The Street I Lived, Poetry by Chey Laine

 Genre: Life, Society, Dark, True Story, People

In the brilliance of the night
screaming believers rage the streets of plenty
looking for holes in hope
needles and thread they carry in the plenty
band aids won’t help here ~ friends
there’s more than enough of the ill and the lost to live on
and here with the wheelers and dealers
the screaming believers and do gooders’ and not so good at doing much
Is someones little taste of paradise
thats all gone to shit

Down here with the lost and ill chills
There’s a taste for lost souls
Where the angels fly close to the ground
many a feather seen found
being worn in one of the lost crowns
For they are all Kings and Queens here

From times of once before and could have been and dreams
Yes dreams ~ There are dreamers here
those that will forever be lost in a dream
Mostly its nightmares and fallen frowns
that now blanket over once upon a time smiles

Here the smudged out blackbird eyes wear misery
thats been stubbed out like a coal butt
burnt down to its filter
to suck up the grease and shit off the street

Such is the movements of notes here
Conducted by the skinned boned pimps
that smile with croc teeth
hungry for fresh meat

Here is my street
here is where I was found
in the lost and found
here is where I lived my youth
taken by the smile of croc teeth
here is the place where I dreamed of escape
and lived nightmares
here is the place I will sometimes return
to remind me
life is priceless
dreams
can
come true
to get out
mine came with a price

Loss of life
the sentence
to carry for the term of my life

By @beezknez aka beezlaine on Twitter
Kind Regards Chey Laine off Twitter :))
 

 

 

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ENJOY, Poetry by GUILLERMO ROCHA

Genre: Life
—-

Always, enjoy the life

It’s a big miracle that involves

constant breath, profitable moments and a lot of suffering

You can create your own circumstances

Always or sometimes

Be your essence

It’s a daily work that you must improve

Through walk without socks at grass

Forgive your big and small mistakes

You are free to decide.

When you to liberate you mind? 

 

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Poetry, by James Spilman

Genre: Life

There sitting beside you.

You look into his eyes and see a mirror or a bottomless well

Either way you can’t tell

Who’s there

In that chair.

 

 

 

 

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Moon Sparks, Poetry by James R Adams II

Genre: Life

The Sun threw sparks of Moon Light
To warm the waters of the Gulf
The sparks they danced and flickered
The World lost in myself

A menthol smoked me deeply
As I rode a Marlboro Rail
The hot Gulf air it breathed me
Too distracted to even tell

My gravity it pulled the Earth
It could not separate
I sucked its helium through my feet
It could not float away

I swore again this one last time
It would never be the same
I payed my toll, the bridge crossed me
As the sky below me rained

The Emperor kept on dancing
No pitchforks pierced his feet
The demons all were laughing
Their works both incomplete

Why then won’t you tell me
It’s so hard to separate
The madness from the music
Our Illusions from our Fate

Most mysteries go unanswered
No need for question marks
The days they end with commas
But Life lives on a Spark

So now I am tap dancing
On light speckles in the Gulf
The Angels all are laughing
And the Demons all are broke

So please now don’t you ask me
How it’s simple to separate
Between the madness of the Music
And reflections judged in haste

As I sat in glaring silence
And watched what I had done
The shade began to blind me
My ears screamed at the Sun

It’s rays swallowed my virtues
I thought oh what a mess
As demons put me in their sights
A Kevlar bullet pierced my chest

I cried in indignation
At what I thought they’d done
They screamed “That wasn’t for you’
We were aiming at your son

So tell me why it’s so hard
To really separate
The madness from the music
And the questions of our faith

I pointed my gun at myself
And I loaded it with salt
You won’t hurt me this time
I’m prepared for your assault

When the firecrackers went off
July Fourth in full swing
I swigged on your shortcomings
And chased it with a ring

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AMNESIA, Poetry by MARIAM AKEWUSOLA

Genre: Rhyme, Life

Last thing I remember,
Violent movement,
Forceful pause,
Inferno!

Two colors shining bright.
Red, blue, red, blue…..
Loud sounds
And slowly, I drift.

I wake up with head ache
Tubes in every hole possible.
Painful tears begin to roll.
Memory sea begin to flow.

