Tag: new poetry

Read Best of NEW Poetry from around the world

Read Top POETRY from new poets from around the world:

Read Top POETRY from new poets from around the world:

THE DAY BEFORE YOU CAME, by Martina Moriaty McCarthy

https://festivalforpoetry.com/2016/02/08/the-day-before-you-came-poetry-by-martina-moriarty-mccarthy/

MY ESTRANGED WIFE, by Nnamdi Wabara

https://festivalforpoetry.com/2016/02/08/my-estranged-wife-poetry-by-nnamdi-wabara/

UNCHARTERED, by Barrington Richard Green Jr. 

https://festivalforpoetry.com/2016/02/08/uncharted-poetry-by-barrington-richard-green-jr/

ICLOUD, by Torien Brooks

https://festivalforpoetry.com/2016/02/08/icloud-poetry-by-torien-brooks/

HE AND SHE, by Chirayu

https://festivalforpoetry.com/2016/02/08/he-and-she-poetry-by-chirayu/

WAITRESS SERVES A HYPOCRITE, by Christian S. Eskelund

https://festivalforpoetry.com/2016/02/09/waitress-serves-a-hypocrite-poetry-by-christian-s-eskelund/

BEAUTIFUL THINGS, by Nublaccsoul:

https://festivalforpoetry.com/2016/02/09/beautiful-things-poetry-by-nublaccsoul/

MAPIES, by Richard Rensberry:

https://festivalforpoetry.com/2016/02/09/magpies-poetry-by-richard-rensberry/

CINDER, by Sheen Francis Reyes:

https://festivalforpoetry.com/2016/02/09/cinder-poetry-by-sheen-francis-reyes/

HARSHA SAI, Poetry by Harsha Madhu

Silence amongst the gushing waves

Deep inside, another world moves

While the time stands still. Stakes

Forgotten and bubbles rise. Caves

Of shipwreck and invisible sun rays

Genre : LIFE

HARSHA SAI by Harsha Madhu

Silence amongst the gushing waves

Deep inside, another world moves

While the time stands still. Stakes

Forgotten and bubbles rise. Caves

Of shipwreck and invisible sun rays

Guiding into a blue green abyss.

Away from the tins, the fins arise

Fighting the current. We be wise

To look further, never close eyes

Cause life dances without disguise.

Hear every breath as you realize

You are alive, away from wild goose chase

Towards the land below ground. Ways

Converge as grief vanishes with days.

Time rests while sea hugs the rocks

Like inseparable lovers, together always.

Tall and clinging are the coconut trees

From the hillock and his wives.

Small are the words to describe this.

Infinite are my thoughts to channelize

Wind tells me to open my  ears

While She sings to celebrate the ease

Of loving and living. A rhyme so nice

As schools of fish listen and rejoice.

Slowly I come up to the blue skies

And I realize my heart’s turmoil erase.

Alone with myself I unite. Despise

Nothing, the sea told me. Embrace

Everything her arms said. Cherish

Every moment like the Dolphin’s buzz.

Silence amongst the gushing waves

My very first scuba dive it was.

 

 

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GHOST, Poetry by Dheric Da Poet

They claimed I was there.
They claimed I was seen.
They claimed I belonged.
They claimed I was needed.
They claimed.

Genre: Rhyme, Spiritual, Fantasy

GHOST by Dheric Da Poet

They claimed I was there.
They claimed I was seen.
They claimed I belonged.
They claimed I was needed.
They claimed.

So as they turned my significance on and off,
I pretended day and night were passing by.
And as they hid me under my own shadow to rot,
I wondered. Why did I die?

They passed through my accomplishments as though I never existed.
Never heard me when I spoke.
Never saw me when I appeared.
Never paid attention to who I really was.

Hmm —–
So I stood before them as they deceitfully read a tribute to me.
They cried with utmost care for their make-up, not me.
They wore their black on their party clothes and —-
Not me.

So I am a ghost.
One who is never seen,
Never heard,
And never spoken to.

I see,
I hear,
I speak.

