poetrypulse poetry competitions uk

free monthly competition - April 2018 
(26 entries)
THE GREAT BARD
There once lived a famous man,
Everyone called him the great bard,
His poems and tales were epic,
Not easy to make, very hard.

His fame grew amongst the common folk,
Until word reached the king,
He was summoned to the courtroom,
To present his poems and tales, to sing.

The king was truly impressed,
By what the great bard had done,
He would let him leave on a condition,
Not many, just one.

The king said to the bard,
I want you to teach me, I too want to learn,
You shall be a wealthy man,
A fortune you shall earn.

The great bard replied,
This is something I cannot do,
Poetry is a gift,
It's impossible even for you.

The king lost his temper,
This answer he dreaded,
He ordered his soldiers,
And the great bard was beheaded.

For the rest of his life,
The king tried and tried,
But not a single poem he could ever make,
Until the day he died.

© Mohamed Amijee 2018  Tanzania

Confession
Sorry I was ignorant
Sorry I was selfish
Sorry I hurt you a lot, I know
Please allow me once, to say sorry…

Not because I want something
Not because I care
But just to relieve myself
To be responsible & to be fair…

You can only know my past
My present is something I define
To loosen the grip & to allow myself
To live life, the way I want

Though I owe you much
It's still nothing, you know
In front of what I'm looking at
Not some one but all…

© Pranav Niturkar 2018  India

Strings and love
She earns her liquor by bathing the neighbour’s dog,
Sleeps with her auburn hair swarming towards the sun
She has lost if ever she owned a thing
Unashamed in the way she desired him

Lingering like an old tooth ache,
Or her first memory of blood.
Love was in a bubble between his teeth and her tongue

Her love lashed on him, unbridled,frightening
Painful,
Far too intense, her deep dark eyes,
Grew on him with the warm of wool awaiting a winter.
Loving her was not the easy.
Someone should have told him that.

In her fuchsia dreams,
A window hung in the air waiting for its walls to come
She could not weave her tapestry in a room full of shadows,
Someone should have told her that.

She was a fool who tried to tame herself
Managed her hair and kept her dresses long.
A clown too weak to bear, the hat, the cloak, the colour or the frown.

But she was, a lover, too strong to have a lover
Her lover, very soon, had another lover.

© Fiona Mukherjee 2018  India

Her Deceit
She could not know how they whispered in corners,
Such scandalous words of her adultery,
To her the world was oblivious to her deceitfulness,
But many knew of her secret and word spread like disease.

She could not perceive how events would yet unfold,
or how the scandal would break her when her secret told,
To her the world outside her heart did not exists,
Yet, that world was to collapse, she had taken too big a risk.

Her lover banished, and she, left with the shame,
A heart that was broken and she would know happiness never again,
To her the world was evil and empty and without hope,
But she contemplated a way to end all her pain.

They laid her to rest, but nobody came,
her husband, her lover, both alone with her shame,
And in her new world there was freedom and light,
No longer to live with shame, with her plight.

Memories of her lingered and some spoke of her crime,
Though her deceit it would seem could be forgiven in time,
Her gravestone untended as though she did never exist,
And, all because of love and deceit she could not resist.

© JULIE ACHILLES 2018  England

Baby-making Machines
(#HeForShe)

Many a moon, we broiled ignominy
Since centuries ago - we, automatised
As our gods inuncted us with dolor
And molded us into punchballs

Unshackled from a life of benediction
As our windows were ransacked with knives
As we were locked in chains at ten
To fan aglow the lust of the gods of savagery

They named us lesser bodies
Because they possessed great bodies
Which gifted us to a life of black chimney
Because our lives were equal with terrestrial birds

Bought with some silly price
Purchased as a baby-making machine
Lesser babies given out for a price of sacrifice
To continue the cycle of the previous machine

Franchise denied. Freewill confiscated
Provision seized. High-life snatched
In the name of tradition, denied the treasure of education
In the name of culture, drastically ruined in the future

