Tag: poetry

Read Poetry by Mira Wallflower

With ripped heart
and broken soul,
she survived.
With confusion in head,
a shake of hands
and long road ahead,
she was bright.
In the rush of the blood,
in the scars that were about to bud,
she was alright.
From the darkest hole
from the deepest shore,
she faced life.
For the light in her eyes,
for the hope that arise
she was an art.
The mountains she climbed,
the rivers she crossed,
it was the time.
As a bird in the sky
she opened her arms,
she found the way,
she fled away.

@Whenmypenbleeds
https://mirawallflowerblog.wordpress.com/

Read Poem: An Adult Fable for the Modern Day by Cindi Walton

Way up high on the seventeenth floor lived a selfish young princess dressed in Dior.

“My nail is chipped and my hair is a mess.” Where is that maid, I need to get dressed!”

“Bring me my dog, now take him to pee. Run me a bath and bring me my tea!”

She clamored and bellowed, bullied and such that her maid up and quit, she’d had just too much.

Now alone and frightened on the seventeenth floor, there came a knock on the Princess’s door.

Not sure what to do without hired help, the knocking kept knocking, her little dog yelped.

Knocking and yelping the neighbors could hear, so they called the cops and one was quite near.

“I think she’s in danger, I think she is dead,” “I really don’t care” one neighbor said.

So the cop took the stairs to the seventeenth floor, stopping in front of the Princess’s door.

And there in plain sight was the Princess’s maid, knocking because she forgot to get paid.

“Why did you quit? What did she do?” asked the cop of the maid who was stomping her shoe.

“She’s a witch and a tyrant, a bully that’s why…she never says thank you, I really do try.”

“I come when she beckons which often than not. Wash all her undies and hankies with snot.”

“I am a person and she treats me so bad, I’ve just had enough and I really got mad.”

“I see, said the cop as he saw the door crack. She treated you badly so you’re not coming back.”

“Aye, a please and a thank you never received, I totally get it, your thoroughly peeved.”

Now a light went on in the Princess’s head, nobody liked her, some wanted her dead.

Was she a bully as the maid had proclaimed? “Oh my, I am selfish and totally ashamed!”

So she opened the door and let the cop in, offered him tea, admitted her sins.

The maid got a raise and a miracle you see, she even took the dog out to pee.

She cleaned up her act and acquired some class, became a lady and not a spoiled ass

So the moral is as morals go, be ye a princess or be ye a maid, the fact of the matter you never can trade

For kindness and class goes hand in hand, spreading good will throughout the whole land.

Read Poem: THE FALLEN DUST by Sharon Mo

Lying on my feet
Do I? Do I have the need to be the pillar I once was before the earthquake?
Firm and tall I stood
But not today, I am just a memory
Lying scattered and hopeless on the ground
I am the fallen dust
Should I? Should I try to stand with my broken bones?
Will I? Will I be the next joke if I try to talk from my broken mind?
Look at me, dusty and broken under their feet
Trampled over like I never had any legs
Like I never stood at all
Do I? Do I have any legs or I lie amputated
Watching my shadow trying to dance like back in the days when autumn used to sing
Who? Who am I?
I am the fallen dust leaning on my feet
Praying for the gust of wind to pick me up again
I need to dance like back in the days when autumn used to sing
What? What do I have?
Nothing is all I have next to something that I am
The fallen dust

GENRE – HOPE

Poetry Reading: Today, by Anthony Dalton

Performed by Carina Cojeen

Get to know the poet:

1) What is the theme of your poem? The transient nature of love.

2) What motivated you to write this poem? My feelings for my wife when we first got together.

3) How long have you been writing poetry? A long, long time.

4) If you could have dinner with one person (dead or alive), who would that be? John Keats.

5) What influenced you to submit to have your poetry performed by a professional actor? Curiosity.

6) Do you write other works? scripts? Short Stories? Etc..? I have had 15 non-fiction books published, 5 novels published and 5 short stories.

7) What is your passion in life? Writing.

Read Poetry: Jealous, by Zachary Walma

Pretty eyes, pretty thighs, pretty face she never wanted.

Forced to live inside an object of desire.

Introverted, anxious, and the center of attention.

Watched from every side, waiting to be acquired.

Wanted, but never loved, by misfortune or chance.

Every prospect wanting more than she could give.

Taking if they could, every piece of satisfaction.

to pacify the needs with which they’re forced to live.

This way, and that way, in every kind of direction.

Taken, passed on, and consumed by the restless.

Never replenished, left weary and unfulfilled.

Caught up in the cycle, until she met Jealous.

Jealous knew more than any of the others.

Jealous payed attention and expected the same.

Jealous never slept so as never to lose her.

Jealous kept her close since the first time he came.

Jealous worked hard to keep what he wanted.

Jealous made damn sure she was contained.

Jealous didn’t like seeing her with others.

Jealous was stubborn and easily enraged.

Wanted, never loved, pretty object of desire.

Trapped in attention for which she never asked.

Running, recaptured, by Jealous devoured.

Things that are pretty don’t easily last.

Everyone wants, everyone needs, most of us take whatever we can get.

Give what you can, love if you can, don’t end up eaten by Jealous regrets.

Read Poetry: A President, by Latonia Sears

When I think of a good commander and chief
I envision a being of mankind to say the least
Who’s back is straight and his feet followed in suit A man with integrity and a real sense of pride for his country and the people’s rights too

He would speak directly from the hip with conviction, judgement and begin to hand out retribution. Not just be a puppet for some other teams responsibilities. Who truly understood the masses because he has really been listening to them

A person honest and fair someone who knows the difference between pride and racial prejudice who knows we are all equal and could be who we want to be because he is a true American who believed in justice and that will be the American way

A leader who stands by his people who wants the best for all of this country’s citizens no matter how old or young, rich or poor and ethnicity. Since all men will be equal and have only one profile to be To have a true pursuit of a happy life in this world that he lives in with you and me

Who always speaks for the people no matter who happens to be listening. A real knight in the role of a true king. Some one branded to fight and ward off our enemies. Yep that is what I see. My president the one who has yet to announce his candidacy still just a image I wish for in secret

A man with the soul and honor of the great ones who spirits live in silence and their thoughts are recounted with echoes of oh say can you see A person of distinction and more than self allegiance and bigotry my image of a president and not just one in particularly

Maybe one day we will see him the one with all of our best interest at hand the head honcho, the big khahuna. A man of our time who remembers the struggles before his and can respect that time . A man who can handle the pressure and not let it cloud his mind

Someone who can’t sell out to special interest or lobbyist Someone who can’t hang us out to dry with no real explanation or solution we can get behind Or what’s worse line his own pocket with death, destruction and mayhem at times, so many lies, so many lost lives

A person who knows their only human just like the lives he has been ordained to lead, protect, serve and bring through the hard times like a true leaders objective. While making sure all cival rights and liberties are observed as well as respected

A President beyond imagination the one we have been praying for together. A man who will literally carry the weight on his shoulders instead of what reality tells us. But it will remain something I was wishing for
Not exactly what I am getting of course

Read Poetry: PEACE BE STILL, by Ngozi Osuoha

peace, why drag supremacy
And fight for superiority?
Why crush silence
And break thine sheath,
That we remain at war?

You waylay unity
And make skulls, your crown
You ambush growth
And arrest development,
Peace, why hate thyself
When you are a gem?

Barefooted, you wander afar
Thirsty, you stand aloof
Hungry, you sink beyond
Lonely, you stray away
Peace, why art thou gone?

Come, peace come
Return, O peace
This earth is broken
This world is bruised,
Come, heal the air
Come, sweep the land
Return, O peace,
Peace! Peace! Be Still!

CLEAR HER DILEMMA (2)

An art so wondrous
Divine in every sense,
A creature so elegant
Creative, gallant and immaculate.

The bravest of creation
Smart, strong and sound
Loving, caring, lovely, careful
The woman, a little god.

Homemade, homemaker
Groomed and grooming
A confident confidant
A loyalist and a faithful
Submissive, calm and resilient.

Pure,  genuine companion
Quiet, honest giver
Fair, jealous lover
Godly, decent soulmate.

Save her the drama
Heal her the trauma,
Clean her the stigma
And clear her of the dilemma.

PROFILE
Ngozi Olivia Osuoha is a Nigerian poet/writer, a graduate of Estate Management with experience in Banking and Broadcasting. Her first longest poem THE TRANSFORMATION TRAIN published in Kenya is available on amazon. She has published over eighty poems in over ten countries.

Read Poetry: 25, by Clen Nyambose

Genre:  forgiveness ,coming of age

25
Means I have survived a lot
Saw daylight in a solar eclipse
I am learning to breathe again
A love affair with the lungs
Where inhale is ecstasy and exhale is torture
The is no more room in forgetting
I have buried too many skeletons in here
So much so that they outweigh the living

\25
Should feel like a new begging
Like painting footsteps on landscapes
This is where the mind escapes
Hope is clutching on to your loved ounce’s hands like forever
But forever is planted in our memories and it doesn’t always bear roots
It sees what we see, loves who we have loved
And like us it mourns when their gone

25
Is acknowledging the living
Sometimes this also means forgiving does that our gone
“Dad I know that you’re gone, but am not yet at the point of forgiving’’
16 I was angry
20 I tried forgetting
But 25 seems to be the hardest
This is me learning to survive within myself
A battle ground between the mind and heart
I am rooted to this centre of gravity
Where the only anchor that seems to hold me down is family

25
Is a mystery
A domestic domicile of wizardry
Where fruition of one’s future is alchemy
I look to the stars trying to plot destiny
So I fish hook the world and bate it with poetry
But words seems to be my only provision for the mourning
A meal that consumes me hole heartedly
Maybe am an oddesy, no maybe am an artist
See what the world has left of me?

25
Is a dream at the edge of a nightmare begging me to jump in?
A myth of what a person is suppose be
A lapricon at the end of a rainbow
It’s digging yourself out of a grave
And willing yourself to fight
To live
Every breather is an act of defiance
The is a revolution brewing in our tongues
We are learning to untie ourselves from our bonds
To shed our masks and be ourselves
To love ourselves
To love myself
It’s knowing that life demands that we look beyond ourselves
That I am my brother keeper and loving each other demands that we dig deep

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: MOM’S ANGEL, Ken Allan Dronsfield

She sits majestically atop the Christmas tree

hair of gold

buttons sparkling

dress of white lace

her wings a stunning silver hue

I watched each year

her being placed

with loving care

upon the tree.

My mother standing back telling Dad,

to the left,

now right,

forward.

The years have now come and gone

Mom and Dad have passed away

the Angel sits in her box now

her dress dirty and worn

hair frizzy & unkempt

buttons don’t shine.

Memories are made and then put away

just like Mom’s beautiful Angel

radiance never forgotten

shining so very bright

each Christmas