Read Poem by Oceana

Genres : love, hurt, revenge, spiritual, philosophical

No Right

You have no right to ask how I am
And no right to an answer
No right even to the thought occuring
Or the breath that bore it
That breathed our moment
In vengeful violence
Spitting and seething spite
In dark deluded condemnation
Of everything you claimed once right.

You have no right to the friendship
That you beat up
And threatened death to the life that bore it
But unabashed and unforgiven
You assume it
Say you don’t need forgiving
He was due it
You’re the master and there’s no chance
He could ever do it.

You have no right to claim regret
No right to say you are sorry
When to every other face is a different story
Where malice remains the prince amonst principalities
And you justify revenge with vivid stories
With you as the chosen one
With you enlightened and not undone.

You have no right to claim to see the truth
Or to be it’s living example
To uphold yourself as one of the few
Yet in the face of everything
This is what you do.
To god and yourself you must justify
Delusion that you can’t deny
Only you can answer why
Only then you cannot lie.

Read Poetry: Flowing Form, by Stuart Aken

Form colour texture shape

Do they singly or in blend

Define what we see as beauty?

 

Is it how the limbs are made

The curving contours or

The hidden depths unseen?

 

Can genetic imperative alone

Something so banal be why

Or does some other force apply?

 

Undoubtedly we are attracted

Are all designed to look

And gender is no key

 

Despite the jests on paper bags

The face is all-important

A smile an invitation glance

 

When the loved one looks your way

Is it you who fills those eyes

And that one you really see?

By Stuart Aken (UK)

 

Genres: Love, Philosophical, Relationships, Romantic.

 

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Poetry: OLD ORDER by Rajnish Mishra

 Genre: Dark, Death, Fear, Friendship, Life, Love, Painful, Personality, Philosophical, Relationships, Sad, Society, Old and new.

 All old order is subject to decay,

they say and when fate summons,

old ways free fall. Heart-held loves,

friends, hatreds, foes, all, yes, all

give way to mighty time’s sway.

Indestructible, invincible,

grand youthful years, with each
passing year suffer wisdom’s

sedimentation, while marching on way,

time fills in fears, foreboding of future:

quite an accumulation! That knowledge

and fear lose all their power,
For lost is that fear –

a servant attentive.
For lost is that fear –

above head always hovering.
So, lost is the fear –

of not ever returning
As roots are cut now,

or withered; ineffective
pain.

Heart,

now hardened

is drained of that terror.

Short Bio:

Rajnish Mishra is a poet, writer, blogger and thinker. He has published seven books, six co-edited anthologies, twenty scholarly papers and poems in various journals, books and magazines. Few of his poems can be read at the following sites: https://www.poemhunter.com/, https://allpoetry.com, https://www.instagram.com/rajnishmishravns/, http://stanzaicstylings.blogspot.in,

His love for his city and his awareness of its effects on his psycho-social development led him to starting his own blog: rajnishmishravns.wordpress.com in 2011. The blog features both his academic writing and his writing on his city: the City of Light, Varanasi. Then, as he is a poet, and loves reading and talking about other people’s poems too, he started another blog: https://poetrypoeticspleasure.wordpress.com/. He runs an ezine: PPP Ezine to promote poetry and poets.

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Poem: I Close My Eyes To See, by Anjum Wasim Dar

Genre: Philosophical

 every moment a tiptoe sounds

I close my eyes to see

as I feel the page

as words take shape and form

my thoughts encircle the song

inside the circle of the dance

is it the dancer or the dance?

Ah! only my soul knows

Only my heart can see-

I close my eyes to look

up from the book

at the love of purity

which is but a scent sweet

I reach out to touch

Nothingness ‘

Ah The presence in Nothingness’

Love of Eternity ‘

Close…

closer than the thorn is to the rose

growing from dust

glowing in the dust

dust to dust we rose

engulfed spirits in time

destined together to repose…

arms spread out to receive

like the scattered petals

of the beloved rose…..

my eyes on the book I close

the dancer moved bent and rose….

life went on, life goes….

 

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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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Sedona Noon, Poetry by Cliff Smith

 Genres: Death, Funeral, Hope, Inspirational, Life, Love, Motivational, Philosophical, Redemption, Relationships, Religion, Song.

 Life is so fine here on the line till you cross over.
Lose your mind cause you can’t find your four-leaf clover.

You’ll discover another lover and feel it inside.
Find your mother, love your brother, don’t run and hide.

Sedona noon, Sonoran moon, Saguaro Sunset.
Sing a tune, make love in June, and have no regret.

Feel your worth, measure its girth, trust your value.
From your birth here on this Earth, your spirit shines through.

Living right with all your might, you try to be true.
Turn off the night and seek the light until it blinds you.

Sedona noon, Sonoran moon, Saguaro Sunset.
Sing a tune, make love in June and have no regret.

The flowers bloom, there’s lots of room to reach the sky.
From the womb straight to the tomb, the clouds they pass by.

The mountains rise before our eyes
It’s what we seek to reach the peak.
When all is said, what’s done is done, the words we speak…

Sedona noon, Sonoran moon, Saguaro Sunset
Sing a tune, don’t leave too soon, and have no regret.

When it’s the end, feel it spin, it’s all behind you.
Take a leap, it’s yours to keep, now follow me through…

Sedona noon, Sonoran moon, Saguaro sunsets.
Sing a tune, make love in June and have no regrets.

Sedona noon, Sonoran moon, Saguaro sunset.
Sing a tune, make love in June, don’t leave too soon and have no regret.

Sedona noon, Sonoran moon, Saguaro sunsets.
I sang a tune, made love in June, I left too soon, but have no regrets.

 

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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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Futurist I am, Poetry by Stephen Karnaghan

 Genre: philosophical

 And the smell of the final cadence lingers … purging me of the strength to run away … and no one
can remedy … no one can feel … the pains that just won’t go away … memories invade … of the scorn
… the hate … the arrogance of those in the crowd … mocking me … hating me … for I didn’t care …
didn’t care to be … just one who dreams and dies … to dream and die with beer and gut … to dream
and die with gossip and stuff … thrusting me forward alone in the dark … always presuming that
solitude mark … which gave me … thrust me to my purpose my life … beckoning wisdom … and
furthering hope …
Music … music … the music – the dance – the love … listen to the words my friend listen to the words
… bring forth the wisdom and let us set aside … set aside the stuff, the pride, the consumerist bile …
listen to the words that sing about hope … of a land in repair … with lingering beauty and love … the
musician bringing the soul to the fore … be strong and look for a life … the future to be found …
beckoning wisdom … someone must start …
Wisdom … truth in action … the perceived world can be … anything that we all desire … living in hell
as most of us are … the pain will stay with us all … but the soul to the fore … to trumpet change …
giving to the mind all the needs … fractured societies as the beat drives us on … to lingering beauty
and love … flora and fauna … repaired and set for life … the future is what I see …

 

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“They always bite the hand that feeds them”, Poetry by Sofia Kioroglou

 Genre: Religion, Philosophical

 Always be a giver

cast your bread upon the waters

Don’t expect anything back

It is not just the 613 mitzvot we are talking about

It is just a matter of kindness

You know what they say:

They always bite the hand that feeds them

 

 

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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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Little Girl Lost, Poetry by Patricia Poulos

Genre: Death, Family, Hope, Hurt, Inspirational, Love,  Painful, Philosophical,  Relationships, Sad,

Little Girl Lost
Diana – Princess of Wales
by
Patricia Poulos

 

She was shy

But beneath that ‘little girl’ exterior

she was strong

She was only nineteen

She did not know how to react

to worldly situations which

involved her heart

She had not the experience

of older women

Nor the manner

in dealing with the experiences

she would encounter

as a married woman

The Fairy-tale Princess

She could not have envisaged

the torment she would suffer

Her father departed

The only person

upon whom to rely

for every aspect of her being

would share his affections

with another

She would have no one

to help carry her load

Yet the other had two

men to satisfy her desires

She had

nowhere to turn

Trapped

like a small animal in a cage

held high

for all to see

She was so young

She could not have seen

the murkiness of the waters

which would eventually engulf her

Waters in which

she would eventually drown

There is no precedent of decorum

for those

whose hearts have been shattered

No right nor wrong written

to guide the broken hearted

Just a stumble and fall

with no one to hold

Only the lesson

after the act

All too late

She was vulnerable

The weight of her burden

caused her to hold

onto any attention given

She would be

betrayed

again and again

Coerced into telling

… if more people knew

the burden would ease

But the children

would be left

with the burden of life

without her

The kiss and tell lover

revealed the intimacy of her trust

Now everyone knew

their inner-most secrets

Once released

the burden grew

An uncontrollable monster

which cannot be re-caged

A dictator

which commands response

She was left naked

Her soul was bared

The lessons were being learned

All would sympathize

But sympathy is hollow

it contains no substance

it provides no sustenance

The whole world knows

the shame has now spread

But this was not the intent

She knew not

what next to do

She craved for the promises made

Not to be kept

The Fairy-tale end

was not so to be

Then God

took pity

on this Little girl lost

and took her to Him

Perhaps now in death

she will end the tale

and live
Happily Ever After.

 

 

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The Trilogy of Poetry, Poetry by Shannon Griffiths

Genre: philosophical, inspirational

“The Trilogy of Poetry” – By Shannon Griffiths

When alteration finds peace in the ringing of thoughtless guitar strings
Accidental misunderstandings which consequently
Shape preconceived perceptions; undeniable in their wavering threat
Things are humans, humans are things

A tragedy is
What gets the attention of the fearful minds…
Why do we have to fall subject to victim-hood
To suffer without silence? Dissolve, dissolve,
Compost, dissolve, gone. Where is the resolution?
What revolution have we been called to join?
Condemn and repent is not applicable
To every cripple (for Jesus only healed a few lepers)
Especially the disguised ones that mask their face
With self discrimination – self-hate kills.

Open up your soul to the erasing goldmine,
Falling stars, empty bars, what has been remembered? Is the solid space
In the far out extensive galaxy forgotten? Lost?
Patterns inside numbers, statistics
It’s all just too stiff to mold into a renaissance painting
Formulas and functions; the quadratic, erratic, sporadic
Sexual intellect exudes and seduces the
Naïve girl with hair that meets her shoulders,
That surrounds her once soft face.
Expand your mind to words,
Accommodate your schema

The words absorbed extract, erase, regress, suppress – confess
Your pain to a God somewhere, you are told
To believe exists somehow in this perverse world.
Turn out the light and introduce the soft expanse of night.
Things are humans, humans are things,
We are one in the same with all matter around us
The matter is us (what’s the matter with you?) clustered together
In genuses, biomes, ecosystems, planets, galaxies, etc….
Pondering the wonders of the world, attempting to uncover the
Mystery of our true existence. but we so often, in fact,
As humans – selfish, dumb, naive – assume existence of matter
Revolves around our existence.
But we are so obscure in the overall scheme of things
We are a sliver hard to see stuck in the fingertip of it.
And by “it” I mean everything possible to be.

But if we know that we barely play any role in the theory of it all
We cannot assume we are better than any other thing, being, idea, etc.
Out there in this intricate notion of “existence” in our conscience

As our essence
Based off chemicals
From our cells
Belonging to atoms
And in atoms
Smaller molecules
Protons, electrons, and neutrons
And that motherfucking string-theory;

But out there in space with planets
A million times bigger than ours
And more plausibly in space with an infinite number of other galaxies and things that
Not so coincidentally match ours
How does our knowledge create an accurate view of the world?
Why do we refuse to listen to anything which is not of us?
We haven’t even seen the end of space.
What else is out there that sees our existence as we see an ant’s …
As small and simple as they are, their worlds contain much more that we may not
Be able to “humanly understand” – their anthills, and tunnels, intricate
And horribly instinctual

Ancient civilizations crumble before the feet of the economy,
Falling into the dirty hands of money.
Cathedrals covered in the dust from factory buildings,
Temples eroded in the polluted rain,
Mesopotamia destroyed by dystopian wars.

Go to the shrine
To see all who bow to their lord
It’s a Costco,
A Walmart, a Target – it’s slavery
Dressed up with makeup on.

A genocide here,
A genocide there,
And the planet still sits on space
And revolves around the sun.

(Holy fuck what have we done?)

The distance between the sun and the moon; the spaces
In between are what take up the most room to merely
Expand and collapse again. What really exists?
What trees are we killing for paper that will get burnt
Eventually, even after poems and stories have lived on them?
Would you recognize yourself if you saw you walking
Down the street, or do you interpret your reflection differently than reality?
What golden ratio exists to counter attack the death soldiers
Our society protects us with? How do we break free?
Fade away.

Maybe life and the world is not clear after all;
That makes me feel better about
Myself
And my choices.

Life takes me in unique time to continuous
Destinations of change.
Each event planned,
Yet fragile;

As my tear-ducts
As my smile.

Dissolve, dissolve, dissolve.

 

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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

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http://www.wildsoundfestival.com/may_2015_poetry_readings.html

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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:
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