Tag: Life

HANK, Poetry by Karmen Skaro

Thousands of threads make up a hank of wishes and desire

In my stomach with whom you play.

One touch and threads disappear.

Instead, an eruption of most glorious rainbow colors appears.

Genre: Rhyme, Life

HANK
by Karmen Skaro

Thousands of threads make up a hank of wishes and desire

In my stomach with whom you play.

One touch and threads disappear.

Instead, an eruption of most glorious rainbow colors appears.

The colors spread through the inland of a country you claimed to be yours,

Through the vastness of the sea you conquered.

Still the soul longing in thirst is waiting,

Waiting on a lonely shore waiting for the next upcoming wave.

◊◊◊◊

Afterwards

Playful fingers

Loving eyes

Progressive rhythm

Dissipated thoughts

One hank untangled

 

    * * * * *

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:

Disgrace, Poetry by Jasmine Fredericks

Hell-o world,
It’s such a wonderful place.

And just in case, I’ll reiterate
This world of mine is not a disgrace.

Genre: Rhyme, Life

Disgrace
by Jasmine Fredericks

Hell-o world,
It’s such a wonderful place.

And just in case, I’ll reiterate
This world of mine is not a disgrace.

It’s such a wonderful place.

It’s filled with bombs,
Yet we sit watching our sitcoms,

We allow ourselves to be brainwashed
Let the pain wash away.

We watch families screaming for help through our screens,
We switch the channel because it becomes too hard to breathe.

Just in case, I’ll reiterate
This world of mine is not a disgrace.

It’s such a wonderful place,

Children orphaned and fighting at war,
Yet we will restore our walls and keep ourselves safe.

We spread our love against hate,
In order to deflate their destruction.

Signs say ‘Under-construction’,
And we say we are alright and over look the repercussions.

Just in case, I’ll reiterate
This world of mine is not a disgrace.

It’s such a wonderful place,

Just in case, I’ll reiterate
This world of mine is such a disgrace.

We destroy our own human race,
We try to retrace our steps and find
We’ve been left behind.

Just in case, I’ll reiterate
This world of mine is such a disgrace.
 

 

    * * * * *

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:

DIARY OF THE ÜBERMENSCH, Poetry by Juan Antonio Garcia

DEC. 17th. 1957

The starry night announced a magnificent day tomorrow. Everything around me spins like planets orbiting their stars. So much to learn and so little time to make it. The alignment of these five planets brings some strange energy to me. I feel one with the Universe. One with the cosmos, indivisible.

Genre: Life, Society

DIARY OF THE ÜBERMENSCH
by Juan Antonio García

DEC. 17th. 1957

The starry night announced a magnificent day tomorrow. Everything around me spins like planets orbiting their stars. So much to learn and so little time to make it. The alignment of these five planets brings some strange energy to me. I feel one with the Universe. One with the cosmos, indivisible.

JAN. 9th. 1958

Sometimes I think life imitates literature. All these books in my living room are but elements to transcend reality. A distorted reality. Nothing is real but in its essence. And this essence we cannot reach. Thus it is its own nature, that it doesn´t exist in our known dimensions.

I imagine multiple dimensions waiting to be discovered. Reality has its own limits.

JAN. 27th. 1958

My wife, Andrea, is more beautiful than ever today. Her smile illuminates the whole house. I feel like a king by her side. Her nervous looks when we make love. Her infinite kisses. Her eyes flooding desire.

I´m a prisoner of her world. I live for her. Without her, my life would be empty. Love spreads all around. And it is this love for Andrea that fulfills my days, my nights, my dawns…

Sydney Stratton. London. 1958

 

 

 

    * * * * *

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:

Loving Our Blue Earth, Poetry by Betsy Brandt

Love spoke and made our blue earth, not to be the center of the universe, but its muse,

Love spoke and made our blue earth the third rock from the sun, Terra, solid, drifting, with vibrant, exploding life,

Genre: Life, Society, Love

Loving Our Blue Earth
By Betsy Brandt

Love spoke and made our blue earth, not to be the center of the universe, but its muse,

Love spoke and made our blue earth the third rock from the sun, Terra, solid, drifting, with vibrant, exploding life,

Love spoke and made the third rock spin and circle around the sun, with a tilt Terra spins, making seasons abound, arrays of colors bursting,

