesiac oblivion !
My deafened ears can no more hear the bewailing of lamenting souls captive in anabiosis .
Fettered feet limping on the paleographic arena for deciphering new definition of humanity .
My mind can take exile to a !and where stinking smell of burning mankind can’t reach .
But my petrified body motionless can’t even crawl to the grave of death to exhilarate life .

 

 

    * * * * *

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:

ORCHARD’S SEED AND THE FALLING OF STARS by LiianVarus

 Genre: Dark, Family, Life

Procreation is a dying breed;
I am its hope, a sighing seed.
Nestled amongst foliage,
I hide from my heritage
between cavernous spaces
of Autumn’s dead leaves.
Coming from an old growth orchard,
it’s expected that I carry on our lineage.
Deforestation,
family ties uprooted,
all the deadfall;
I’ll live in the moss of their graveyard.
Ancient bloodlines circle through me,
but I won’t spin its rings.
Monumental pillars bracing infinite sky –
royal sentinels history, long collapsed;
an apathetic seed left tracing time elapsed.
This is why stars fall.
I will not grow tall.
Oh no, I will stay small.
I will remain insignificant.
I am a contrarious seed.
In the wake of another crashing giant,
leaves rustle through its thunder,
but I hold, I hold; still I hold defiant.
This is why stars fall
and will continue to do so,
until our great phratry is no more.

The orchard’s seed and the falling of stars –
How I yearn for that day to come.

~LiianVarus

    * * * * *

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:

Unsaid Failures, Poetry by Patricia Mae Estenoso

 
Genre:Life

There are things I would choose not to write,
Like wishes for friends who came and went,
Hoping they will remember me still,
These things break my heart,
But I still write them anyway.

There are things I would choose not to write,
Like goals that went unaccomplished,
Trying to make up for wrong decisions,
These things break my heart,
But I still write them anyway.

There are things I would choose not to write,
Like feelings untold for a lost love,
Wishing I had told them sooner,
These things break my heart,
But I still write them anyway.

These are things I would choose not to write,
But I write them anyway,
Yes, they break my heart still
But I hold them as gentle reminders,
Of friendships to keep,
Of goals that could not wait,
And of feelings that should be said.
 

    * * * * *

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:

A Secret From Hell, Poetry by Holly Cook

 A taunting secret,
I must keep.
It constantly haunts me
even as I sleep.
I tucked it way down
in the deep,
but to the surface
it begins t slowly creeps.

Lives will be lost
if this demon gets out.
So into my pillow,
this secret, I shout.

I am very trustworthy
at keeping things silent,
but this horrendous thing
is making me violent.

Someone I know
got weak, you see,
and those vicious words
were passed to me.

I made a promise
not to tell.
Now, my once happy life
is unwanted hell.

Genre: Life

 

 

    * * * * *

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:

Masks of Melancholy, Poetry by Ruth Bowley

Genre: Dark, Life, Rhyme

Masks of Melancholy by Ruth Bowley

Tell me darkness, where have your been?
The woods have stalked me.
The pavement has ridden my soul.
And, my city streets have turned cold.

Do not deny me…for that in which I have been destined.
Madness has offended you.
But it is my imaginary friend.

As the state has hand picked those upon my family tree,
yesterday was their’s to own.
Yet, this is my unhinged bedroom door…
This, this aching constant gardening of backdoor pondering…
Is a vacant ghost, immune to pathological monitoring.

At the hand of my father, an insanity plea.
At the feet of my mother, bloodied masks of melancholy.
The whole body of truth, the child…
Is a mad generation…set free.

 

    * * * * *

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 this month’s poetry readings performed by professional actors:
http://www.wildsoundfestival.com/may_2015_poetry_readings.html

Watch Recent Poetry Readings:

Watch Previous Poems turned into movies: