relationship – Page 5 – POETRY FESTIVAL. Submit to site for FREE. Submit for actor performance. Submit poem to be made into film.

MESS, Poetry by Damilola K Fashola

Genre: Love, Relationship, Romance

MESS by Damilola K Fashola

I just want to run naked through your mind. Swim through your hair before sliding down your temple and finding a bench within your earlobe. Give me the nod and backwards I will fall into you. I will fall into you. Gooey Ozzy Messy you. Dirt first. Grit first. Torment first. In your vile mediterranean I will lay and get to know you. What they all ran away from I will make love to and we will fight our demons together… Lie to me. Lie with me. Lie in my arms. Let us become liars who lie together. Your a mess and I love it. I’m a mess to. Can we be friends? Can we be more than friends? Nah I’ll probably mess it up and we’d become a big mess like one of the pieces of my life lying on the floor you just walked over. I’m tryna tell you something. I’m tryna tell you something deeper than me. And already you’ve hurt my feelings and I’m here taking it more personal than I should. I’m becoming emotional. I’m being emotional. Sorry I get that way at times. Thats just the peak of my flaws and no its not because I have a vagina but I’m human just like you and though you’re taught not to be expressive about it… I no you feel. I know it hurts sometimes and you have no one to call on and sometimes you try to call out but your voice is lost under sniggers and suppressed thoughts of not being allowed to. Your allowed to. Around me you’re allowed to be you. Flaws and all. I promise not to use them against you. Though I’m blunter than your average. So I might… without knowing so and for that, I ask you to forgive me now. If we’re ever gonna work that is. Do you want us to work. Maybe we shouldn’t.. Your a mess, I’m a mess. two messes…

Can we make love happen?

She’s a man, Poetry by Bryan Chan

Unloving and unnurturing,

A woman without a woman’s touch,

Potential mother but then again, not very much

Limited by her ideals, faminism?

No, supremanism

Domination is all she seeks to clutch.

Genre: Love, Heartbreak, Rhyme, Relationship

She’s a man, by Bryan Chan

With trashy ideology and principles,

Her words are bland and hollow,

Mindless substance which have been borrowed.

Unloving and unnurturing,

A woman without a woman’s touch,

Potential mother but then again, not very much

Limited by her ideals, faminism?

No, supremanism

Domination is all she seeks to clutch.

The personality of a wall,

Cold and hard,

not very far from her standards,

white-washed and scrawny,

Crumbling and sickly,

Thinks herself high and mighty,

But in reality,

She is far from great,

The chinese have made far better gates.

She inspires love and passion,

But so do pies,

And cakes,

Not to mention chocolates,

But hers is a poison one cannot negate,

It is mistaken love,

Lest should I think it fate,

She leaves a rush of resentment,

An after taste of hate.

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Mending Mother by Leslie Caplan

I looked deeper in
aching to abyss to understand
And I understoodtand
And I understood

Genre: Healing, Family, Relationship

Mending Mother by Leslie Caplan

I found a photograph at the bottom
of an unopened box
Crackling cardboard dried out from
being rained on
I reached in
Sifting through old letters,
scrawls of random thoughts,
poems that turned into
a thousand page book

I poured it out
onto the open floor
let the air in
let the stream of yellow light
spill in
and wrap around each keepsake

At the bottom,
under the fold and crease where the box
holds itself together
was a picture
At first I thought it was me
But it was you
as a young, budding woman
in a black and white capture
of your innocence
How hopeful your eyes gleaned
how deep the longing for what’s ahead

I held the photo in my hand
sat under the window and let the light
magnify your face
I saw myself
The face of the womb in which I grew
before I was even a thought
in your world
So long before an injection of insane
came in and corrupted your radiant youth
and the palpable wisdom
held in the cup your hand

So young and ivory skinned
Plump in cheeks and heart
And even though the picture was black and white
I saw the rosy tint of freshness
on your face
Your rich light almond eyes
I could see right through

You were lovely.

To the core of my holding
Soft before the world you inhaled
made you bitter to a pucker
Your hands mirrored mine
The shape of your brow
the shine of your lips long before
they dried out from all the salted cries you swallowed

You were beautiful.

I looked deeper in
aching to abyss to understand
And I understood
That somewhere along that paved line of your life
your heart caved
and shattered into too many pieces
to pick up and put back together
and you had to pretend
to be unbroken
pretend to love the man you married
and bore three daughters with
that you pretended you knew what to do with

And all you could do
was raise them inside
the shattered chamber you held together
for the sake of their survival
praying they’d thrive
in spite you

and I did.