The year
When our women fought
Equality they wanted
Freedom they chanted,

Their motif was drawn.
Their goals became reality.
Women must work!
Women shall vote!

The head ache is back.
My memories start to fade.
I hear men in white coat call it a name,
Amnesia or so.

My memories now running away.
Please, give reasons why I am alive?
What\’s the whole reason for my existence?
I am becoming history.

My eyes shot open
The light becomes painful.
I slowly sighted a lady,
Her nudity very unpleasant.

The world am in.
Women call rags fashion
Their nipples are in tears.
The way they flaunt it becomes unholy.

My vision of the world reverse.
A woman\’s body becomes worthless.
How soon do they forget,
How fast do they become wayward.

We forgot the fight,
Amnesia is kicking in,
I rather die than stay in this world.

Where a woman\’s body is prized
Where women can\’t carry themselves high.

All for the sake of men.
Men who are fully clothed.
Men who fall for the inner woman.
Men who would eventually disappoint.

I rather run
Far from the world, never to return,
Till my sex is an honour,
Till women ride men.
Till women crown kings.

To be dominant
She has limits.

To be successful
One must work.

To be a woman.
We must have dignity,
She must be proud,
I must be graceful.

My time is up.
Amnesia has won.
My good memories gone!

I shall return .
When my sex wears clothes.
When my sex isn\’t an object of pleasure.
When my sex obey rules of decency.

I shall return.
If this amnesia would be gone!

MARIAM AKEWUSOLA
 

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 WHEN THE MOON SLEPT, Poetry by Akinkunmi Adewumi

Genre: Life, Society

 WHEN THE MOON SLEPT by Akinkunmi Adewumi

The moon slept,
But we were awaken to Hunger,
We groan and groan,
We wrestle and wrestle,
Our left hands on our aching stomachs
Writhing in agony inflicted by Hunger.

At the first cock crow,
That Sleep already stole our night,
One of us after the other,
We slept like horses,
Wherever sleep caught us,
On our lame arm chair,
Our wrinkled skinned mat,
Until the sun rescued us from the
captivity of the night.

We woke to another episode of hunger,
Another conflict,
Another climax-
Where is mama?
Her clothes are gone,
She is not in the kitchen,
Not in the neighbourhood,
Her photographs gone,
Her sore memory dawn
On our vision…

Bolanle, now 13,
Spits litres of saliva every minute,
Her stomach as round as a tortoise’s back,
Bunmi,
chameleons motels every night,
She wears men like clothes,
Papa can drink
Lucifer’s urine…
Papa can impregnate the moon,
If she were in a wrapper.

SHORT BIO OF THE WRITER

Ogunleke Adekunle Emmanuel also goes by the pseudonym Akinkunmi Adewumi. He is a writer and a poet. He was a runner up of Prof. Gbemisola Adeoti’s poetry prize, Dr. Isiaka Aliagan literary prize. He runs and publishes his works in http://www.penpays.wordpress.com. He believes words can change the world the same words were used to create the world…

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Full moon, Poetry by Adams Duniya

Genre: Nature, Beauty, Life, Uncertainties, Hope.

Full moon by Adams Duniya

This bald asterisk
Over cottoned sky-high:
Wide-height, with silver hue
Has thou cast. In slow-line crawl
By soft retractile attendance –
Resolute for celestial harmony,
Has heavens splendour, thou calmed.

Let thy pseudo feet –
Ever soiled in resoled purpose
All earthly heaving, suck;
And every sigh’s brim
With sensuality, smear.

O, attenuate my love
I behold Sky Boy! –
It’s baby-hour-out; but
To what do we owe this visiting?
Let those tales recycle
And us, wisdom re-hear!

Trace thy trails
To the firth thou please;
Thy silent symphony holds
Our hearts to solemn assembly.
Nature has moulded thee sybarite;
The heavens have crafted thee sylph.

To our vain pilgrimage here below
Render a surfeit of thy grace
And galvanize us against the scourging
Sun of life. But night: of evil souls,
Do not leave us to it –
When thy health’s beginning to ebb.

* Taken from my book, “Polygons” – By Didam G.A. Duniya
(Partridge Publishing, 2015 | https://www.amazon.com/Polygons-Didam-GDuniya/dp/1482805812)

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