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SOCIETY Poetry Contest – Deadline August 31st. Submit a poem that’s about SOCIETY and get it made into a movie.

Accepting any poetry in any genre or length that’s about SOCIETY in any way.

All poems will be posted on this network. Over 95,000 unique visitors a day. The winning poem will have their poetry made into a movie. SPECIAL NOTE: Every single entry will get their poetry performed by a professional actor and made into a video.

The RULES are simple:

1. Write a POEM that’s about SOCIETY. Send it to this contest for $20 and it will be POSTED on this site guaranteed for 100,000s to see. Plus, every entry will get their poetry performed at the festival and made into a video. (you own all rights to this poem and whenever you want it taken down, send us an email).

2. Email your POEM to submission@festivalforpoetry.com in .pdf, .doc, .wpd, .rtf, or .fdr format or just cut and paste it into the body of the email.

3. SUBMIT as many poems as you like. One fee per poem entry.

4. The poem can be anything about SOCIETY. An event/situation about any SOCIETY in general.

5. PAY THE $20 SUBMISSION FEE. Guaranteed post on this network. Results to be emailed by September 10th.

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Watch Recent Poems made into a MOVIE:

Deadline TODAY: FREE Poetry Festival


All entries get their POEM shown on this network

OR, have it read/performed by a professional actor.

OR, you can submit your Poem to be made into a video (guaranteed 1000s of view).

Submit your POEM here

Watch Poetry Readings:

Genre: Romance, Love, Kiss
Written by Asya L. Shmaryan
Addiction/Life Poem
Written by Lorelie Rozzano
Horror/Serial Killer Poem
Written by Cassandra Swan
Drama/Life Poem
Written by Lorelie Rozzano

The Golden Man, Poetry by Alexander Nderitu

Genre(s): Politics/Society

The Golden Man
by Alexander Nderitu

I had a dream.
I was walking down a street in downtown Harlem,
The stirring strains of jazz in my ear,
When I bumped into Martin Luther King, Jr.
It was drizzling and darkness had fallen
And I said: ‘Perhaps you could help me, sir.
You see, I’m looking for the Golden Man.’
King said, ‘What do you want them Orientals for, brother?
Say it loud – I’m Black and proud!’
I explained that the Golden Man has no particular colour;
He equates racism with ignorance and doesn’t bother
With petty prejudices, seeing humanity as one.

King said: ‘How long have you been searching, son?’
I said: ‘Quite some time now, more than a year.’
‘Have you ever heard about the “Conference of Birds”?’
‘Yes – some birds made an epic flight to see their God
But when they reached Heaven, a big mirror was all they got!’
‘Exactly,’ said the leader of the Million Man March in D.C.
‘Maybe if you looked in a mirror, you’d find the man you want to see.’
‘Me, the Renaissance Man? That’s a good one!
I’m just another face in the crowd – Nobody knows my name!’
King said: ‘One of the largest biggest living things is the oak tree
But, strangely enough, its seed is almost as small as a flea!
Tell me, what does your name mean?’
‘Well, translated to English, it means “defends mankind”.’
‘Now isn’t that strange! Don’t just talk about change –
BE the change that you want to see!’

James Baldwin appeared just as I was parting with Martin Luther.
He smiled broadly and placed a hand on my shoulder:
‘When I was starting out, nobody knew my name, either.
Later, they were calling me “the greatest Negro writer.”
The dream becomes a goal when you start working
Towards it. Visualise your goal and start walking!’
I thanked him for his advice and entered a nearby bar.

It was warm, stuffy and as crowded as a slave ship.
In one corner, a small TV was showing the evening news.
Poet Gil Scott-Heron was nursing a beer when I joined him at the

He turned and said, ‘You the boy from Africa?’
‘Guilty as charged,’ I said as I ordered a Budweiser,
‘I live right next door to the Maasai Mara.’
At that moment, a hush fell across the bar
As the TV showed two White cops flaying a Black youngster.
Gil Scott-Heron switched off the TV and started shouting:
‘Fear not, for the revolution is coming, my brothers,
And the revolution will NOT be televised!
The revolutionaries will not talk to Larry King
Or crack jokes on the Tonight Show with Jay Leno.
The revolution will not be available on cable,
The revolution will not be sandwiched between commercials,
The revolution will not be yet another Reality TV show,
The revolution will NOT be televised!’

After Gil Scott-Heron’s tirade, order returned to the house.
Billie Holiday took to the stage amid a groundswell of applause.
When everyone quieted down, the lady sung the blues:
‘The Very Thought of You’ was her first song.
Gil Scott-Heron looked at me and said, ‘What’s wrong?’
I said that the song reminded me of my wife.
‘More than the love of my life, she’s the life of my life:
The very thought of HER is enough to make me want to return.’
Gil patted my back, saying, ‘Black Love is so beautiful!’
I said, ‘I didn’t know love had colours, my good man,
And, by the way, there’s no such thing as an “African American,”
All people come from Africa or so the anthropologists say.’
The uproar that ensued drowned out Billie Holiday;
I had to escape before they lynched me.