I can speak for myself and say I did
And I took what was good in you
sane and whole in you
and I found my way
with what you did give me

life
courage
fire

and eyes so deep they blink
off the stillness of a photograph
and shed a tear so fertile
it grows life
mends and heals and breathes into
my whole life
within and without you
my life in honor
of you.

www.courageousheartinmotion.com

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From the Water, Poetry by Allison J. Call

Like many of you, I burrow seasonal trenches

Up and down and through,

Weaving my way through the ideology

That tomorrow’s winter will ever be colder than today’s.

I prefer a Sunday dance around a newspaper

And a misty cup beside my father’s silence,

Genre: Relationship, Family

From the Water by Allison J. Call

Like many of you, I burrow seasonal trenches

Up and down and through,

Weaving my way through the ideology

That tomorrow’s winter will ever be colder than today’s.

I prefer a Sunday dance around a newspaper

And a misty cup beside my father’s silence,

And I prefer the cold hands of a February morning

Tightening its delicate grip around

My most vulnerable.

I prefer all this, all this to what’s really.

My father counts one every year,

Because dawn is MY years old,

I control the seasons

And he couldn’t possibly die.

He is too wrong, too opposite of me.

Too set in his ways to let the ice grip him

As it grips me.

He’s too much my father to be a poet.

And he never told me that he was, and if he

NEVER told me he was, then

How can it be?

And outside, mint-mist fog ripples like a clock ticking

Wildly without a cog to push it

And without a hand to tell.

I come alone in the morning into the minty smoke

That has sky for veins.

I come alone on a Sunday

To count the drops of the lapping lake water

Or the warm, black metal tins along the edge of it.

In silence, war wears no coat and makes

No promises.

War’s tangled colors are the ticking fog, the water, the tins,

The newspaper dance, the warm coffee.

War is my father whom I cannot define

And of whom I come from without definition or border.

From the water I come virginal, frozen.

From the water I come a bastard, an orphan,

And alone.

I come from my father but I am not my father.

I am the water.

The morning light water.

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CinDER, Poetry by Sheen Francis Reyes

And then you implode
Your toes curl
You bury your face in the pillow
Whispering I miss you
And his name over and over

Genre: Love, Romantic, Relationship

CinDER by Sheen Francis Reyes

https://sheenfrancisreyes.wordpress.com/2015/09/22/cinder/

And then you implode
Your toes curl
You bury your face in the pillow
Whispering I miss you
And his name over and over
Until your voice whimper
Your eyes fill up with tears
For the painful void in your chest reminds you
He’s not with you
You and your own skin are alone
All you have are the images inside your head
And the cinder he left you with
Which every cell in your body craves to burn

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Beautiful things, Poetry by NuBlaccSoUl

Till you can’t walk
Till you are sore,
Yet still smiling
from the thrilling experience,
Till you are sweating pleasure
from every pore.

Genre: Relationship, Love

Beautiful things by NuBlaccSoUl

Till you can’t walk
Till you are sore,
Yet still smiling
from the thrilling experience,
Till you are sweating pleasure
from every pore.
Till your breath murmurs
my first name with every inhale
Till my voice is the only sound
your ears want, need to hear.

i would
rest my head on your bosom
and listen
Enjoy the sweet tunes composed by
every noted word you harmonise

Tales of your life stories before they became entwined with mine
Narratives about your dreams
About who breaks your glassy heart
And what tickles your eye-ducts
into opening a flood of tears.

an inner world of wishes
she deserves beautiful things,
The Nubian Queen, Flower Child.

Facebook page: http://www.facebook.com/nublaccsoul
Twitter and instagram: @nublaccsoul
HP: hellopoetry.com/nublaccsoul
WP: nublaccsoul.wordpress.com
Tumblr: new-nublaccsoul.tumblr.com

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Waitress Serves A Hypocrite, Poetry by Christian S. Eskelund

Genre: Relationships, Abuse

–Waitress Serves A Hypocrite — by Christian S. Eskelund

Your pouty lips smack and smile so
Smugly
As you chew, open mouthed,
Your gum – communicating your cool.
Oh, you’re so easy to read…
Disconnected, unseeing:
Blind and blissfully so,
You walk your path of comfort,
Never asking or engaging, except in
The shallows –
That place of no real wonder,
Where it’s all so easy to see,
That all is measured by what is had
Or not had.
Anyone can tell that
You’ve got it so together,
The 4.0 G.P.A.,
The tidy little life with
Mom and Dad in the suburbs,
Where you grew so strong,
Unsullied and wise,
Your college education long ago
Bought and paid for –
Like your cool.
You’ll graduate next year
After you’ve learned
“Critical thinking.”
You’ll probably take a trip
To Europe soon,
Stay in “nice” middle-class hotels.
Become enlightened,
And romanced,
Look for and maybe find
The man
Who’ll always be strong,
Someone your parents
can be proud of,
Who’ll take care of
Everything
For you,
Afford you
And somehow
Always
Find the time to
Understand
The emptiness that is you.