The way of the ghost is never understood because it’s never noticed.

The troubles of the world never get to me.
Only the heat does.

I am the ghost of all times.
I am —–

#Dheric_Da_Poet
All rights secretly reserved.
2016

 

 

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THERE IS ME, AND THAN THERE IS YOU, Poetry by Kristen Corbisiero

There is me, and than there is you,

Two fools who happened to cross paths,

And find stability in the utter chaos around us.

I found you, in the coldest part of my heart,

While you craved the darkness you sought in me.

So I’ll use you to ease into the noise of my cluttered mind,

Genre: dark, (toxic) relationships, love, and personal.

THERE IS ME, AND THAN THERE IS YOU

by Kristen Corbisiero

 

There is me, and than there is you,

Two fools who happened to cross paths,

And find stability in the utter chaos around us.

I found you, in the coldest part of my heart,

While you craved the darkness you sought in me.

So I’ll use you to ease into the noise of my cluttered mind,

And you can use me to try and tame you demons.

I think I see the Devil lapping at our heels,

To devour the saints we deluded ourselves into becoming,

For the tainted sinners we always were.

 

There is me. And now there is you,

Two scorned lovers in an exile bestowed only by those we’ve loved

(It doesn’t matter that they are we. Or we are they.)

I feel you in the deepest part of my bones,

Where my hands have found trouble and grace.

I lost it all when you dug yourself in my heart

Its ice and frost melting the waters that would flood my soul and

And that is the moment we drown.
 

There is me. There is you.

Two people who happened to know each other

From along time ago, from a past that is better left buried.

I want to fight, for what we had become, but I had be beaten and I was bruised.

So I‘ll sit here on the edge, holding onto every ‘if’ and every ‘maybe’,

Everything that crashed and brought us to our knees.

And we chase and we fall for the same thing every damn time.

But never into each other,

Now into the arms of something better, someone new.

 

Now there is me. Only me.

You’ve left to find yourself again,

Because you found you didn’t like who you became with me

You lost you mind, let it sink in the loudest part of our love,

So it fell in between the silence of the noise.

The thawed ice frozen once again, freezing back into place.

And the stability I found is numbing.

 

There is no longer me and there is no longer you.

Just two souls intertwined than detangled.

So we pray and pray, to be cleansed of the demon and devils

To find grace and peace in the walls of a pagan god.

Because I still feel the Devil lapping at our heels

Hungry for the sins we’ve yet to commit,

Waiting to wash away its innocence, and bath in the cruelty of our love.

We come to find the things we once found stability in,

Are the things that lead us further and further into the chaos of our broken minds.

 

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Home, Poetry by Nnamdi Wabara

Beneath the boughs where I rest,

from twilight to wee hours, as my bed can attest.

Searching for sleep, the night sounds a pest,

my legs thrashing around, seeking refuge from mosquitoes with zest.

Genre: Life

Home by Nnamdi Wabara

Beneath the boughs where I rest,

from twilight to wee hours, as my bed can attest.

Searching for sleep, the night sounds a pest,

my legs thrashing around, seeking refuge from mosquitoes with zest.

 

Beneath the boughs where I rest,

my co-tenant, the squirrel had in the ceiling made its nest.

Of its gender I was not certain nor did I show interest,

as a low thump told of its arrival with today’s heist.

 

Beneath the boughs where I rest,

with buckets and sundry cans in place, lest;

the leaking boards discharge the rains in their trickle fest,

upon the cracked floor, it’s face now a mason’s jest.

 

Beneath the boughs where I rest,

tonight’s shadow on the wall seems clad in a vest.

And seemed to have lips, swollen like a nursing breast,

a flash of light later and it’s my jumper hanging from the drawer chest.

 

Nnamdi Wabara, 2015

(newerthots.blogspot.com)

 

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Lady in White, Poetry by Carolan Nathan

She cometh
on wings of translucent hue
flying through heavenly space
alighting where
nobody knows…..

White Goddess is She
knowing of eternity
no beginnings
no end
all infinity

Genre: Fantasy, Adventure

Lady in White by Carolan Nathan
lily***

She cometh
on wings of translucent hue
flying through heavenly space
alighting where
nobody knows…..

White Goddess is She
knowing of eternity
no beginnings
no end
all infinity

galaxies at outer edge
gather there to see
welcoming White Goddess
entourage of angels bright
at Her side

Her breath so sweet wafts through space
changing all as contact made
becoming Light
Long fingers emit beams of colour
creating Sound
echoing all around

Lady of White
knowing is She of totality
nothing escapes Her vision
Her eyes see everything
some things will change
others leave in place

that is the way it is….

 

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Is It Love?, Poetry by Fatima Begum

Am I in love? Or am I in love with love?

Is such a question necessary, when someone is in love? When it is me, I, myself, that is in love? The writer? Or would one call me a poet?

Unless, poetry demands me to fall in love, just so that I can write about love?
But, wait, dear sir, dear madam, what is love?

Genre: Philosophical and Romance

Is It Love? by Fatima Begum

Am I in love? Or am I in love with love?

Is such a question necessary, when someone is in love? When it is me, I, myself, that is in love? The writer? Or would one call me a poet?

Unless, poetry demands me to fall in love, just so that I can write about love?
But, wait, dear sir, dear madam, what is love?

A feeling? A tingly sensation? Happiness, followed by lack of sleep?
Waiting for him to arrive? To hear his voice, for his call? For his sweet touch, his finger to slide across your bare shoulders? For his eyes, that gaze, which holds such intensity? His smiles? Smiles reserved for only your eyes?

Or is it all a weakness? One word, and every limb in your body is alert. One touch, and your body shivers with excitement. Or, is it from fear? One look, and you feel your knees buckle. You’re just slightly dizzy, your excuse to others. Slightly flustered, you mumble whilst fanning yourself with your hand. But the smile. One smile, and your heart pounds against your ribs. Surely your ribs will explode? You can’t stop questioning. Can you? Is this just an excuse?

Truly, what is love?

Defeat? Who truly has control of your emotions? Is it not him? A word from him can make you smile. Yet, a word from him, can make you shed a tear. A word from him can make you hold your stomach with laughter. Yet, a word from him, can make you rage with anger. But, it is you who control your emotions, right?

Manipulation? He knows how you feel. He knows how you feel about him. But do you, yourself, know how you feel? How you feel about him? He asks you to commit a task. For him only, he states clearly. Your love permits it, he adds. Such smooth silky voice. You are against it. Truth be told, morals dictate that you must not carry out such a task. But it is love. Is love not worth it? Should one not do something, anything, everything for love? It has clouded your judgement. Although, is that not what love is?

But, then, you open your eyes. Are you in love? Were you in love? And, who was he that convinced you of love? A stranger you perhaps bumped into? A brief acquaintance from the past, an acquaintance who decided to taunt you in your dreams after years of complete silence.

No. You’ve never experienced it, so how can you know what love is? If you do not know what love is, how do you know if it is love?

So, am I in love, if I have no idea what love is? Or, am I another hopeless case, who has fallen in love with love itself. Do I want to fall in love and have him swipe me off my feet? Or do I want to fight it, so that only I, myself, can hold onto and control my emotions?

I’ve heard that one’s emotion is a powerful tool. So who should stay in power? Me or him? Or me and him?

By Fatima Begum

I ask again, is it love, for I do not know what love is?

 

 

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EVERYDAY MASKS, Poetry by DHERIC Da Poet

Sometimes blue
Sometimes shaded
Sometimes painted
Sometimes faded
Other times you just can’t state the state of your mask.

Genre: Rhyme, People, Life

EVERYDAY MASKS
by DHERIC Da Poet

Sometimes blue
Sometimes shaded
Sometimes painted
Sometimes faded
Other times you just can’t state the state of your mask.

We put on new faces
When new phases appear.
Our smiles alone
Could take the sorrow off one’s tear.

Yet,
Deep down, our souls yearn for joy.
Regretting what our past once destroyed.

