Tag: poetry

MY LIFE HAS 9 ROOMS, Poetry by Dheric Da Poet

One,
Each passing day I welcome thoughts of her into my mind.
Thoughts I can only hold on to in times of despair.
Two,
I could swear I see rainbows under my pillow each night.
But whenever I trace it to the end, I see no pot of gold.
One of these days, I might recruit a search party.

Genre : LIFE

MY LIFE HAS 9 ROOMS by Dheric Da Poet

One,
Each passing day I welcome thoughts of her into my mind.
Thoughts I can only hold on to in times of despair.
Two,
I could swear I see rainbows under my pillow each night.
But whenever I trace it to the end, I see no pot of gold.
One of these days, I might recruit a search party.
Three,
I eat, sleep, and wake.
That’s the daily routine.
Anything else comes in second place.
I hope the same won’t happen on my wedding night.
Four,
If I ever get married, I won’t say no to anime.
If I have children, I’ll make sure I pass the tradition on.
For what’s life without comic books and cartoon network?
Five,
To the boys who will one day date my daughter,
I started perfecting head shots the day she was born.
I bought a large size plastic bag the day she started school
And I’ve got a silent gun too.
Six,
To the girls who will one day want to date my daughter,
Let’s just hope I have only one bullet left when meet.
Seven,
I’m scared of heights,
So I never raise my hand in class.
I fear the eagles of failure will pull off my hand of hope.
That’s why I keep it hidden.
Eight,
I keep consoling myself, saying
“My time will come”.
What I didn’t realize was the clock of life was actually waiting for me to insert the battery.
Nine,
I call my failures Adwoa
And my successes Abena,
My hopes bear the name Akua
Ten,
I try very hard to keep myself under the carpet cos I don’t want to be noticed.

The Yearning, Poetry by Rishi Abhishek

Oh! Lord, how I have tried to write my heart out,

pouring it out like a waterfall into an abyss,

out on the paper in ink,

and how I have failed

to make it seen,

that which is invisible,

Genre: People, Emotion, Struggle

 

The Yearning by Rishi Abhishek
               Oh! Lord, how I have tried to write my heart out,
               pouring it out like a waterfall into an abyss,
               out on the paper in ink,
               and how I have failed
               to make it seen,
               that which is invisible,
               that which I can only feel but not see,
               and that which is not ought to be shown,
               to them who seek to see
              with privy eyes,
              but to them who can see the soul of others,
              just as they can feel their own.
              That which I try to allude to,
              that which has always eluded me,
              that which others know only
              through great works by great men,
              but none knows, as none sees,
              for they ween theirs to be it.
              And nothing has changed,though;
              And though nothing has changed,
              everything that has seemed so hollow
              has been filled again
              by nothing more than its own vacancy,
              For what is meant to be filled
              never ought to be left hollow:
              the Heart, lest of all things.
              And then, time takes it forward,
              as change takes it over,
              and man with strangeness in his eyes,
              looks at what is familiar,
              that which is inevitable and immortal,
              that which he thought was himself.”

 

 

 

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I’m Sorry, Poetry by Jaco Potgieter

Standing in the ashes of my sorry I dream of what could have been.

Looking at the grey and black I wonder about what came first and last.

How it would have been if I spoke or remained silent a little longer.

What this moment might have looked like if I did more or didn’t do.

In this now exist only the scarred and broken remains of what if?

Touching the torched wood of our togetherness, it crumbles to nothing.

Genre – Dark, Hurt, Love, Painful, Relationships, Sad, Redemption

I’m Sorry by Jaco Potgieter

 

Standing in the ashes of my sorry I dream of what could have been.

Looking at the grey and black I wonder about what came first and last.

How it would have been if I spoke or remained silent a little longer.

What this moment might have looked like if I did more or didn’t do.

In this now exist only the scarred and broken remains of what if?

Touching the torched wood of our togetherness, it crumbles to nothing.

 

Dusty maps in my hands of roads traveled brings no peace, they end here.

Then I cry at the joke of it all, the tortured reality of the path of destiny.

 

I’m sorry.

 

I use the fragments of what should have been to clear a new path.

Then I summon myself to this home of catastrophic annihilation.

I scoop up the remnants of us from the debris with my hands.

