Tag: poetry

QUESTION, by Bliz Mordiop

THE BLIZMO PRODUCTIONS Presents

Whose voice do I hear?
Say which way to follow for a better tomorrow when
Tunnels are very dark, nightmares coming back, and…
I hear voices, different languages but…
I can’t pick my mother tongue.
What language do you speak?
And why my nation did you pick?
Enslave my people and turned my brothers against me.
Just like yesterday, I am still living for
Hope of a better tomorrow
Just like yesterday, the day before today it was sorrow
I am still confused with the idea of unity when only one race is involved. And my life feels like was borrowed I mean
Yesterday still alive today and tomorrow is just a dream.
A dream that will never come…

Now tell I where we going when priests owns jewellery stores,
You still treat sisters like whores
And politicians own mines.
The six has turned into nine.
If in church we meet gangsters…
There we meet all sinners.
But who is protecting us?
Tell me what you doing?
When you sit and watch children abuse alcohol and drugs
I dare you don’t care or…
Scared to make a step when streets asking for help…
And sisters are getting raped.
Who is leading here? Whose voice do I hear?
Tell me which way to follow for
A better tomorrow,
The storm is coming back.
What was once blue is now yellow.
Every hope is now gone.
Is my mission done? Why do I still feel alone?
Let your life be an inspiration and make that be ye mission.

Now pay attention in all you do,
We are all looking at you,
Children wants to be like you,
Sisters look at you as a hero,
Brothers be looking at you as an example.
But I be looking at you the same way,
My fathers did yesterday
Unchanged man,
Unchained man from the past,
Slavery, non-patriotic, still living sovereign,
Listening to the voice of minority,
A stranger we gave home and
Now wants to control my humility
Forcing me to enrol choicelessly, and concuss me
Taking my power and confuse me,
Obscure us all so they can rule over our soil,
Stealing our oil, killing our souls,
Use us as tools. And calls us fools.
But you and I, share the same roots
We not fools, or anyone’s tools,
Bad or good, red is the colour of my blood
Now pay attention in what they telling you,
If it’s to hate me, tell them the truth.
We share blood, a cut on you will cause me pain.
And then you limits my speech, no freedom.

But who’s leading our people?
Who’s talking for us? Or…
Who’s taking us to freedom?
I am still forced to speak thy language,
Beaten with a wooden stick,
Forced to do hard labour even when I am sick.
But ask me whose voice I heard
I heard you,
You selling us out,
You afraid to spend life in prison.
I heard you saying okay,
You don’t care about our generation
Including the one’s coming, including my son Hakim.
A leader being led. So you follow, you don’t lead,
And tomorrow, you can’t reach to the nation, because
The people who stood by you till that position,
Be sitting at home looking at you and see a contagion.
Can you handle the situation? Do you care about the religion?
Do you have any notion to lead the nation?

Tell me what you doing?
Because no one is protecting us,
No one is fighting for our rights,
No one is taking care of our sisters or our streets.
No one is turning boys into men
And then no one talks for our children.
So pay attention in what they telling you,
If it’s to hate me, tell them the truth.
We share blood, a cut on your heart will make me bleed.
But now let this to you be a caution
Let your life be an inspiration and make that be ye mission.
Now pay attention in all the wrong you doing,
It must come back to you.

By Bliz Mordiop.

Aren’t you tired of NYC?, by Marcela B

Many of us arrived in NYC with one luggage and a heart full of dreams.
When you are in New York city, you get psyched with its energy and immediately you start to ask why?

At the beginning you don’t know if it is because the astonishing architecture that intertwine the ” old” and the ” new”.
You don’t know if it is because the modern skyscrapers or because all the last century buildings with their emergency exit facades showing off.
You just feel it.

You don’t know if it is because the Broadway lights that makes you feel you’re in a non-stop, never ending party.
Or if it’s because the beauty of the Central Park that makes you feel you’re somewhere else for a moment.
You just feel it.

You don’t know if it is because this idea that you can be anywhere in less than 30 min by subway. Ah….the subway, this old, dirty, democratic and now first time disinfected system that carries the entire city from the homeless to the rich, from ordinaries to the celebrities.
You just feel it.

