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Read Poetry: Never give up, by Awodirepo Olabayo

When Ink fails the writer
The ballpoint refuses to roll.
When the sheet isn’t looking better,
And some words are missing on the scroll,
Oh! How unfortunate are the readers!

When the motivational speaker runs out of words
Air refuses to pass out through his bucal cavity. When all he could have is vocal without
chords
And a deep touch of boring words with no sanity.
What a loss for the depressed and discouraged!

When the greatest singer of all time runs out of lyrics,
The best rapper can’t just get two lines to rhyme,
The builder becomes scared to touch the bricks
And the fastest man runs out of time.
What a funny tragedy has struck the surface of the earth !

Fill up your Ink o writer
Pick up some better pens
For the readers are waiting.

Wake up o motivational speaker
Be filled with the right utterances
For the depressed are dying.

Come back alive o singer
Be filled with melodious songs of hope
For some hopeless hearts are weeping.

Get your lines right o rapper
Cast away your fears o builder
For on you, many are relying.

Be strengthened o runner
I tell you it is not over
To win is your calling.

#Awodirepo_Olabayo
#speaking_thoughts
#spoken_word_poetry
@Profjosh21

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Read Poetry: The Others, by Amanda Beyer

There are people with purpose. People who know what they are supposed to do. They have dreams, they gave goals to achieve. There are lazy people. People with no dreams. People who just get by…..and then there are others. Others who have dreams and goals to HAVE dreams and goals. To feel appreciated, to feel needed. Your words to them are daggers, more than most. One incling of failure and they are utterly defeated. But…you don’t see them, even as one, I don’t see them. They are Others. I am an other…and you don’t know. Others hide, praying to found, yet rarely are. We laugh, we cry…just like you….but we are not. We are different. Your words resonate within us so deeply we drown……Emotionallly, physically, spiritually….for the others, every day is the day we need to catch our breath, every anxious thought is an excuse to get out. Every cry for help is debilitating….every conscious thought is paralyzing…. Everything is other….we are other. I am other….and you will not understand.

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Read Poetry: Leave It, by Patricia J. Dorantes

May the clear touch of rain
Wash away for good the fog
That left your soul
Unable to see the stars.

Break into small pieces that pain
Whose chokehold drowned you in smog.
You deserve to recover what they stole
In the most bitter of the wars.

Close your eyes, young soul.
Let all the bitterness go away.
The night is covering you.
Relax and feel safe now.

Never forget that you are in control
Of what happens to you every day.
If you want to leave behind that dark hue,
Deep inside, your heart knows how

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Read Poetry: Congo Congo, by Miroslav Atanasov

CONGO, CONGO

Congo, Congo,
foreign land
I hurt for you
you’ve caused me pain.
Your tale’s gloomy,
your story’s sad
it makes me angry
it makes me mad.
My heart is broken
I don’t know why
now that I’ve met you
I want to cry.
A king desired you
from far away,
he lied, he cheated
knew how to sway.
That evil genius,
that greedy scum,
a worthless creature,
an awful bum.
He wanted rubber
to make him rich
he had no mercy
he was a witch.
He took you over
for profit’s sake,
to him you were
a slice of cake.
Kidnapped you children
enslaved your men
then raped your women
and robbed your land.
At home he told them
how good he was
a Christian civilizer
with a noble cause.
But in your jungles
the ugly truth:
he did not spare
even your youth.
Your hands, oh, Congo
were severed off
and stacked like garbage,

like useless cloth.
In Belgium palaces
and wealth like flood
success tremendous
paid with your blood.
O, king, how could you
commit these crimes?
You had no conscience,
you filthy slime.
Your country loved you
but didn’t know
your evil nature
your brutal show.
They have forgotten
whence their gold came
how it was stolen
and have no shame.
They built you statues
what a disgrace!
They minted coins
with your ugly face.
Leopold, you devil
now burn in hell!
We never want
your foul smell.
Oh, Brussels, Brussels,
please, do repent!
The blood cries out
from Congo’s land.
Thank you, missionaries
and Ed Morel
you told the world
of Leopold’s hell.
The night is gone
and morning came
but we remember
the awful shame.
Today, oh, Congo
you suffer much
while Brussels proud
and not in touch.
Your people flee,
they seek escape,
from war, from murder,

from violent rape.
Forgive us, Congo
we knew you not
now we are meeting
in life our lot.
We promise Congo
to pay our debt
to help your children
to give them bread.
We pray for blessings
on your great land,
oh, sweet Congo
we pledge our hand.
We love you Congo,
We’re now your friends,
We’ll tell the world
to make amends.

