Tag: poet

MY LOVE JONES, Poetry by Poet U.B.

I fell for a boy from Queens

His voice took over my heart

His face occupied my dreams

But me on the west, so far apart

To tell him how much he means

Writing my feelings down I’ll start

Genre: Love

My Love Jones

I fell for a boy from Queens

His voice took over my heart

His face occupied my dreams

But me on the west, so far apart

To tell him how much he means

Writing my feelings down I’ll start

Although he’ll never read it

He’ll never truly know

He’ll never understand how it

Will help me grow

To listen to his lyrics, sit

Contemplate and feel his flow

I nicknamed him My Love Jones

But as I grew life came along

And situations left me all alone

Then this Hood Jones came with a song

I thought how could he have known

I didn’t know then but choosing Hood Jones was so wrong

8 years of my life invested in the wrong man

Thought Our love was enough

For him I always took a stand

I stood down, stood tall when it got rough

A lifetime together was the plan

But I’ll say, My love wasn’t enough

I was the realest he’d ever find

Love unconditionally AND cook and clean

Get my own money, I grind

Yet he didn’t see me as a Queen

From the position I resigned

Now with tears in his eyes he begs to reconvene

If I could go back in time, rewind

If I knew then what I now see

That path of destruction I’d leave behind

But I couldn’t because my seeds wouldn’t be

If only love wasn’t so blind…

Starting all over from scratch, mother of three

Strong woman I’ve become

Back to me and fighting to believe

In love again without being dumb

Next time I don’t wanna have to leave

So I’ll stay real, stay fly and not look for my future him

Stay motivated so greatness I’ll achieve

Just when I thought life might be too hard

My Love Jones said, “She blew a good thing”

I knew that all too well, I too, was scarred

But I didn’t want the money, the house, or the ring

Next time for love I’ll hold a higher regard

Because our lives and hearts we’ll BOTH be dedicating

I appreciate time and destiny

Although My Love Jones may never find his way to me

The married life, fam and kids, I foresee

I left behind all of my debris

And God already gave his Son to me, Guaranteed

Focus on The Good Life, foundation of an oak tree.

Written by:  Poet U.B.

Www.poetub.com
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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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Valentine’s Day Poem, Poetry by Elizabeth Miller

I used to make valentines for everyone I knew,

clumsily cutting construction paper hearts

I don’t remember exactly when I stopped making them.

Genres: love, nostalgia, relationships, romantic

 

“Valentine’s Day Poem”

by Elizabeth Miller

 

Pale pinks and lavenders

Glitter pens and stumpy Crayola markers

 

I used to make valentines for everyone I knew,

clumsily cutting construction paper hearts

I don’t remember exactly when I stopped making them.

 

You get a clumsily-cut poem instead,

a side effect of growing up

 

I could never cut you a heart from paper

and fill it with gaudy glitter glue

or scallop the edges with specialty scissors

 

I could never because

I can’t bear the thought of anything resembling scissors

nearing anything resembling your heart

 

I could never

 

So I cut you poems instead,

embellished with words instead of sparkles

 

I could write them with Crayola markers

if you’d like

 

 

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BEST MUSE, Poetry by Lilian C Misoy

So many notes written,
About a muse unforgotten ,
Both beautiful and dark,
Most so deep, enough to leave a mark,

Genre: Love

Best Muse

So many notes written,
About a muse unforgotten ,
Both beautiful and dark,
Most so deep, enough to leave a mark,

Yet,
He still writes about her,
His angel ,so close yet so far,
He might at times change his flow,
Finding another beau to adore,

But still she remains,
His favourite tale even in chains,
For she may be locked away,
In his vault all year every day,

But,
In his mind alive she will remain,
A love he might have loved in vain,
And always she’s his main,
Breathing , living ,keeping him sane.

By Lilian C Misoy
254 (Kenya)

 

 

 

 

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MASOCHISTS, by Poetry by Kyle Jones

Your masters,
sick;
masochists.
Savages wrapped
in lavish masks,

Genre: Dark, Rhythmic, Deep

Masochists
by Kyle Jones

Your masters,
sick;
masochists.
Savages wrapped
in lavish masks,
the past unraveled it.
We’ve traveled
backwards,
cataract contact,
laughs with
con-act actors.
Intact cause our dad’s
dads were bastards.
We backtracked paths
and sat on past answers.
Planned for the damned
and we laughed at disaster.