You don’t know if it’s because the bike lanes and citi bikes that makes you feel the wind in your face, the sun on your skin.
You just feel it.

You don’t know if it is because it feels you’re inside a movie set… is it fantasy? is it reality? Maybe both.

After sometime in New York, sooner or later you may realize the magic of this city actually does not rely on the outside.
The magic, the true magic, rely on the inside.

NY is tough, not everyone can make it here. It can be overwhelming.
You don’t know if it’s because the high rental fees and limited space.
Or if its because this city requires too much from you – NY always raises the bar.
From work, to restaurants, entertainment, to the possibilities… a wealth of possibilities.
You just feel it.

This constant and exhausting idea of #empirestateofmind that moves everything and everyone above and beyond.
You just feel it.

Now in middle of a pandemic anyone could think why stay in New York, why just not fly somewhere else, escape far away from this madness?

Well, New York never adapts to your desires, never adjust to your dreams, nor compromise. This city will punch you in your face more than you can possibly sustain, over and over again.

In the end, we are NY tough.
We know that we will fall not just once but many times, but we will rise stronger again.
We know that if we can make it here we can make it anywhere. We take this statement by heart.
We know this city has our back, for the best and the worst.

Today I can tell I am and always will be in love with this city, even tough every winter I may think otherwise, even tough I am living in the eye of the hurricane right now. The resilience found here cannot be found anywhere else.
You just feel it

It’s a privilege to call NYC home.
It’s a blessing to be surrounded for all the inspiring and spectacular minds that feed NYC’s veins and make us all addicted to be here, thus we persist.
We just feel it.

ASYLE, by Zoran Mimica

Asyle – and this is not a poem – this is a demand

I want to see the world or even a village, a town, a province if not a state
where there are no drugs, no cigarretes, no cigarette buts, no smoke
and no smoking and no abuse of drugs and alcohol and no violence……

Please let me know where is any available? Can I, maybe, establish it or I have to wait for the Kingdom of God to enter into it?

Is there question or answer? Angels help me!
I accept illnesses and old age and dying but not the above items? Why we cannot live and die without pain and longing, without desperation and sorrow?

Letter to Solitude, by Jiji Schemann

Lettre à la solitude

Quand tu es née, on ne se comprenait probablement pas. Je te parlais sachant bien que tu étais là en moi, Je tentais de t’écouter de l’intérieur mais ce n’est qu’après quelques mois que je réussi à me connecter avec toi et recouvrer le sens de mes émois.
Tu m’as donné quelques coups tu parfois, mais seulement parce que tu étais en quête d’un espace temps, un endroit où écoute et protection feraient foi d’un foyer légitime, un genre de toit
Et maintenant tu vois, j’ai fait quelques échographies de mon surmoi, J’ai tendu l’oreille vers ce cœur qui bat, Et j’ai saisi la valeur de ta présence ici-bas
Chère Solitude, saches que je serai toujours là pour toi Et un jour tu t’émanciperas de tout ce qui, et ceux qui autour de toi font tout un cinéma De ce que tu es, qui tu seras, tu leur offriras un fier schéma De ce qu’est être Soi, à minima.

Letter to Solitude

When you were born, we probably did not understand each other. I was talking to you knowing that you were there inside me, I tried to listen to you from the inside, but it was only after a few months That I was able to connect with you and regain the meaning of my emotions.
You gave me a few blows sometimes, But only because you were looking for a space of time, A place where listening and protection would be a sign of a legitimate home, a shelter to shine.
And now you see I’ve done some ultrasounds of my superego; I’ve turned my ear to this beating heart, And finally grasped the value of your presence here below…
Dear Solitude, know that I will always be there for you And one day you will emancipate yourself from all these, and all those who around you Will make a whole cinema of what you are, who you will be, you will offer them a proud schema Of what it is to be your own Self, with no dilemma