And I, with my cynicism and sarcasm
Have judged you…
I have judged you as shallow, silly –
A fraud.

Because I do not know you,
I will never know:
Of the “games” your neighbor
Made you play
All those years ago.
How the tears finally dried up,
As you tried to forget
How your “lovers” never saw you – never knew your heart.
How they treated you just as the neighbor did, your uncle too,
And… your Dad.

How could I know:
That you don’t even know how to see yourself,
Your reasons for grasping at the glossies’ propaganda,
Why you let them decide
For you,
Why you came to see life as
Little more than a
Play act?

Yet I already have you pinned
To my specious
Opinion.

And could I know that my attitude
Is why,
Resoundingly why
No one
Will ever see the real you?
Because whoever that is,
or was is lost,
Gone forever.

And could I know how to stop and
See
That it is only because you were torn
So many times
That you are now
So dead inside
That someone else now
wears your skin
And goes to work each day and smiles?

Hard Hat Poet
(Christian S. Eskelund)
29 April 2012
Jacksonville, Florida

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My Estranged Wife, Poetry by Nnamdi Wabara

Janet’s mouth is too bitter!
Worse than bitter leaf soup,
prepared by impatient spinsters, who find it hard,
to recoup the love and care of older sisters.

Genre: Relationship, Rhyme, People
My Estranged Wife by Nnamdi Wabara

Janet’s mouth is too bitter!
Worse than bitter leaf soup,
prepared by impatient spinsters, who find it hard,
to recoup the love and care of older sisters.

Janet’s mouth is too bitter!
Worse than the dogonyaro leaf,
administered in times of illness. The fear of which cures
I believe, the young lad than its potency.

Janet’s mouth is too bitter!
That i wonder if it’s the same lips,
i kissed on that day, with so much relish.
Singles looking on, in their eyes a wish.

Oh, Janet’s mouth is far too bitter!
That to avoid the venom in her spittle;
I make my way, to lay in the chickens’ litter.
There, there’s peace at least a little.

Nnamdi Wabara 2002
http://www.newerthots.blogspot.com

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THERE IS ME, AND THAN THERE IS YOU, Poetry by Kristen Corbisiero

There is me, and than there is you,

Two fools who happened to cross paths,

And find stability in the utter chaos around us.

I found you, in the coldest part of my heart,

While you craved the darkness you sought in me.

So I’ll use you to ease into the noise of my cluttered mind,

Genre: dark, (toxic) relationships, love, and personal.

THERE IS ME, AND THAN THERE IS YOU

by Kristen Corbisiero

There is me, and than there is you,

Two fools who happened to cross paths,

And find stability in the utter chaos around us.

I found you, in the coldest part of my heart,

While you craved the darkness you sought in me.

So I’ll use you to ease into the noise of my cluttered mind,

And you can use me to try and tame you demons.

I think I see the Devil lapping at our heels,

To devour the saints we deluded ourselves into becoming,

For the tainted sinners we always were.

There is me. And now there is you,

Two scorned lovers in an exile bestowed only by those we’ve loved

(It doesn’t matter that they are we. Or we are they.)

I feel you in the deepest part of my bones,

Where my hands have found trouble and grace.

I lost it all when you dug yourself in my heart

Its ice and frost melting the waters that would flood my soul and

And that is the moment we drown.

There is me. There is you.

Two people who happened to know each other

From along time ago, from a past that is better left buried.

I want to fight, for what we had become, but I had be beaten and I was bruised.

So I‘ll sit here on the edge, holding onto every ‘if’ and every ‘maybe’,

Everything that crashed and brought us to our knees.

And we chase and we fall for the same thing every damn time.

But never into each other,

Now into the arms of something better, someone new.

Now there is me. Only me.

You’ve left to find yourself again,

Because you found you didn’t like who you became with me

You lost you mind, let it sink in the loudest part of our love,

So it fell in between the silence of the noise.

The thawed ice frozen once again, freezing back into place.

And the stability I found is numbing.

There is no longer me and there is no longer you.

Just two souls intertwined than detangled.

So we pray and pray, to be cleansed of the demon and devils

To find grace and peace in the walls of a pagan god.

Because I still feel the Devil lapping at our heels

Hungry for the sins we’ve yet to commit,

Waiting to wash away its innocence, and bath in the cruelty of our love.

We come to find the things we once found stability in,

Are the things that lead us further and further into the chaos of our broken minds.

* * * * *

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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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