 

 

 

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My First Love Letter, Poetry by Madathil Rajendran Nair

I don’t know, I can’t tell

But there was she

My classmate

With jasmine teeth

A dance perched on her feet

Bothering my budding masculinity

Genre: Love

My First Love Letter
by Madathil Rajendran Nair

 

It was when I was just in class three

Hovering around the tenth year of age

Something bothered me in the hours wee

A sweetness, an aroma, sweat

Or was it the morning dew on grass

That kept me awake

Rolling on my smelly bed

With a sweetness that blazed my glands

 

I don’t know, I can’t tell

But there was she

My classmate

With jasmine teeth

A dance perched on her feet

Bothering my budding masculinity

 

I knew I wanted her

I couldn’t make out what for

In a frenzy that engulfed me

Like a forest fire then I wrote

On the inside of a discarded cigarette pack

Slit open like a bleeding heart

What I felt, the first love letter

In words that moved like ants

All over me and my heart

 

I handed it to her brother

Two years younger

In secret, behind the school toilet yonder

Hoping it would reach and vanquish her

 

But, there was the maths teacher

Fondling his scorpion tail moustache

Watching the goings-on

Who intercepted the missive

From the hands of the shivering brother

 

I thought I was in for hell

Punishment, beatings, no one can tell

But nothing happened to my surprise

Till at last I noticed

The school headmistress at my fence

In a rare bosom chat with my mom, her friend

 

I was playing behind my house

Rolling stones in the setting sun

Like a forlorn Ulysses adorned in sweat

Yet I knew I was their subject

 

Days passed and Diwali came

The Indian festival of lights

It was time for the early morning bath

Under the glistening stars

My mom poured warm water over me from a tub

And I misbehaved in a gleeful jump

She cautioned and slapped me on my thigh

With a fire unknown in her eyes

“Idiot, have you begun

Writing love letters at this age? ”

 

That was the first and last time

She ever beat me

A lovely mother was she

And, often I wonder what happened

To that passionate missive of mine

 

Perhaps, it was blown over by the winds

Over fences and thorns and profusely bled

And withered in the sun and rain

Decayed down the channels of time

 

And I met her of late one of these days

At a temple festival when I braved

To tell her about my missive missed

That perhaps could have changed our fate

 

She laughed out in a guffaw

An aging grandma of three

And I could see at sixty-eight

Her jasmines were still intact

What more could a lover want

When he has only a toothless smile

In exchange, Oh, why do we age?

 

 

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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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39 WORDS, Poetry by Josslyn Rae Turner

birth family childhood friendship learn explore

adult love sex family children parent

dreams build break broken torn

tears anger fight affliction

Genre: Dark, Depression

 

39 Words

By

Josslyn Rae Turner  

 

birth family childhood friendship learn explore

adult love sex family children parent

dreams build break broken torn

tears anger fight affliction

 

birth family childhood friendship learn explore

abuse bully hate destroy

darkness deep hell within

struggle

no

more

END

 

 

 

 

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The scent and sound of your beautiful soul, Poetry by Gordana Frgačić

Today
I was woken up
By the scent
Of your soul

Genre: Romance, Relationship, Love

The scent and sound of your beautiful soul
by Gordana Frgačić

 

Today
I was woken up
By the scent
Of your soul
You weren’t even near me
But I inhaled you
Through every pore
Of my skin
I floated
For a while
On the soft layers
Of your beautiful soul
Suddenly
I smiled
And I knew
Your soul just started to sing

 

 

 

 

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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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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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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FACTORY OF DREAMS, Poetry by Katarina Jovcevska

You are my motivation

Simply,crazy inspiration

When I am in love

I hear the music in my heart

Every time.

Genre: Romance, Relationship, Love

 

 FACTORY OF DREAMS
by  Katarina Jovcevska

 

 

You are   my  motivation

Simply,crazy  inspiration

When I am in love

I hear  the music in my  heart

Every time.

 

You  are the reason to write

When  I think of you  day and night

I can do  a miracle

If just  one word

To adore and explore

I feel  that I soar

So highly  above this  horizon

You are so magical

And  Love  is so beautiful.

 

I imagine your  face

I am touching your grace

Let your kiss  comes to my lips immediately

Be my wonderful peace

Through the whole galaxy

Let catch you  my poetry

When your name I  am whispering

Let me be the happiest being

Which you have never seen

In  my factory of dreams.

 

 

 

    * * * * *

Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
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Genius In Me, Poetry by Thato Pricey Ratlotlong

I intend to reach the universe without losing my soul

I’m the Great Grandson of the Forefathers

Like those four sons who were left by their four fathers

I will claim & protect my birth right

From the East to the West, its dawn then comes night

Genre: Rhyme, History, Identity

 

Genius In Me

 

I intend to reach the universe without losing my soul

I’m the Great Grandson of the Forefathers

Like those four sons who were left by their four fathers

I will claim & protect my birth right

From the East to the West, its dawn then comes night

 

The soil keeps the flash of those before us

We can’t all speak the so called universal language

Its jewel that brightens up our Africa

Before the sun came to pass.

Trust in your native self, and write the next page

 

We are caged, by our thoughts

We are lost! We can’t see the Genius in Us

Their tombs are engraved the words that fought

Our weakness

The Pyramids sculptured that which is taught

Our inventions

Fallen Kings, still cry for their kingdoms

They never trusted the Genius in Us

 

Tremor shook, we stood

Unveiling the thoughts we never understood

Encrypt the codes of poverty

Decode the codes of poetry

Revising the education Africa taught

Regain the genius you lost

I Am the Great Grandson of our Forefathers,

Genes of their Nature is with Me,

I Am the fruit birthed by our Godly Mothers

I have their Genius In Me
– Thato Ratlotlong

 

Twitter: @Priceythato

 

 

 

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