We gulped the liquid cancer of our mummified gods
After our pride is shaved from our heads
Before we slumber for aeons with cadavers
And oh - our purse was coveted by force

Yet we the purported lesser bodies
Have suddenly stretched out hands to the Deities
We! No longer kitchen creatures
Neither are we baby-making machines

Queen Idia fought the Idah
Queen Amina, a Zarian elder
Queen Nzingha, one in a million
Queen Ahmose-Nefertari, a woman lion

Algeria is grateful to Dahia al-Kahina
Egypt was blessed by Makare Hatshepsut
Makeda, the glorious Queen of Sheba
Bless you Perpetua and Felicity

We are not deformed men but unique sex
We are not weaker sex
We are not baby-making machines
We are life-giving sapiens, not machines.

© Success Akpojotor 2018  England

Last Apology
Sorry for all the time you were there all alone,
Sorry for all the time you were there fighting along.

Sorry for all the time you were pondering why,
Sorry for all the time you were there tiered of being shy.

Sorry for all the time you were there confused and lonely,
Sorry for all the time you tangled there emotionally.

Sorry for not been there when you needed a friend the most,
Sorry for not been there when your feelings become a ghost.

Sorry for not been there when you wanted a tight hug,
Sorry for not been there when you wanted me to make the world shut.

Sorry for not been there when your thoughts throwing you here and there,
Sorry for not been there when your dreams became the nightmare.

Sorry with the hope that this will be the last from my side,
Yes! I'll be there along with you the way our friendship abide.

I'll try to feel what you are dealing with everytime,
I'll try my best to make the sun again shine...

© Seema Naula 2018  India

In Egypt or Troy?
Which way is South? Around me is an echo of rodents scuttling across stone floors. Orange blossoms invade my senses. The sun is dying, spilling red all over the sky. There is no West, there is no East. There's only a never-ending dusk. Dewy palms (Phoenix dactylifera?) stroke my bare arms as I walk onward towards the gaping chaos. My feet sink into sand on occasion, glinting furiously in the glare.

(i) I stand on mosaic floors stretching to the beach. The beach strewn with wreckage from battles against men and gales. Sea-gods stare from their crashing coves, clashing among their own. Their disputes fatal and unfair. The lawyers stand between them, gold slipping between their fingers (piles and piles of it). A smoky haze wears me out, a torched Laurus nobilis once stood tall now a phantom crisp. I see a bird fall from fatigue or torched wings. It spirals and vanishes in the snarl.

(ii) Olive branches teeter in the howling god's grasp. I cannot see through the whipping strands of hair, stinging my raw skin. My eyes water, saltier than sea breeze. I hear my name screamed on the wind. From this land or across the sea, there is no way to know. The air is permeated with cries of despair and curses to my name. I've reached a shore devoid of hope. Tonight there is but one flaw, and it is that of the entitled, claiming what was never theirs. They are the villains. But I am to blame.

(iii) The red woman rises in the storm. I glance at her and we exchange a nod. A mutual understanding passes in that ember glance. We watch as drowning men fight against their fate. We close our eyes to burning men as they wail to a louder god.

(iv) Thunder and lightning kiss jasmine flowers. Juniperus communis vanishes from sight. Vegetation spits out into nymphaea caerulea. I see my way clearly now. Away from the sea. I transpire as the air thickens and moisture is sucked out. The blazes simmer as the smokes darken. Darker than night, darker than sin, darker than Egypt.

(v) Flames burn ships on the Mediterranean tonight. Fire gods exhaust their powers on mere mortals. I turn and follow the ancient paths, in search of fresher waters. This winding snake spilling into the sea must lead to calmer roars.

(vi) Helen has escaped them all. Warmongering men, warmongering gods, flaming ships, drowning chaos, and dashed hope... The desert beckons her now.

© Fatima Ammar 2018  England

Naive
The bright rising sun brings us Morning
From where we start it all
Our lives like blooming of little wild roses
Growing colourful in the wide green gardens.