Sometimes, deliberate.
Other times, not;
We change the masks so quickly, we forget who we really are.

Our faces become new to us.
Our purpose eludes us: Our path becomes strange.
That’s the point we start believing our own lies.

FB: http://facebook.com/ghpoetry/
IG: thePoet_Dheric
Twitter: @SonOfGod_Saved

 

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TAKE OVER ME, Poetry by CARLY ROSE

Sitting here with my racing heart, no one can hear the thoughts in my mind. Feeling confused and far away, I was crazy.

Genre: HOPE

TAKE OVER ME by  CARLY ROSE

Sitting here with my racing heart, no one can hear the thoughts in my mind. Feeling confused and far away, I was crazy.  Always feeling scared and neglected, ripped of my courage I stand rejected. All that is left is my empty heart and all these thoughts torn apart.  I feel like searching for who I am is the way to go.  I don’t know where my soul will lead me so. Somewhere out there is the place for me, I just have to try and be free. I can’t be scared I need to believe, before these thoughts take over me.

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PAPA’S NEW WIFE, Poetry by Nnamdi Wabara

I had gone back towards the Living Room.

For my School Text, which I had left on the side table.

My Math assignment to be redone, errors rife.

But Papa had a visitor, who whispered with him, like thieves about a heirloom.

Then out of the hushed tones, the inaudible rabble;

Papa said ” Tomorrow, she’ll be here; My New Wife”.

Genre: Family, Life, People

PAPA’S NEW WIFE by Nnamdi Wabara

 

I had gone back towards the Living Room.

For my School Text, which I had left on the side table.

My Math assignment to be redone, errors rife.

But Papa had a visitor, who whispered with him, like thieves about a heirloom.

Then out of the hushed tones, the inaudible rabble;

Papa said ” Tomorrow, she’ll be here; My New Wife”.

 

 

My young legs became filled with copious lead.

I froze to the spot. Enraged, yet rooted.

My heart thundered against my ribs, as if to break free.

And worse. The door opened. It was Revd. Gilead.

Parish Pastor and regular partaker of Mama’s delicious stewed Goat head.

I dodged as he made to pat my head, lest he stain me with his filthy mire.

 

 

That Evening at dinner, I couldn’t swallow even a morsel.

I just sat at the table staring at my plate, while my mind rioted.

Watching him even feed Mama pieces of fish from his soup. The Traitor!

My two little sisters chatted merrily and helped finish my cup of Sorrel.

My parents soon stood and hand in hand, whilst giggling, announced they had retired.

I soon left as well, not having the heart while my sisters washed up, to monitor.

 

 

Sleep that night was turbulent. I tossed and turned.

What could turn a godly man, an avowed Christian, polygamous?

When just the other day, he had railed against infidelity in the Church.

He wouldn’t even shake the Landlord’s hand after the Caretaker’s young daughter became his newly wed.

Gone were his public vows of ensuring his children became famous.

How possible, when the new wife will fight us over even the battered couch.

 

 

Then I wondered if at all we will be in Papa’s will.

Mama’s three daughters’ stood no chance against a new son in the African Custom.

Oh the injustice of it all, as I fell into a fitful sleep.

And I dreamt we were Romans and were gathered to feast on some bounty kill.

Though dressed in Togas’, I could still make out people in the place, including my Grand-Mom.

The Revd. Gilead was called Brutus, and I wished he would remain there as Caesar’s keep.

 

 

The Morning only brought me high fevers.

All sweaty, with splitting headaches. Mama sent word to School through my sisters.

I feigned sleep as Papa felt my forehead and prayed for my recovery. Evil Man!

At noon, I heard Mama’s excited shout; “Nne, come and see your Father’s New Wife”. Gone were the feverish shivers.

I charged out. An ill and weak Nine Year Old. Machete in hand. To ensure justice and preserve the honour of Mama and my sisters.

There she was. A White Volkswagen Beetle. Glistening in the Sun. Papa had bought a new Car. My Sweet Old Man.

 

Nnamdi Wabara, 2016.( newerthots.blogspot.com )

 

 

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