I bow my head and with my tears water the green seedling of our new creation.

 

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Brigid, Poetry by Andrea Connolly

Her wingspan shrouded in mystery

The small tortoiseshell rubicund

Ebony and golden forewings

Tangerine surged from chrysalis

A ring of blue, her spell, her veil

Little hands fold hollow reeds

Genre: Fantasy, Life

Brigid by Andrea Connolly

1st of February 2016

 

Her wingspan shrouded in mystery

The small tortoiseshell rubicund

Ebony and golden forewings

 

Tangerine surged from chrysalis

A ring of blue, her spell, her veil

Little hands fold hollow reeds

 

The magical childhood craft

Interwoven square with beams

A Eurasian butterfly with four wings

 

She folds them around blossoms

The little ones, the innocent

Refuge for homeless and landlords

 

She holds them equally at heart

Sainthood flicks wings of grass

 

 

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Anxiety, Poetry by Shellie Palmer

Every breath I ever take those moments my hands
tremble and shake. I can’t control it, want to lose it all, then
reminded of my faith. The Lord steers the way.
I will never control my inner self, it just
doesn’t work that way. Anxiety, what’s it all about anyway?

Genre: Mental Health, Anxiety, Depression, People

Anxiety  by Shellie Palmer

Every breath I ever take those moments my hands
tremble and shake. I can’t control it, want to lose it all, then
reminded of my faith. The Lord steers the way.
I will never control my inner self, it just
doesn’t work that way. Anxiety, what’s it all about anyway? It’s a
normal kind of life. I have my happy place and along the way there
is grace. I get the poor pitiful you, nope!, not with me I’m better
off independently free. Anxiety won’t ever take hold of me. I’m gonna
have those day with a cloud over my head. I push it far far away the
light is just up ahead. Anxiety, don’t let it be. It’s nothing more than
uncontrolled feelings. In my heart I see nothing less the Lord gave
me a voice to be there. Together we’ll stand strong, we will just be.
We know what it’s like to have anxiety.
@7:21 pm
Tuesday, Jan. 26,2016

 

 

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GARDEN, Poetry by Nadya Raymond

There are dead flowers in my garden

Red ones

Brown ones

Yellow ones

Blue ones

Rotting, stems riddled with decaying passion lit in a parable of blackness nestles under clots of angelic guilt as sweet occultation-s seep through anxiety pulsating in a distant reflection of youth almost kissed by innocence embrace touching tones of tomb-ed incubust-ed bubbles of illusions

Genre: Life, Society

GARDEN by Nadya Raymond

There are dead flowers in my garden

Red ones

Brown ones

Yellow ones

Blue ones

Rotting, stems riddled with decaying passion lit in a parable of blackness nestles under clots of angelic guilt as sweet occultation-s seep through anxiety pulsating in a distant reflection of youth almost kissed by innocence embrace touching tones of tomb-ed  incubust-ed bubbles of illusions

 

There are dead flowers in my garden

Red ones

Brown ones

Yellow ones

Blue ones

Stoic, blushed in beauty entangles in amiss of darkened veils eclipsing under intense incensed lust frolicking in deep mid-night spasms wonders unto empty streets matted in cobble stone and tar

Nails bright pink, crooked like talons

Hair wrapped in mud like mesh

Lips, soft and sweet dripping like blood spewing into veins parched from centuries of slumbered a-comma-ed dreams

 

There are dead flowers in my garden

Red ones

Brown ones

Yellow ones

Blue ones

Stagnant, a dull moon pines to breathe sets in the distance over a quiet quaint quilted town on the edge exasperation cooling in the frost of solidarity straggles strolling through an unfamiliar jungle of mirrored images seeking companions hacking up raw avant-garde-ed wit

 

There are dead flowers in my garden

Red ones

Brown ones

Yellow ones

Blue ones

Benumbed in hunger, a town lives on the brink of amnesia craving for the thirst of salvation from a distilled lineage of distant lands reigning in terror over a masterpiece painted by phantoms children basking in the freakish enchantment desperately singed in sweet agony and glass masquerading in an orgy of congressional delusions

Wake up

 

