Tag: poem

Give back my virginity, Poetry by Ntokozo Makeleni

Give back the exuberant days of my childhood mama
You let him torture me with exhausting kisses
Unbridled rounds
Exerting forces of anger unto me
I shudder
Convulse into the defunct graves of his pleasantry
Ripped, raped, round and round

Genre: Nostalgia, Childhood, Humanity

Ndinike ubuntombi bam (Give back my virginity)
by Ntokozo Makeleni

Give back the exuberant days of my childhood mama
You let him torture me with exhausting kisses
Unbridled rounds
Exerting forces of anger unto me
I shudder
Convulse into the defunct graves of his pleasantry
Ripped, raped, round and round
Pleasantries abound
Commanding the earth to bring back my virginity a million times
And this nigga ask If he can hit it?
Mama ndinike ubuntombi bam
Mother give me my virginity
My childhood
I want to see and feel the red waters of my entirety trickle down my vigilant legs
I want to feel my breasts grow showily
Gnawing trough these restraints
My chest
Your yellow milk
It has become venous to me
Snakes never cared for their young so I cook and clean
Carry mortifying burdens with my incisors
And wash my hammered hands off of my mother’s disgraces
Wash away the three thousand nine hundred and ninety nine million times we held hands
Wash away the words thrown against walls these hands are tired of building
Wash away the night’s before birthdays
Wash away the beating stacatto against my chest
My mother
Your chest
I laid on for supposed
Hope
Affection
Kindness
Righteousness
Purity
And love Without knowing
Without knowing the rustled rotten patches of your heart
Without knowing the selfish pastures of your soul
Without knowing the hate brawling through your prestressed mind
And in and out your milk
This gall
In and out
Olubisi bujike bangukrakrayo kum
Thixo nditywine
Ndifuna ubuntombi bam kumamam
Ndinike ubuntombi bam

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Together – You and I, Poetry by Sarah Colliver

Walk with me once again-

Chat about the news like we used to.

When my eyes are closed,

The magic wand is waved

And you return to me.

Genres: grief, family, loss, relationships, healing, dreams, parents

Together – You and I
by Sarah Colliver

Walk with me once again-

Chat about the news like we used to.

When my eyes are closed,

The magic wand is waved

And you return to me.

I have the key to bring you back-

If only for those darkness hours

Amidst my slumber.

Together we share moments again.

For I carry you around

Within my aching heart

Which heals, but will never truly mend.

So please dear Mum,

Keep seeking my open door.

I will leave on a light and welcome you home,

And through my dreams

Together you and I will steal our time.

http://www.sarahcolliver.com

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The One Night Stand, Poetry by Carolyne M. Acen

Alone and confused
No written pattern for the previous night
No special one night creed to relate
The price of guilt now marked
on her face, drawn in sheets tainted in sex.

Genre: Regret, Sadness, Lust

The One Night Stand.
by Carolyne M. Acen

Alone and confused
No written pattern for the previous night
No special one night creed to relate
The price of guilt now marked
on her face, drawn in sheets tainted in sex.

Ephemeral, quick to leave!
Awake but in denial to what
happened the previous night.
Memories still fresh like the pathetic
fumes of cigar and cheap alcohol
still lingering in the hotel room
A haunting most sufficient.

Surreal moments lavished in the
arms of a stranger who is used
to dishing out the same tale.
Promises were not made, emotions lingered
Hasty retreats were undertaken and
passions were aflame…
culminating to crazy sex scenes.
Time caught up with their frenzied love
space and spent embraces dissolved.
She must have passed out after all that
alcohol intoxication.

He left without a word
Not a message or address to relate to.
A face almost as familiar as the
taste of Oreos on a cold evening.
Clutching onto torn sheets,
memories painstaking,
bitter truth now embalmed in her nakedness
Time veered on unceremoniously
The sun followed suite unanimously
A quiet reckoning the walk of shame
The hotel dimmed low,
receding as the one night stand.

©Carolyne M. Acen 2015

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Read Today’s Featured Poetry from all over the world

Deadline October 15th: FREE POETRY Festival – Get poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit: http://festivalforpoetry.com

Deadline October 15th: FREE POETRY Festival – Get poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit: http://festivalforpoetry.com

RAIN, by James Kennon
http://wildsoundfestivalreview.com/2015/10/01/rain-poetry-by-james-kennon/

SECRETE INGREDIENT, by Gail Debole
http://wildsoundfestivalreview.com/2015/10/01/secrete-ingredient-poetry-by-gail-debole/

INNOVATION, by Trasha Nicole Hickman
http://wildsoundfestivalreview.com/2015/10/02/innovation-poetry-by-trasha-nicole-hickman/

IN THE FLESH, Lexy Yocom
http://wildsoundfestivalreview.com/2015/10/02/in-the-flesh-poetry-by-lexy-yocom/

THE GOLDEN MAN, by Alexander Nderitu
http://wildsoundfestivalreview.com/2015/10/02/the-golden-man-poetry-by-alexander-nderitu/