The Noon brings us the heat of fire
As we have been in the place called Young
Natural, innocent and inexperience
Comes the word you may have heard... naive.

But what can the darkness of the Night bring
The coldness, speechleas and silents in hearing
We needed the countless moments to think
For we were still naive...

As we dream on through the night
We get to learn and be a little wiser
As friendship blooms and feelings grow
Suddenly we feel like in the midst of the same rose.

Naive never escapes... but by it we are wiser
To learn a little each time
To cover our anxiety
Through our lives as we gain dignity
It's just a step of learning.

© Simone Danker 2018  Malaysia

Imprisoned words.
My words are locked behind enamel guards,
that looking on your happiness, bear themselves like a cheap exposé to smile.
Cluttered phrases rattle unshared around my mouth;
slicing my gums and good intentions.
I look on your translucent ice-blue eyes - frozen.
When you dissipated all you left behind was a seed.

Now in me lies a deep rooted sadness,
planted long ago.
Its roots have grown and tangled,
and it’s strangling my soul.

You hold out your palm like a withered olive branch,
left too long to be a peace offering,
now just kindle for the fire burning in the pit of my stomach.
But unwavering I hold your steel gaze,
not shrinking back like before.
I will not be subjugated,
have my narrative dictated
by the toxic masculinity that you bore.
I refuse to be oppressed anymore.

Like crashing waves eroding the shore the words march out of my mouth.

I am the powerful ocean, not a tranquil sea of passivity;
you will find no repression in me.

© Anna Cornish 2018  Wales

Summer
As I lay on the sand
And look up at the sky
I can see the sun shining like a diamond up high
The whooshing waves wash endlessly upon the shore
These are the sensations of summer that I adore
Nothing could replace this moment
Not anything
I pick myself up
Step into the sea
Forget all my thoughts so my mind is free
As all my troubles drift away from me
I go deeper into the rushing water, letting the waves take control
These are the sensations of summer that I adore.

© Shwetha Krishnan 2018  India

The treasure of Burk
Up on the hills men trudged, some claiming they fought through storms, wrestled bears and even dragons, each man had a different story to tell this one man
But, don't the know he's not a fool? This man knows his mountains, his hills and plains if they want him to give in they must think and create a better plan

"You've faced dragons you say, where did you see it? I'd love to go out and with my sword I'll greet it"
"Indeed I'm an old man, but I'm no fool, I have to be wise as I have so much that I can lose"
"So tell me the story again and please spare not one detail, unless you're finish now and you'd give up your silly little ruse"
"Then, if you are, there is the door, take your companions and leave, you aren't worthy at all to be tested for my treasure"
"I award no thieves, no cheaters, no criminals and no liars"

"So who's then worthy of my treasure?who can it be given to, so I can worry no more and finally be at rest and at peace
I'm a weary old man and I deserve to let my mind be at ease"
"So who's worthy of my treasure? Who can take it from me? Speak up now or forever hold your peace"

Then came a man from the untrustworthy fleet, "sir let me present my case, please give me a chance to plead"
"I know you can't trust me for the exaggerated stories I've told, but I was only doing a favor for these men had rescued me from the cold"
"I understand your situation, trust is and will be hard to give, but I assure you if you give me a chance you won't regret it"
"I grew up in a town not too far from yours, I grew up in a home where I was taught of your treasure
Through stories I understood and I believe I've gotten the meaning, and now I've understood all the reasons for your drastic measures
But please kind sir, bear with me as I tell my tale
And, if I don't convince you, then you can send me away as I have failed"

So the man went on and explained himself
Somehow Burk was intrigued by his tale and how he spoke of love and not wealth
And in the end the man was the victor, he received the treasure not only for what he said but how he said it
He understood that the treasure was Burk's daughter, he understood something no one else did