There are dead flowers in my garden

Red ones

Brown ones

Yellow ones

Blue ones

Peerless, lifeless dreams creep through window panes in ashes as beads of sweat shimmer under such on intriguingly magnetic light flickering scents of sugared vanilla laced in leather and petty coats abstracted  in realms of eternal holocaust-ed fate convolut-ing in gardens whispering murmurs of secrets under banyan trees

Shhhh

There are dead flowers in my garden

Close your eyes now

 

Wrecked life in the glow of years that winds through mites of truth, Poetry by Mimmie Dana

Chaos was born under a dark shadow
falls without a safety net down in the abyss
falls for the unfinished task faced by an invisible force of wisdom
choosing the wrong over again
wish to find the meaning
chaos never cries out loud
simply swallows anger harshly

Genre: Life

Wrecked life in the glow of years that winds through mites of truth 

by Mimmie Dana

Chaos was born under a dark shadow
falls without a safety net down in the abyss
falls for the unfinished task faced by an invisible force of wisdom
choosing the wrong over again
wish to find the meaning
chaos never cries out loud
simply swallows anger harshly
without security the fake lackeys are revealed who presumes to ridicule the already mocked soul
misleading direction makes earnings rise up
inventing an impossible way to gain self-respect
complete fall heals wounds
blowing for the years of deception
the cold shower of disclosure vortices up an image of another who wants to love themselves completely whole again
shouting
love me whole
love me more
despite all the wrongs. 

 

 

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The Writers Curse, Poetry by Ganzart

The writers curse
Tagging around like a lady’s purse

Set to always sail on the seas of fiction
continuously sipping of self-deception
Alone is the crew on the ship of imagination

Genre: Rhyme, Artist

The Writers Curse by Ganzart

The writers curse
Tagging around like a lady’s purse

Set to always sail on the seas of fiction
continuously sipping of self-deception
Alone is the crew on the ship of imagination

Hands chained by the illusions of his mind
Bound to always fall for the “one of a kind”
Yet in his pocket lies the key to the solution he never finds

In his greatest fear lies his wealth n treasure
The power of his words he still can’t measure
And their inevitable outcomes pain or pleasure

sinking deeply in the beauty of art
If wishes were horses , carved on the walls of his heart .
You can’t help the tearing apart
When the pen and paper have to part.

The sweet seas of fantasy
were all just a mistress
That sour cold reality
Is the jealous wife in he kisses.

The writers curse
Another blessing in disguise
Read between the lines
And look through water aiming for the skies
And find God present in his verse.

The writers curse , impossible to reverse

Ganzart

 

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Don’t Leave Me, Poetry by Arian Fatius

Midnight hour is howling
Chilling wind is swirling
It’s raining outside

I come to your room
As you waiting for me
There you are
Tempting me with your beauty

genre : sex, passion, love, couple
Don’t Leave Me

by Arian Fatius

Midnight hour is howling

Chilling wind is swirling

It’s raining outside

I come to your room

As you waiting for me
There you are

Tempting me with your beauty

When I kissed your forehead

Down to your eyes

There I see a beutiful thing

The way you breath

The way you look at me
Stay here a little more

I want to hug you

Eyes that roam

As my finger wander
Your thoughts linger

And I heard your moan

As I lick your neck

Blow my breath on your erected nipple

As your heart is strobing

While you keep stroking me
You moved your hips so intense

As we caressing  each other

Don’t leave me alone

When the pleasure comes
through the cold night
Let’s stay like this a bit more

 

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Don’t…, Poetry by Eirini Spyridoula Antoniou

Don’t let regrets or second thoughts

move you through life.

Don’t let small fears guide your every step.

Don’t let small people tamper with your thoughts and feelings.

Genre: inspirational and motivational.

Don’t… by Eirini Spyridoula Antoniou

 

Don’t let regrets or second thoughts

move you through life.

Don’t let small fears guide your every step.

Don’t let small people tamper with your thoughts and feelings.

Don’t be afraid to live a positive life.

Don’t be afraid to live a different life.

Don’t be afraid when other people point

their figure at you and say

“look that someone is doing something different”.

Don’t be afraid to fully love another person.

Don’t be afraid to talk with yourself.

Don’t be afraid to have a happy ending in your life.

Don’t be afraid to be weird.

Don’t dance the dance of an ordinary life.

 

 

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