Love spoke and made Luna, dazzling sister to our blue earth, tugging, teasing our waters, one declared we’d often visit, just because,

Love spoke and made our sun, stunningly rise and fall peacefully for our blue earth, but no, Love gently spins and turns Terra to the East each day,

Love spoke and made our sun, Helios, our brightest Hero Star, one we could ever follow, never floating away, like Love itself,

Love spoke and made our Star give our blue earth, light, life, our sight, warmth- just right, boundless energy, gratefully received,

Love spoke and made our blue earth ride in the Galaxy of Milky Way, majestic spiral,
glowing band, heavenly teeming of kinship,

Love spoke and made Love to be written in the Sky, never alone, designed, evolving,
sustained harmony, loving our blue earth, gracefully conceived for Love.

 

    * * * * *

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:

ROOTS, Poetry by Malika Cholwe

I’m in my element ,
I’m free,
But I’m still bound
I hold the true knowledge and the foundation,
yet my glory doesn’t boast,

Genre: Life, Society

Roots
by Malika Cholwe

I’m in my element ,
I’m free,
But I’m still bound
I hold the true knowledge and the foundation,
yet my glory doesn’t boast,
I stem the very thing that creates a being,
I run deep,
but every single moment of the day I am passed by,
no one notices me.

I contain facts, hidden secrets ,
beauty ,
but never do I compete ,
for I am unique ,
unique in a way that not even my successor knows.
I am a root ,
I am roots .

 

    * * * * *

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:

Endless Tragedy, Poetry by Madathil Rajendran Nair

There was a grand-father tamarind tree
In front of my ancestral home
Pointing a bare finger into the sky

In the grey of monsoon drizzle
Early in the morning
A brooding crow which had a hole in one of its wings
Used to perch on it

Genre:  Life

Endless Tragedy
by Madathil Rajendran Nair

There was a grand-father tamarind tree
In front of my ancestral home
Pointing a bare finger into the sky

In the grey of monsoon drizzle
Early in the morning
A brooding crow which had a hole in one of its wings
Used to perch on it

That was my pre-teen childhood
When I had two aunts
With two cows – one white and the other grey
Whose calves were my constant companions
As I wandered in surrounding woods
Watching birds laboring at their nests

We had kerosene lamps then
Under which I used to mug up lessons
When I looked askance at the sky
The orange Arcturus
Winked at me from Bootes
Leaves giggled in the wind

My dad took his pompous strolls
In the sprawling courtyard
Watching if I misbehaved
As mom garnished
Chutney for breakfast
Spreading dosas on the pan

Those were beautiful days
Which I took for granted
Would ever remain
Unchanged through to endless time

But, alas, as time sped
As I witnessed my body change
Through teenage to adulthood
Each of the things I loved
Vanished one after another

Mom and dad were washed away
In the tides of time
So were the aunts
Someone axed the tamarind tree
The crow made homeless perished
The cows and calves too disappeared
Into the hungry bowels of abattoirs

The house was sold
New ones displaced the woods
As I fled to distant lands
A wandering nestless bird
Ever on restless wings

Aging all the time
Into an insipid mass
Of failing musculature
Through pain and fatigue
Into the grey and wrinkles
Of a geriatric mess

When the wick of knowing fades
In slumber’s chamber every night
The mess does wonder
What is it that has remained
Unchanged watching the river of time
Displace the known with unknown things
Wash a body into bones and skin

Yet, the mess languishes in mess
Never ever able to accept
That it really is the witness
The changeless awareness
That remains ever untouched
Lo, my tragedy is thus abetted

 

    * * * * *

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:

DUST PILES, Poetry by Monique Haden

Sometimes we hold things in silence because

we have no clue where else to keep them.

Push and push with all my might to shove these

things deep inside my memory to form dust piles.

Let the edges tatter; set flame to it all. Feed the

fire, hear the crackles; watch the smoke signals.

Genre: Life, Society

DUST PILES
by Monique Haden

Sometimes we hold things in silence because

we have no clue where else to keep them.

Push and push with all my might to shove these

things deep inside my memory to form dust piles.

Let the edges tatter; set flame to it all. Feed the

fire, hear the crackles; watch the smoke signals.

Watch fragments align and form tiny goodbyes to past hurts.

 

We twist memories making them realities when similarities are far and few.

I applaud my memory for its picky choosing to

hang onto some clips so vividly and turning some

such ashy shades of black and grey it’s hard to make out anything worth something.