© Jada Jackson 2018  Jamaica

Stree (Woman)
There is a tree
Who is never free
Whenever you need two
She gives you three
We all know her as a stree
Every role she plays
She deserves a reward
Happiness on her face
Is the real award

© tanmay Swar 2018  India

The Loktak Fishers
The new boats on the serene lake
Spring, as is passing by
The fishermen of loktak,
Mending nets in dim lantern lights
Must be ready
Before the first light of a new day arrives
Crooning the traditional folk songs of loktak goddess
Praising her spirit;
Of her benevolent nature ---
Yet fiercely destructive if tempted

© Mahesh Mayanglambam 2018  India

WHEN OLD IS OLD
I wish I could understand why
You are now yet to cry
Is it that you have chosen to lie?
I can't explain
Why you should be in pain
When between us there's no chain
You took your way
Even when asked you to stay.
Goodbye is all you could say
I cried for you all night
Expecting mornings could be bright
I wasn't right
I looked at my ring
And tried to sing
Our wedding song but it was out of my being
A certainity that all that shone
Now is fully gone
I dragged my feet and I moved on
Why now 'my dear'?
Evenwhen I drink a beer
Your voice is not getting clear
My soul left your heart
I don't even like your chat
For I am a rat and you, a cat
We can't retrace
Turn your face
And take your pace
If you are bold
And if u can face the scold
Wait and see old being old

© Jiawa Brokaka 2018  Kenya

Night Changes
In lifeless birth of power and pride
these citylights twinkling like
haughty planets of cosmos,
I rest my arms on the window bars
with soul as quite as nocturnal lamb
peeping for fodder and nectar
through these blameless, glareless walls.
Not yesterday, was this lark, so dark,
no redness gleamed
in these aqueous eyes of mine
and lips gleed to adore
the spirit of butterflies.
These arms knew no meaning of still
for they were clutched
in the love of this,not so vibrant world.
Though same as a day before,
no lust, no lure
yet, something deep arose:
A greed of man to conquer human lots
A monotony full of selfish thoughts.
How could this globe
in just a day,become so opaque?
Why do hearts and minds of mankind shake?
The will to go and quest for hope
is somewhere not in me.
Yet, this abiding one last night
if all my dreams could wake,
who not will seek a brighter land
just let the dawn break.

© vindhya kawatra 2018  India

I love the darkness
I love the darkness
Where my wanderwall embraces my vortex of scarlet dreams
Where the silvery mist glisten with the ashen
Where the tiny fairies appear with magical charms
Where the zephyr kisses my whole body as snow
I love the darkness
Where my wanderwall embraces my vortex of scarlet dreams

I love the darkness
Where I can ride in the pearl chariot to the Princess ball
Where the moon beams play hide and seek
Where the auras of spirits and goblins become alive
Where I can cast a magic spell over the cerulean
I love the darkness
Where I can ride in the pearl chariot to the princess ball

I love the darkness
Where my mind lights up my aura in the serene
Where the woods appear blue with the dusk
Where I hear the tik-toks of the elapsing clock
Where I feel the beauty of love
I love the darkness
Where my mind lights up my aura in the serene

© Hansika Karandewela 2018  Sri Lanka

Nerd
I'll say you are beautiful and mean it
Literally ugly itself is not enough to describe you but I'll say your beautiful and mean it
I'll be the only person that views your status update..one among the few that likes your photos in Facebook ..and Instagram
I'll be the first one to wish you a happy birthday after your mom..
But you just don't realize it
******
When the world started to change
you ware changing too
when the world seemed to forget me
you also ware forgetting all the promises you made to me
Now you hang out with the cool kids
I guess am too hot for you nowadays
Since I don't fit in your cool kind of friends
Now that you get a thousand plus likes you forget to appreciate my single like
Now that you have a hundred status views
you call me the stalker

© pontian muguna 2018  Kenya

Incredulous transformation
A horrid crawling monster
Wobbling with swagger
Terrifying rural youngster
Wanders in bush and farms
On leaves ritually he feeds
Sleeps hours long on leaves
In the open he bath with dews

His life, on leaves he lives
The swagger monster anon,
Transfixed and confined in a coffin
Undergoing metamorphic alteration,
In the end, the monster immobile,
Transmute from its debilitated state
Looking gorgeous and beautiful

With spectrum looking colourful
Like band of colours of a rainbow
Glittering like a golden bowl,
What a transformation incredible!
From crawling to flying like an eagle

© Joseph Saater Undu 2018  Nigeria

Lust from love
A bright smile,
On that chuckling face.
Like the moonlight,
Playing the waves.