Standing outside, still ruffled by the earlier hostility,
A young hooker in a micro-mini and stilettos approached me.
‘Looking for some action? – Anything goes,’ said she.
Barely had I finished saying, ‘No, my sister,’
Than she cocked her head, snapped her fingers
And said, ‘Yo sista? You betta change your glasses, Mista!’
And with that, she spun round and sashayed away.

At that moment, Marvin Gaye materialized seemingly from ether.
He lamented: ‘It’s things like that that make me wonna holler!
Our sisters selling their bodies like illicit drugs,
Our brothers turning into junkies and thugs.
Even in these United States, we are kept on the periphery.
I’m talking about the inner-city blues. The powers that be
Have money for space shuttles and foreign wars
But they can’t shelter the homeless or feed the poor.
If this is the American Dream, I’d hate to see the Nightmare!
Taxation without representation. Yeah, makes me wonna holler!
Let’s raise our fists and shout, “Emancipation!”‘

Malcolm X was even more impassioned than Marvin Gaye:
‘You say nobody knows your name, brother?’ –
His glasses were reflecting the neon lights as he addressed me –
‘Forget the slave name and put an X after your first name.
And if you want to see any form of change – any –
Then you have to take the bull by the horns, as they say,
And impose your will by any means necessary.
I understand that, like me, you’re a writer:
Remember that the pen is mightier than the sword.
You see that tall man standing in the corner?
That’s an FBI agent pretending to be an idler
And I’m sure that, somewhere, there’s a sniper
But I’m not afraid of becoming a casualty of war.
If I should die, think only this of me:
That there is some corner of America that is forever Africa!’

As I left Malcolm X, I pondered his last words
And somewhere, soft as the hiss of sprinklers,
Was the sound of a search helicopter.
Could I, like Malcolm, use my pen to stab at social injustice?
They kill outspoken writers, don’t they?
Look at what happened to Stokely Carmichael, Ken Saro-Wiwa…
I had just started to run down the drizzled street when the helicopter
Leaped over a skyscraper and focused its blinding searchlight on me.
I stopped and stared blinkingly at the light, saying my last prayers.
The searchlight morphed into the sun and familiar sounds flooded my ears.
I looked around and realized that I had woken from my nightmare.
Grateful I was, but the memories of that weird dream would not let me go
And I knew in the last that even in waking life,
I would have to continue my search for the Golden Man…

© Alex Nderitu

– Alex Nderitu,

God is real but we don’t exist…, Poetry by Jason Moore

Genre: Reality, Religion, Rhyme

God is real but we don’t exist…
by Jason Moore

God is real, but we don’t exist,
When believers and atheist hear this,
They gonna get pissed!
We’re figments of our own imagination,
Language, love, life,
People, politics, paradise,
War, worry, wind, time, temperature, trees,
It’s like the Matrix movie, it’s all just make believe,
History is fiction,
In this simple truth all religion is missing,
We are less probable than what makes us special,
Mankind’s time in the universe is infinitesimal,
A tiny grain of sand in the universe,
All life we know opposable thumbs dearth,
This impossibility transcends intelligence,
I think therefore I ponder my relevance,
Necks on Giraffes and trunks on elephants,
Pale in comparison to our thumbs’ development,
Evolution provides tools to survive the elements,
AND divine intervention almost makes since,
In the self-centered cloud of mankind’s dream – that’s this!
Were atoms in the cosmos, spirits in a dream,
Time scares us like we saw a ghost,
Then death wakes us from that dream,
Time on earth is heaven,
Where we control bodies like machines,
Life is seldom what it seems,
Don’t believe your eyes – the world’s just a grand illusion,
Time flies and facts lie, so I came to this conclusion,
Life is background TV, were actors and the world’s a re-run reality show,
God’s our only audience bored to tears because she’s seen it all before.

    * * * * *

Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:

Watch Poetry performance readings:

Watch Poetry made into Movies:

Home, Poetry by Virus the Poet

Genre: Relationship, Family, Life, Society

by Virus the Poet

Home life is hard.
Especially when you disregard, the topic of discussion which is to be united with the family yet, still be independent and finally be happy for each other.
I see how we live and it’s not so great, I hate to think about how we penetrate each others fates.
From my mom to my dad I thought we we’re happy until I found out we only just touched glad.
My sister having issues again and she real close to me so I had to have tissues in my other hand man.

It’s sad when family can’t get along; were suppose to band together and stay strong.
Cousins come and go immediate family knows, so I stay on lets go and let them others just go.
No point in mishandling situations, don’t make it worse than the manipulations, that comes along and tries to bring everyone down to a bomb and never stay strong.
Strong? That’s the word that keeps it tight, family and strength is the unified right.

Stand up for your beliefs.
Stay strong for the family that treats everybody as one.
We all powerful when we stick together like the all-powerful sun.
We won, never done, always running for the top, keeping it together like a home on the block.