LINES, by Matt Griesinger
https://festivalforpoetry.com/2015/10/03/lines-poetry-by-matt-griesinger/

A NOU COMMUTE, by Caoimhe O’Neill
https://festivalforpoetry.com/2015/10/03/a-nou-place-my-commute-poetry-by-caoimhe-oneill/

A SPECIAL PLACE, by Pamela L. Compton
https://festivalforpoetry.com/2015/10/03/a-special-place-poetry-by-pamela-l-compton/

DEF POETRY PT. 1, by Def P The Mac
https://festivalforpoetry.com/2015/10/04/defs-poetry-pt-1-poetry-by-def-p-the-mc/

FLY, by Carolyn Hucker
https://festivalforpoetry.com/2015/10/04/fly-poetry-by-carolyn-hucker/

WHY TERRORISM, by Husaina Shabbier (14 Years Old)
https://festivalforpoetry.com/2015/10/04/why-terrorism-poetry-by-husaina-shabbir-14-years-old/

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WHY TERRORISM??!!!, Poetry by Husaina Shabbir (14 Years Old)

Oh! Why is terrorism in my country?
This was first a blessed country.
Why do not politicians hang?

Genre: Society, War

WHY TERRORISM??!!!
by Husaina Shabbir (14 Years Old)

Oh! Why is terrorism in my country?
This was first a blessed country.
Why do not politicians hang?
Those terrorists with their fangs. Just months before these terrorists did a barbarian act;
it is difficult to face the fact. All the little children lying in graves and hospital,
for every home in the country the news was fatal.
Are they trying to make us surrender?
But No! We are getting stronger.
Just pray to god those protestants are heard, Politicians always keep them unheard.
So! Let’s put our heads together, and try to make them surrender.

FLY, Poetry by Carolyn Hucker

Inside this cage is a bird that flies high and swift.
It is bright shining and free
And fearless.

Genres: Loss, hope, redemption, wish, sad,

FLY
by Carolyn Hucker

Inside this cage is a bird that flies high and swift.
It is bright shining and free
And fearless.

Each night its earthbound body’s shed
It becomes a greater me
Limitless

It’s choices are without number,
To run or fly or just to Be.
It sparks

To cast a shadow on the clouds,
To run among the fallen leaves,
To make angels in the snow,
To climb among the summer hills
To leave the cast-off broken skin
And breathe and dance and spin
And just be that uncaged bird
Without the key of sleep.

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Def’s Poetry Pt. 1, Poetry by Def P The MC

Last night I had a dream of a round table discussion
Two people asked in unison, why is the world suffering
I looked to my right and said I don’t know Dr. King
The world is kinda crazy and I know you had a dream
Of equality and liberty but why’d you have to leave
See, black people needed you, we needed to believe
We needed our hero, we needed our voice

Genre: Inspirational, Motivational, Life, Dreams

Def’s Poetry Pt. 1
by Def P The MC

Last night I had a dream of a round table discussion
Two people asked in unison, why is the world suffering
I looked to my right and said I don’t know Dr. King
The world is kinda crazy and I know you had a dream
Of equality and liberty but why’d you have to leave
See, black people needed you, we needed to believe
We needed our hero, we needed our voice
And with brothers killing brothers how in the world can we rejoice
Everytime I cut the news on there’s another death in Cleveland
And we all know when it comes to murder there’s never a good enough reason
So why are we suffering Dr. King, just take a listen
To the pain in people’s voices through the words I’m out here spitting
Civil Rights was just another very false premonition
And even though our president’s black, I bet the next one isn’t
And that’s not a prediction it’s a well known fact
But see I’m always nonviolent Dr. King, you taught me that

But what about the people man, why all the corruption
I don’t know Mr. Marley, that’s another good discussion
Greed is a disease that everyone’s affected by
And I hope that when I leave the world the message I leave behind
Is one of generosity and one of being free
See I’d give my last ten dollars to a homeless man on the street
Just so he can have a drink and if he wants to eat
He can go to Burger King and get a whopper, with cheese (haha)
But that’s just me, always nice, always smiling
Always giving, never taking, always hurt but never crying
Mr. Marley you taught me one love, one heart
I’m only 20 years old but I’ve been jamming from the start
Rehearsing my lines so that I can play my part
Call me the next Einstein because I’m playing it smart

Playing it smart? You’ve got to be joking
You dropped out of college to make music and started smoking
What kind of move is that, what can you achieve with this “rap”
And did you forget about those student loans you need to pay back?
Look man, I understand you need to follow your dreams
But this has been you’re dream since you turned 16
And not a single thing has happened, why do you still believe?
I turn to my conscience and say “Well you see,
I believe in the dream because the dream believes in me.
I could never sell my soul there’s a piece in every beat.
And about the student loans, they’ll get it when I’m ready.
So what if I smoke and my build is kinda hefty.
See I love to make music but it’s not just for me,
It’s for the person in the crowd who wants follow their dream.
For the heartbroken person trying hard to be happy
While the one that you love is treating you like a lackey.
I’m not attacking I’m saying that as people we need to rise
And stop being so discouraged by these negative lies.
You’re beautiful, you’re beautiful, you’re beautiful, you too
So stop listening to the lies and just do what you do.”

Last night I had a dream, better yet, had an epiphany
To promote peace, give back and love life endlessly

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Read the best of DEPRESSION Poetry from all over the world

Submit your POETRY to the Festival. Three options to submit:
https://festivalforpoetry.com/

Submit your POETRY to the Festival. Three options to submit:
https://festivalforpoetry.com/

I PROMISE, by Sky Boivin
http://wildsoundfestivalreview.com/2015/09/23/i-promise-poetry-by-sky-boivin/

THE REAL DEFINITIION OF DEPRESSION, by Linsday Gignac
http://wildsoundfestivalreview.com/2015/08/28/the-real-definition-of-depression-poetry-by-lindsay-gignac/

CURTAINS LEAK, by Kelly Rice
http://wildsoundfestivalreview.com/2015/08/15/curtains-leak-poetry-by-kelly-rice/

SYSTEM SCAN, by R.H.M. Wilde
http://wildsoundfestivalreview.com/2015/08/01/system-scan-poetry-by-r-h-m-wilde/

YOU SAID I SAID, by Alejandra Erebia
http://wildsoundfestivalreview.com/2015/07/29/you-said-i-said-poetry-by-alejandra-erebia/

I AM THOUGHT, by Sidney Krausz
http://wildsoundfestivalreview.com/2015/07/17/i-am-thought-poetry-by-sidney-krausz/

POEM, by Liana Kaylee Avila
http://wildsoundfestivalreview.com/2015/07/16/poem-poetry-by-liana-kaylee-avila/

POETRY, by Gloria Oyewusi
http://wildsoundfestivalreview.com/2015/06/16/poetry-poetry-by-gloria-oyewusi/

DEATH, by Samuel Fatokun
http://wildsoundfestivalreview.com/2015/05/31/death-poetry-by-samuel-fatokun/

THE DRINKING GAME, by Hanna Aib-Akl
http://wildsoundfestivalreview.com/2015/05/23/the-drinking-game-poetry-by-hanna-abi-akl/

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A Special Place, Poetry by Pamela L. Compton

The sunset is a beautiful splendor to behold.
The sky seems like it’s on fire,and the clouds are trimmed in gold.
Sometimes it seems so gentle,
Like a lovers soft embrace.

GENRE – Love , Life , Relationships

A Special Place
by Pamela L. Compton

The sunset is a beautiful splendor to behold.
The sky seems like it’s on fire,and the clouds are trimmed in gold.
Sometimes it seems so gentle,
Like a lovers soft embrace.
We are so very lucky to have such a special place.
A place where our inner spirit’s can be free.
Couple’s in the night stay to watch the joining of darkness with light.
These two forces joined together are more united then when apart.
Embraces the feelings within their hearts.

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A NOU PLACE: My commute, Poetry by Caoimhe O’Neill

There is a woman I pass
Every morning,
Underground in a walkway of Diego de Leon,
She sings the same ABBA song.
Every morning.

Genre: Art, Travel, Commute, Observation, Life, Society

Parte Uno

A NOU PLACE: My commute
by Caoimhe O’Neill

There is a woman I pass
Every morning,
Underground in a walkway of Diego de Leon,
She sings the same ABBA song.
Every morning.

Her voice is impaled by her own poverty,
A voice squealing to ignorant and bustling passers-by.

They have coins slouching in their
Pockets, bags, purses.
But none clinks its way to her.

There is a man when I emerge from the metro at Santiago Bernabéu.
I pass the scooters in their messy rows.
I pass the people of Madrid’s
“Canary Wharf”
With their suits and golden euros.

This man he leans against a pillar,
Everyday, mid-morning I watch his leg laze solemnly as the other props him up.
He smokes, he leans, he smokes, he never leaves and only his clothes and the date changes.

He contemplates or he does not,
all the while his dirtied, beige boots are still.
He is not a beggar like the woman,
despite a scuffed look.

I question who is the most entertaining statue on my morning commute?

I don’t answer,

I do know that my commute will never
Be free from characters,
from still or moving lives,
from man nor woman.

Parte Dos:

CALLE DE ORENSE

People on bikes,
Your Lance Armstrong or Bradley Wiggins types.

People with headphones,
Your Michael Jackson or Leonard Cohen types.

People in cafes,
Your J K Rowling or James Joyce
types.

There are people all over,
in Madrid, Paris, London, Lisbon, Milan

European people who cycle on reckless city roads or glorious mountain pass, who sing and dance, who write with real ink and fashionably sip cappuccinos and peer longingly into a hustling street.

The latter is like me,
Those who write for love
and for dreamy trade.
Some people all the while, do other things.

We are Europeans and living on the mainland
Makes me write with an increased flourish and flair for I belong to this artsy RACE.

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