Tag: read poetry

Read Poem: A New Season, by Melba Christie

For some unexplained reason
clergy, pastors, preachers and rabbis
created a whole new season

No explanation would suffice
everyone wondered on whose advice
this decision was made

We can only hope
something good emerges
like the sun does from behind the clouds
or like when an opus is born
Some consider this whole thing a phenomenon
perhaps even an omen
Did Nostradamus forewarn us?
A prophecy perhaps
of what we all knew would happen?
“Peace is not a season.” someone said.
It is or should be a way of life.
A season free of strife,
Can it possibly be true?
It’s up to me and it’s up to you.

Read Poem: Grow, Soul of Child, by Panda Boy

That smell is a smell so dear to me,
A hint of childhood past.
One with even bad memory,
Would recognise at last.

If that past has passed your memory,
Then future be on your present.
But if the future is unsure,
You are sure to be unpleasant.

Abused and fatherless
Or pampered and spoilt.
The clues shrouded in
Your very own mind.

Do not be the one who abandoned,
Don’t be the one who achieves.
Be the one who has the will
To conquer your fears.
For only then you will grow,
Soul of child.

Genre: Motivational, Kids, History

Read Poem: Mannaz, by Lawrence Mathebula

Your only days, and nights to live,
On earth thy heart to theirs, you may give
Love to all earthly creatures;
From brothers to thy sisters,
Too they sooner should return;
It’s one cycle changing, turns
With time and days, swiftly, we
Shan’t disband humanity
But throngs and unions gather
Around the world and further
In foreign places, the near
In foreign ones over there,
Is the other souls, similar,
The body that which you are.

Inspired by the runestone: Mannaz.

Read Poem: UNDER ONE BIG SKY!, by La Gina O. Gross

My sky is cloudy filled with nebulous clouds and ominous linings threatening to destroy any light!
Under my sky, I see the homeless … digging, searching, clawing for filthy pennies, dimes and nickels in sidewalks, alleyways, graveled streets and in muddy, puddles that are sunburned chocolate.
Hear the instruments playing?
See them dancing wildly, without consciousness screaming loudly in silence saying:
“I am cold”,
“I am hungry”
“I am poor”,
Please Give More!
Do You See Them Under Our One Big Sky?
Or is your sky filled with frivolous shopping, mall hopping,
and self to self- selfie swapping. You proclaim they could
Live Better! Be better! Do better!
So you just better throw it all on black and let the roulette wheel spin and spin … until you see beauty under our one big sky.

Under my sky, I’m shuffling youthful teens to their destiny with our eyes closed.
“Straighten your ties”,
“Straighten your lies” and
“Straighten your attitudes”. “
“Go straight home”, “Please be safe” Never argue with a cop, when you’re stopped …
Comply, Comply as you reach towards our sky!
“Reach for the unseen to get the things you will see…
Please boys and girls- Listen to me!!
Do You Hear Us Under Our One Big Sky?
Or does the chatter of the young bother you?
Do you hope they don’t follow you?
As you quickly pass … Do you ask?
What dreams can I help you fulfill?
Is your hope a part of my destiny and will?
Are you our future?
Do you see a future?
Can we truly hope for a future under our one big sky?

Can we share it? Do we dare it? Could we bare it?
Or do we continue in collusion, disguised by confusion, just to make the same conclusion?
If our hearts take the risk… Maybe, we could exist-collaborating, participating, anticipating and
Yes! thanking our God for being the ALMIGHTY under our one big sky.
I pray for our grace so we can stand face to face without blaming each another….
Realizing Suddenly ….
We were just separated in fear, so let’s wipe our tear;
We Now Know Why we’re Here!
To serve each other because we deserve one other.
Let’s hug and embrace!
Open our hearts and trace …
Our colorful, contrasting footprints colliding into our skies and creating a million rainbows UNDER OUR ONE BIG SKY!!

Written by La Gina O. Gross

Read Poem: FEELINGS ARE NOT THE ENEMY, by Chisala Kataya

I came across lost paper,
the waters washed it ashore.
The letters on it a fervent thing,
I could hear the whispers,
in my ear I know they witnessed me feel.
The shaken boys screams inside me aloud.
Say see the face,
stay clear of that darkened yet glowing smile.
Says it’s that ice that burns wild like dragon fire.
That it’s that dark essence that eludes your senses.
It’s the smile already fallen from grace into depravity,
nothing you can take any further than the darkness it already is.
She the siren whose voice never sleeps,
my mind her orchestra.
She plays the blues.
In this house,
my fragile house made up of too many broken bricks.
Stained, without colour,
a plethora of dark corners that should have never existed.

I see the journey ahead,
then count the steps like my upward thoughts would make me forget about my fall after.
Like the sound of her voice was never the right note,
like she always made sad music in the words that she spoke.

The winds that blow from the East remind me of sad places.
Desolate,
abandoned wastelands,
ghosts of things that were and were not.
Fires that burned bared skin,
but not the ground long enough to make them known.
I get cut in places they never realise have been cut before,
like the smile I’d give them was just a distraction.
Like the feelings inside,
that danced around were the real enemy that I’d tried to ignore.
I’d ignore the mirrors,
the broken ones too,
anything that would reflect,
because I’d feel enough darkness inside to wanna see the raging war.

I smile,
like good guys should.
And pick up the lost paper,
that these waters washed ashore.

Read Poetry: Sestina: THE DANGERS OF THEY, by Steven Fortune

Now I’m cornering the refuge of a definition;
algorithms made a rat of me, I’m guilty by association.
What’s an era, what’s a generation,
when the stats are kept so tight?
Where’s attrition when the compass swindles sight?
Who appoints a winner in two claims of divine right?

Duelling definers spar for geist diviners who adjudicate degrees of right.
The spectacle uncovers risk in seeking refuge in a definition.
The impasse hammering estrangement between its weight and volume compromises sight.
Is there such a thing as affiliation, even self-association,
in this era of hermetic numbers exercising its serenely tight
monopoly of flexibility on morals of a generation?

For those who have no interest in the generation
as a spiritual fraternity, there’s a claim on what is right
in the fine print of a war’s declaration statement. Money won’t be tight
forever for the soldiers or the sympathizers. Genocide will rock the definition
that endorses all manner of association
bent on prying all the pixels out of what passes for enlightened sight.

They aspire to equivocate the trust of individual sight;
they are waging eye-candy campaigns of paring down to a clique a generation
fixing to resign itself to avatar association,
for eye contact will be declared a superfluous right
in the effort to uphold the most convenient definition.
The dissipation of a noble leader’s traits is promised by the visual dissection of the leaders; the probing slices deliberate and tight.

Division of the physical enables the enforcement of a tight
command on conditions for the social. Torn between the sight
that fuels my observations, and the canon definition
of a people’s progress, I refuse to personify a generation
selling out consensus celebrations of right
to legislators celebrating easy conformity through practical association.

Indebted to identity, and tantalized by the deals of the grand association,
the ties of binding – once an easy source of solace – now are tight
beyond my grip’s ability to pick apart the right
from wrong directions on the moral map comprised from raw sight.
Is it even relevant to who’s a member of a gypsy generation?
One no longer plotting recourse to refuge in a definition?

Ghost association I invest in graded sight
until the tight constraints of a compressed generation
suffocate a sense of right with a state definition.

03 08 19

Read Poem: LET THIS DAY, by Katarina Jovcevska

Let this day passing by in wisdom and strength to someone be a friend be a hero and stand with a goal build your life step by step, day and night don’t lose yourself in lies be honest and fair and don’t pretend Let God fills your path with love and light.
Be a man and you will deserve everything you can be a crowned king let your belief have wings and see, realize what for is your sacrifice does it worth be all of this make a step in new century because you know what you want you feel the pain of the people in the middle ease with a smile only for a while accept no defeat and take deep breath, don’t sleep lead, teach and be the best go on, searching for from the east to the west write down your own history with a dream for victory and mark the time for the first time because you are that special kind with a brilliant mind.

Katarina Jovcevska
Kumanovo,R.Of North Macedonia
Some of her work you can see on:youtube:Katarina Jovcevska”Nobody Like you”,”Inspiring song to change your life” and “Factory of dreams”;facebook;soundcloud”Secret desire and I’m on fire”-Katarina Jovcevska;bandlab,www.macedonia.co.uk

Read Poem: ASPIRATION, by K. Exum

I remember when I was a kid and I used to dream of being a cop
Being in the force stopping the bad guys that rob
Solving all of the problems around the world
But then I got older and I saw a cop shoot a man down in cold blood
He later got on the stand said he was scared
I wasn’t there
But I’m sure when he seen you and that gun paired
That He was the only one scared
It’s sounds crazy hearing a killer saying he was scared
Like they were the one on the other side of the gun
I see situations like this come up all the time
Most officers walk free without getting time
It’s like they just didn’t commit one of the biggest crimes
The worst part is that this is normal to me now
But to some it’s like seeing a unicorn
What you see when you see that uniform
You see a hero
I see someone who likes to abuse their power
Just a bunch of cowards
I can get shot right now and their life will still mean more
Because of that badge on their shirt
It’s always been this way people just cover their eyes while we get hurt
It’s a real life birdbox
If you seen a cop jacking me up because I was walking will you actually help
Or will I just be another victim on the news
Judged because of a crime from years ago
Or because how my hair looked or how my pants were so low
Or judged off height
I used to be scared of the dark but now the police is the only ones that cause my
fright
Scared of getting killed and the reporter justify it because of how I looked
Even if indicted they only get a couple of years
While my sentence wouldn’t let me see another day
I can’t believe that use to be my aspiration

Read Poem: TWO WAY, by Maria Juliet

I love the humbleness but I draw the line of boundary.
The darkness completely folded;
He does not know there was a limit inside the box.
I love the sincerity but I let some words often missing.
Outside the window, the music is too loud.
He does not know, only the shadow can bring the numbness.
I love the smile but I give back blank stares —- mostly.
Inside the room full of gold mixed of copy.
He does not know eyes are the genuine smile…
I love sacrifice but I am too poor to buy time.
Back at the car, the dogs fighting for one raw bone
while in four meters away the stray cat enjoying his food alone.
He does not know, inside the grocery store few are only worth it for pancake dream.
I, love being alone.
Beyond the horizon,
Walking, dreaming, screaming, reaching and receiving ——– these.
He doesn’t need to know…

Read Poem: Life and Times of my Cigarettes Death, by Samantha Broesky

If only you knew
the laps it took,
To find my way out,
of labyrinths in my head.
I was trapped in days so
dark,
attempting ways to escape,
want to get back,
be safe, in my minds maze.
Lost in countless ways,
How many times?
Times after time.
Do you know?
Just how many times,
I have died
while still alive?

It’s not easy, having this,
beautiful mind.
To see the beauty,
in deranged miracles,
They luminate through my
eyes.
To be able to outsmart my
Devil,
Beat me at my own game,
Now I wear this damned
crown,
Watching myself,
I go down on my knees
Singing my own praises,
Loving myself,
embracing my wicked ways.
Backwards I lit my first
cigarette.
Filter for my silent mouth,
Watch how it ignites
Spewing toxic, blue flames,
Straight out of hell.
Still I inhale.
Ill be the first to admit,
I’ve done some pretty
fucked up shit.
All that time wasted.
Incarserated. Intoxixated.
Drugged out. Seduced.
Body Bloody, Bruised and
Broken.
Over and over….
praying for a day it, or I
would end.
Still canʼt recall all the
nights, turned to days,
to weeks, no sleep on
repeat….. Stealing and
Dealing.
Forget to keep dreaming.
Here I am,
still inhailing that cigarette.
My only regret,
Was falling in love,
With the right man.
Only thing left.
Date.Year.
Numbers finalizing,
Timing his breath.
Ashes everywhere.
The only truth in love.
My cigarettes death.
Radio playing.
Times timeless hitlist.
If I could turn back,
My all-time regret,
Was in a moment,
No sooner, or later,
no matter where, I asked
why me? What happened,
Or didn’t, after I met you.
In a restricted hall,
Trying hard to be late,
The clock kept telling me,
I blame it for believing it’s
lies.
I was blind, from not hearing,
The warning from time,
in how we both become,
prisoners starting at walls.
Counting every damn day,
Every impossible way,
Lists on lists,
regret turns to regret,
Wishing for words to pray,
I can’t say, make me forget.
No, I never, I won’t, I don’t
even smoke,
The look you gave me, while
giving to you.
In you, I gave, my first
regret,
that led to you…. Lighting
me up, that last cigarette.
Now the last thing, my only
thing left,
Iʼm smoking alone, not
hearing you say my name.
I’ll never regret, how you
had… that crave,
because of me.
You get a spark off a dead
lighter,
trick is, put two dead ones
together.
Sex, death, celebration,
stress.
Always you’ll see me
smoking.
I need you, not ashes,
you need a cigarette.