    * * * * *

Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:

Watch Poetry performance readings:

Watch Poetry made into Movies:

THE FARTING ELEPHANT, Poetry by Trusha Navalkar

Genre: philosophy, relationships, rhyme, metaphor and personification.

by Trusha Navalkar

Shimmering sequins and clicking heels,
Chattering galore as I step into the room.
Ear-thumping music and disco lights
Conceal all the gloom and doom,
As folks whisper and glances steal.

Some scrunch up their noses, what’s the stench?
As if somebody in their direction did just fart
Like a well-aimed dart.
Why, it’s that sad looking elephant on the corner bench.

The same distressed white elephant
Who made a drugged confession to me once,
To feeling betrayed and wronged
And the secret to his weighing tonnes
On a similarly crowded and gaudy night,
The only one sharing my plight,
Playing hide and seek with me in the disco lights.

Who else feels bad for white elephants,
The genial, gentle giants?
Who EVERYBODY wants to ignore,
That cathartic whore.

I said I felt him
‘I mean I’m doing public service!
God’s invisible apprentice.
Representing bitter truths,
Like the agony of fading youth,
Memories that’d rather be forgotten
With unpleasant emotions sodden,
Unspoken confessions,
The trials and tribulations,
Powerful secrets,
And unspoken regrets,
Awkward feelings,
All the wrongdoings,
Uncomfortable natural instincts,
Souls trapped in their secret labyrinths,

I give him a bow
‘That’s a lot of baggage to carry
To secrecy being married.
How do you keep it all in?
Don’t you find tempting?’

‘Aw, I’m BURSTING you see!
I mean, why do you think I’m an elephant,
Instead of a toad or a honey bee?
The proportions of the implications
Are apparently huge you see.’

‘I’m sorry I don’t mean to brag,
But I just don’t understand,
The instinct to ignore and ban
The expression of the deepest and the darkest
And of all that is honest.
Do they not understand,
That revelation
Is just liberation disguised in drag?

I can save you
A lot of money honey
And the discomfort of gut-purging therapy.
Instead of trying to save face,
Come give me a warm embrace;
We’ll revel in our shared secrets and mistakes,
And in the making of a new future partake.

One where there’ll be more tolerance,
And room for repentance,
Where forgiveness rather than punishment will be the law
Accepting that humans are after all only given to flaws.
Let’s clear the air of all misunderstandings
And let flow in real understanding
For LISTENING makes for better communication,
So life can again be a celebration,
Devoid of frantic scrambling for secrecy
And the anxious hiding from scrutiny.

Letting out an anguished sigh
‘I am feeding a futile cornucopia
With the fruits of an elusive utopia.
Wasn’t this stuff supposed to make me high?’

Taking another whiff
He divulged with a sniff
‘To secrecy marry
Is a huge weight to carry.
I long, someday, to be thin,
Thin as a fabric
That passes through the head of a pin.’
I wondered, did we just turn an elephant anorexic?

Tonight to the anorexic goal no more close,
I see him exhale another god-awful fart,
I pity over him with a crinkled-up nose,
Assaulted by the aim of the dart.

Though I know I shall not
Divulge the details of our conversation
To another person,
The proportions of its implications
Being an unworthy burden.

He gave me an understanding sigh,
Tonight now no more high,
Painting an enviable picture placid.
He turned to give me a wink,
Of recognition I think,
In a night laced with acid.

About the Poet:

I am a 21 year old media student from India. A voracious information seeker, I, not unlike others my age, spend unhealthy amounts of time on the internet. I simply eat, breathe, sleep and live Communication with a capital C and like to dabble in all kinds of media. Writing is a hobby I picked up early when I realised one doesn’t necessarily need a mystery to craft a story, a la Enid Blyton.

I am more structure oriented and value the craft of writing as much as the art, if not more. Having worked as a copywriter, I believe in the ability of writing in manipulating and selling a concept, idea or emotion. I am intrigued by the process of making a piece of communication as effective as it can be, and endeavour to work towards that end. I am a big fan of metaphors and they form an integral part of my writing. I use metaphors as hooks and as a tool to make an individual experience relatable to everyone.

I have previously been published in The Bombay Review Anthology.

    * * * * *

Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:

Watch Poetry performance readings:

Watch Poetry made into Movies:

Watch the Top 10 Poetry Movies from 2015 (so far)

Submit your own poem today and get it made into a movie for a low price. Movies garner 1000s of views online and played at film festivals around the world: http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

TOP 10 Poetry Movies so far in 2015:

#10: Watch “HAMMER” by Cassandra Swan

#9: Watch “ADDICTION Says….” by Lorelie Rozzano

#8: Watch “Old Hat” by Sue Walker

#7: Watch “Adieu, Adios & Farewell” by Albert Russo

#6: Watch “I NEED to Get High” by Lorelie Rozzano

#5: Watch “Tomorrow is a Crunch” by Asya L. Shmaryan

#4: Watch “First Kiss” by Lilliana Rose

#3: Watch “The Little Book of Mystic Poetry” by Veer Kumar Singh

#2: Watch “Coming to Syracuse” by Rollan McCleary

#1: Watch “I Am the Imaginary Tree of Light” by Ninon de Vere De Rosa

WATCH POETRY MOVIES (see what we can do when you submit):