 

It plays tricks on me making bigger deals

out of things that should be forgotten…

pulling bed sheets over my eyelids, heavily

blanketed slumbers bring flashbacks.

 

Oh, the vivid artistry of this complex mind: why

must you hang onto things worth trashing and

forget all the tiny threads that bound you together

each time you broke? Makin’ friends with the dust

piles, seeking comfort in the messes. Trying to

keep your fists clenched. Keeping palms clean

through the madness just so when it’s time to

interlock grips with someone you love, your pain

doesn’t stain their fingerprints…

 

I wanna learn to get my hands dirty if it means letting go.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    * * * * *

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:

LETTER FROM A SYRIAN CHILD TO HIS MOTHER, Poetry by Valentina Meloni

Mom, you never told me

that you can die even breathing

I believed that to die

it would take a wound,

a crack from which life

Genre: Kids, Life,Death, Family, Fear, War

LETTER FROM A SYRIAN CHILD TO HIS MOTHER
by Valentina Meloni

Mom, you never told me

that you can die even breathing

I believed that to die

it would take a wound,

a crack from which life

could come out along with the blood …

Mom, you never told me

that you can die playing

among the stones and the dust

of the road who saw me run.

You never told me

you’d greeted me from so far away

and that, crying, your soul

would come to claim me.

Mom, you never told me

that you can die breathing in a dream,

that the air can also be a poison.

You told me not

I’d be an angel of glass,

asleep, in a white shroud.

Mom you never told me

the death would make me bright and beautiful

sweeping away the fear of bombs.

Mom … however,

I could not tell you yesterday,

while I was playing with the death

how much I loved you and wanted you well.

    * * * * *

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:

Life: A Writer’s Purgatory, Poetry by Lauren Kruczyk

I’ve survived the labyrinth of trial and error,
and have concededly accepted the nomenclature
of a writer in either timid self-proclamation
or through overly proud avail.

Genre: Artist, Rhyme, Life

Life: A Writer’s Purgatory
by Lauren Kruczyk

I’ve survived the labyrinth of trial and error,
and have concededly accepted the nomenclature
of a writer in either timid self-proclamation
or through overly proud avail.

Though the words do not yet slide
off the tongue in quite the way I’d like,
I have,
once or twice,
believed the words to be true.

I stagger, rejection mocking me,
wallowing in self-pity,
as I envision with such banality
the proud smirk of those who believe they possess such talent.

But without this treachery,
one could not be a writer;
the all-encompassing double-edged sword.

It is a rare skill
to strike a sensible balance
between hope and lack of delusion.

Those foolish enough to herald self-righteous decree
and clench tightly to a proud belief
that there is no room for improvement in their work
have already failed.

These fools will “comfort” you‚
that I know for sure.
A special kind of compassion served with a hearty dose of pity and a sprinkle of condescension.

I often wonder what this bliss must feel like;
pouring our souls into the world,
yet never truly at peace.
We crave notoriety; yet live as hermits.
We want to possess humility, yet feel deeply special;
like no one else in the world.

And with that creeps in undeniable tragedy;
the weight of our pain intends to break us.

A catch-22 it is;
our troubles arrive as if they were a magnetic force.
But if backed into a corner,
a writer will forever choose tragedy.
That is our cross to bear.

Yet in the slight moments when we rise to a purer place,
we settle upon the realization
that through every teardrop,
the vast feeling of emptiness
must be worth it after all.

 

 

    * * * * *

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:

WHAT OF THE UNKNOWN PATH, Poetry by Maria Parent

What of the unknown path?
That gives you such an ache,
the crossroad you came to…
the step you didn’t take.

Genre: Life, Motivational

WHAT OF THE UNKNOWN PATH
~ By Maria Parent

What of the unknown path?
That gives you such an ache,
the crossroad you came to…
the step you didn’t take.

What of the unknown path?
….a regret ‘til the end?
A secret mystery
that time cannot transcend.

What of the unknown path?
You yearn for when alone…
Lost in your solitude;
Confused and on your own.

What of the unknown path?
That calmly calls you back,
with unfamiliar turns…
deep dark and often black.

What of the unknown path?
Its destination blurred,
its journey never known,
the memories not incurred.

What of the unknown path?
You may not ever know.
Instead just look forward…
as onward you must go.

 

    * * * * *

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: