Tag: read poetry

Read Poem: When The Clock Strikes Death, by C.M. Rivers

Years ramble on along a narrow highway
while daffodils peak in their bright yellow prime
and I scratch at the walls of the hourglass
from which I attempt to climb.

This life was a wet shiny bubble
blown by a child whom I never knew,
who’s heart was as wild as pictures
I colored with crayons before I met you.

Now hard blow the northern winds
and heavy fall the western rains,
and the rocks and sand have barely changed,
yet I have not remained the same
while the clock struck the hours before death came.

C.M. Rivers

Read Poem: Behind Closed Eyes by Cameron Miller

When skin crawls
on the inside, and thoughts flit branch to branch
a winter brown goldfinch pecking for seed

when the longest
deepest, exquisitely practiced yoga breath
exhales an inert sigh

when it is five a.m.
with stained memories frozen
on the black box stage of emptied cranium

it is time.

It is time to step into the deepest
darkest shadow,

and discover who or what
lives there.

“Hello, anybody home?”
You say it with innocence
in case they suspect something.
Enter, shake hands
or paws
with what lives within.

If it is fierce and smelly, nod then get the hell out.
If it is seductive and smirks, be guarded.
If it is deadbeat and depressed, listen.

Behind closed eyes, in shadows
wakefulness never reaches,
skulk citizens with a vote.

Read Poem: Poetry of Mind, by Joy Genauer

Little glitters of sunshine

Little trickles of rain

Resonate in my thoughts

Like flashes of light

Tremble like joy

Breathe with fear

Words spoken

Like splinters of glass

Or feathers that lift

High above the earth

In a blink they emerge

Asking for essence

Asking for clarity

Making themselves known

Read Poem: Ibizza Redux, by Terez Peipins

The eternal Ibizza like party
of my forbearers
immigrants lost,

AM bodies fall
from reverie

A grubby child
sent to church
to be an angel on
the life raft of God

Who’s been saved?
I peek from under
folded arms,
only my hand unraised,

___
Terez Peipins is a writer of Latvian descent from Western New York. Her poetry, fiction, and essays have appeared in publications both in the United States and abroad. She is the author of three chapbooks of poetry. Her novels, The Shadow of Silver Birch and Snow Clues are published by Black Rose Writing. She won the 2016 Natasha Trethewey Prize in poetry from the Atlanta Writers Club. She was a runner up in the Foundlings Press Chapbook and Artist Residency Competition in 2018.

Read Poem: My Word, by Pamela L.Compton “Poet Pam”

Come forth and slap me with your sharpened tongue and I shall take a blade and cut the serpent off.
For I speak within my soul,
something you degenerates would never know.
For the world I live in is mine and mine alone.
There is nothing here for you but the sticks and stones.
Mock my words and play thy games;
One thing for sure you will remember my name

Read Poem: The Ruins, by William P. Robertson

The ruins were overgrown
with brambles & briars.
Crumbled walls cast shadows
in the moonlit gloom
& toadstools crunched underfoot.
Cold drafts seeped from
subterranean vaults.
Ghostly lovers embraced
like tangled roses.

–William P. Robertson

Read Poem Dr Mike Gibson PhD. by Cleveland W. Gibson

Please, don’t let the flowers
on my grave wither and die,
because if you do, I know
Mum and Dad will surely cry.

All Saints church stands tall, dignified,
not far from the grave where I lie,
A church filled with soulful people,
but ‘miss you, Mike,’ I hear you sigh.

In mellow eventide or chapel,
I hear the sharp bells ring out.
Once Dad took me into the belfry,
I loved the thrill without a doubt.

But there is a wind so cold,
as it blows across my chest.
I thank God for singing birds;
happy songs I love the best.

I’ll sing a song of sunshine,
my, I love the many seas so blue,
playing on the golden beaches
of the Med, Greece and Malta too.

My life has never ever been easy,
about DMD, there’s much to say.
But I’ve always done my best,
to smile, to pray up to my last day.

I loved to play War Games 40K,
in the pub and far into the night,
friends around the table, such fun,
it’s normal and, to me, so very right.

I studied hard to go to Uni,
and was proud of my PhD,
Oh, what new doors opened!
R & D on ‘Big Guns’ if you please.

My thesis built on solid Autofrettage,
it drove the Prof Z. wild with delight.
Then I went to work, kept on thinking,
on gun problems, hours into the night.

Many thanks, Vicki. Also Tom and Charlie.
Me: the boy who couldn’t even walk,
but I rode Charlie in fields of daisies,
led by Vicki, who smiled at all my talk.

There are friends I miss, to challenge,
to prove we can be the Queen’s Best,
so bend your back and work hard, lads.
I did. Can you? Be a cut above the rest

Read Poem: Morning Memories, by Akansha Bhatt

The Radio goes boom incessantly,

Reminding me that it’s Monday again,

Not caring for my swollen eyes,

The sunshine hits my face,

As I go about and do my chores,

I put on my clothes and as I walk to the door,

I see in the corner the dress I wore,

I pick it up and take a sniff,

It still smells like you, I think,

One night ago when I was with you,

Entwined together, I felt things,

Your lips touched me like a storm of love,

Like it was the rain in the desert,

It had a power I have never felt before,

Like Ecstasy, inside my bones,

Your hands were all I wanted,

I wanted you to do things to be, I dreamt of and then some more,

Caress me with the lust you had in your eyes,

You kissed every part of me, the broken and the mended,

You touched me in places I have never been touched,

As if you took me places I have never visited,

I always knew I was a rebel,

Funny how you are still on my mind,

Even though you said we aren’t meant to be,

I still crave for those hands, those little shock of pleasure.

Days go by, and it’s yet another Monday morning,

Blaring at its top the radio goes up,

You are still on my mind and why is that I don’t know,

I want to see you again and ask, do you remember it,

Where you mourning all this day for my touch like I did,

Do you remember if it was lust or we made love?

I guess I won’t know until you let me know,

So I can stop this mourning to the radio for that touch.

—
Genre – Love, Relationship, Erotica, sad and romantic