Carta a la soledad

Cuando naciste, probablemente no nos entendíamos. Te hablé sabiendo que estabas ahí en mí, intenté escucharte desde dentro, Pero sólo después de unos meses pude conectar contigo Y recuperar de mis emociones su significado
Me diste algunos golpes a veces, pero sólo porque buscabas un espacio de tiempo, Un lugar donde la escucha y la protección darán fe de un hogar legítimo, una refugio.
Y ahora verás, he hecho algunos ultrasonidos de mi superego, He vuelto mi oído a este corazón que late, Y he captado el valor de tu presencia aquí abajo…
Querida Soledad, sabe que siempre estaré ahí para ti Y un día te emanciparás de todo eso, y los que te rodean harán todo un cinema De lo que eres, de lo que serás, les ofrecerás un orgulloso esquema De lo que es ser « Yo », sin dilema

POETRY READING: Cosmogony, by Iuliana Pașca

Performed by Allison Kampf

I would like to tell you about my birth
but how to start with no beginning?
…
Mother said I was born
ahead of my time;
I don’t remember,
but I know I was there when
I also gave birth to my mother.

I saw when from the heart
the galaxies
gushed streamingly,
suns were smiling on the spine
rasing satellites
from the tireless breath.
Neurons formed stars
in the rainbow hair,
while Mars was preparing
for the fight.

From the fingers of the left hand
it detached,
together with the rings, Saturn
then, as lightning,
Jupiter came out of nowhere,
and to my feet
was lying down
the Earth.

The Aura of a Being, by Andrea Irigoyen Paez

Soul that blows
stripping the wishes
from dark corners.
You light up the passions.
From a horizon,
infinite and mysterious.
Only God created you.
Those who swim to you,
they discover
the essence of being.
As the autumn leaves fall,
You’re lighting up the hope.
And when
the eternal winter comes,
You whisper,
look at around you.
Be the aura
of what was once,
lost.

I RELEASE WHAT I AM RECEIVING WHAT I NEED, by Terry Mulcahy

I release this viral blue funk
sometimes dark thing
in my soul.
It haunts me
from time to time.

Release this loneliness
that feeds my blues.
Not lonely all the time
sometimes it just appears
out of the blue.
Does it feed my blues?
Or
Does that blue funk
feed my loneliness?

I release this obsession
that comes upon me too
obsession
about
what I’ve said or done.

I release this obsession
that comes upon me I release
this obsession that comes
I release this obsession.

I sit too much
at the computer
and watching movies
and reading
or just
wasting time.
I release all that.

Often I want forgiveness
for things I’ve said or done
but
I must give forgiveness
without expectations
of return.

I receive friendship
though
sometimes
it is not easily
given away.

I receive smiles
and those
O
those
I can reciprocate
easily.

I try to understand
how other people feel
put myself in their shoes
feel their perspective
but
sometimes
I get pissed off that they
do not understand.

With all these things
I know
I must lead by example
be open-minded
without expectations.

It is springtime
despite the snow and rain
and today’s cold damp air
hovering around my soul.

Yet it is time for Spring
Spring delayed
Spring postponed
but not canceled.

It will come.

Bonded, by Dominique Marks

Dear O,

I hope you’re well. Hope the family’s well also. I think of you often.. more so because of the uncertainty these days bring. Sometimes I’m happy.. sad.. mad or horny. But I’m hurt. Not because things ended but your denial of it all. I hate that I let you in. It’s so hard for me to do that and I often feel regret because I knew better. I understand that one experience— is just that an experience. When you looked at me— I smiled because deep down I knew. A moment. A season.. deep within. But in knowing, I’m still so traumatised that I don’t know how to yell. I’m trying though, learning.

~ dmo

DEATH OF NOISE, by Shiela Denise Scott

You play music,
Loudly,
No respect for the silent type,
You own the blocks peace,
Thug life,
selfishly

You deal to the fiends,
Turning corners at all times,
Loudly they scream,
Interrupting peace of mind,
Gang life never resigns

Prosperously you push luxury,
The struggling mother lost sleep time,
Riches you gain from others losing their minds,
Causing spirits to Rebel with no peace signs

Darkened by midnight,
No one lights up your face,
But the next lost soul,
Who lost their faith,
Another mishap,
Confusing their fate
Another angel,
Misguided by devils’ gates

Trapped in a neighborhood,
Forced by salary resided citizens, and crime,
Gunshots ring my memory,
Visual fights disturb the mind,
Noise raises its volume,
Addiction praises its find,
Screams of yesterday echo,
Into the shadows of moonlight…

Help me find silence!

shielascottphoto1