Read Poetry: Adultery, by Jan Franz Macaso

but yours and mine
which (should) now (not), is (be) known–
like planks placed for fences
was the day we’
ve decayed of
bodies both yearned
those termites–no,
they did not
cause our
feet into crumble

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Read Poetry: Boot Camp, by Stan Grimes

Genre: Life

Eighteen,

hot summer in Kentucky

we marched the hills

like soldiers do

counting cadence

counting days

counting ways to kill

shouting ways to kill

eighteen is young

shaved head and black boots

spit shined like a mirror

Vietnam in front of us

high school prom behind us

kill little men in pajamas

screamed the big monster sergeant

never seen one before

I trembled

that hot summer day

been trembling ever since.

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Read Poetry: Fragile Heart, by Penny Wilson

Genre: Love

This Fragile Heart I give to you,

To do with, as you would do.

Demons from the past have made me hide

And deny the love I have inside.

So Take this Fragile Heart with Care

And all the Love waiting there.

— Penny Wilson

www.pennylanethoughts.wordpress.com

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Read Poetry: AM I LOST?, by Fayia Foray

Genre: Life, Society

Run! I have run
Oh! I’ve died several times to this end
I’ll rest away from that bad beast.
This sound is not welcoming.
Turning and turning all about
So ferocious is the incoming voice
Can I run!
I must run. But run to no point at all?
I have fumbled and tripled triple times on this way.
There seems no way lead out
Yes! There is one, and the beast is within me.
How can a high class animal run from that low class?
Yes! T’s why t’s a beast
And we’re never the same
T may pierce my flesh but I, no
Except I may kill it out of defense
A beast is a beast; never broken like a cheese
Take to your heels when it wheels it presence
T will never understand like you.
Though the bad beast within you is the worst beast…the fear
I can’t hide…none to hide
Courage is the only weapon …and I’ll run
And I’ll run! And run to the end…

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Read Poetry: Forever Yours, by Richard Huntly

Genre: Family, Love

Forever is a long time. Yet still I’m here, simply yours.
I belong to you, I am forever linked to you, all yours.
You created something special between us, forever yours.
Through trial and error, the learning curve, u raised me forever yours.
In sickness and in health, yes like matrimony, I am forever yours.
When I got on your nerves as I grew from infancy to adulthood, still I remained forever yours.

Shameful that only one day has been chosen for you, it’s still forever yours.
Even on the days that perhaps you didn’t feel your best, I came first, forever yours.
Feeding me, healing me, teaching me, how can I be anything else, forever yours.
When I began writing my own life chapters, lest we forget, I am still forever yours.
As short as this message may be, the meaning is clear, this day and eternity are forever yours.

Happy Mother’s Day to you these women I can’t say enough about, the world is yours.
I said it before that forever is a long time, but so too are you.
Be all that you know yourself to be, fore as long as you do these things forever will live within you.

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Read Poetry: The Hypocritical Oath, by Angela Umphers Rueger

Genre: DEATH, SOCIETY, MOTIVATIONAL, INSPIRATIONAL

Not just anyone can kill a baby;
It takes a degree to commit that crime.
The doctor’s conscience will hurt him—maybe,
But the guy on the street will do some time.

In the clinic it’s called an abortion,
But it’s murder when done on the street.
Society’s views are a distortion
Of truth. Just ask the next stranger you meet.

A drunken man hits an oncoming car.
The impact begins preterm labor.
The nearest hospital is much too far
Away. The paramedics can’t save her.

The drunkard is found guilty of murder
Of the baby that was killed on the way
To a place where Doc waited to hurt her—
He was scheduled to abort her that day.

Abortion is legal; it’s Mother’s choice.
Planned Parenthood plays on that ruse.
But Baby’s human. What about her voice?
Shouldn’t she too have the right to choose?

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