A slow kiss,
That moists her lips.
And she moans the touch,
As my tongue slips.

The fire in us,
It burns our heart.
Blending our bodies,
Not to go apart.

A crave of lust,
Caresses our thirst.
The wildness in us,
Makes it burst.

But it's so love filled,
Faith is our arm.
With the respect in us,
That keeps it warm.

© Swastik Panigrahi 2018  India

Constructive criticism
No! no!! no!!!, not at all.
I've never been the same again.
Your showers of mock appraisal,
is pulling me deep down.
Sinking me in my ignorance,
leaving nothing strong enough to hold unto.
Letting me fall head down like a meteor,
with great force and extreme speed.
Claiming to be tough and strong,
I only cried in my heart to elude pity.
I knew I am withering in summer: unusual,
my leaves falling down though green.
I feel my main me wearing off,
calling forth the other me I've made.
So so full of myself,
playing deaf as knowledge calls,
Right now, I'm hanging loose on air,
swaying in all cardinal directions,
wailing for words that will pull me up again.
Heads aching for advice
Heart willing to be criticised.
Criticise me I plead,
Criticise me I beg of you.
Your words only can draw me up,
draw me up out of my aloofness.
Just few words,
only few constructive criticism will be okay.

© Ambassador Amakor 2018  Nigeria

UB
I

As. Chengis, Chingeltee,
Khoroolol, Pagan-Zaisan,
O abodes! – Bad cock!
You concubine! – Old Christ!

Bakhuu, Bogd, Budakhai,
Baigal, Brunettes,
Milky roads, mining humans,
The Great Khan, Martyrs belts!

Of the old law,
Of the oily papers,
The poor humans with bread!
Of the times
Of the dead emperors!

Blind Christ, spirits!
The doctors may cure the blind!
But, who knows!

The surrealists no glee!
The black bread, of love!
In the abodes, dance like modern!
Act like actresses at home!
In the hovels,
We dance on spirits!



II UB

Back in the days
In the seasons of tumult
Where I took your soul
The soul that has no love!

If I weep
I know that you weep
The green smoke of you
Wasted all my effort
Over!
So weak at flats,
At contemplating streets!

I have studied you
With the yelping Mongols
Nigh schools of comedy
Nigh nooks with hysterical cows!

What is there to make of my writing?
O the seasons of tumult
The atrocious dawn
Wherein my veins ran fire indomitable!

The different country girls
With sums’ cottons and boots
Seven days, with spectacled men
The other winter at spectators’ eyes!

O I have known every grannie
Who with yellow coifed hair
I have seen the unknown
People every day!

Bogdee in deel
Khan in arabesque horseshoe
Grannie in lateral art
Law in light bitches!

I have known you
With the whole soul!
In your cavern,
I, with burgundy,
Made soup of writing!

In a ger’s lunettes
With the hovering angels
I have seen the sleeping stars
Starving with soup!

O you and I come and go
Through the deadpan sea,
Through the impassive moon!
With archaic and soulless men
We shall go about the art!

The bearers of sacks or poetry
Entered your city
With naked radiant eyes
Who longed the stupid neon lights!

Like a heedless cow in the lashing
Field,
You, as split stone, washed me
Of my ugly physiognomy!

In the unknown peninsulas,
I, lighter than chips,
Scattered my stupid eyes
Penetrating your elated clots!

Thicker than a pregnant cow
I have become so insolent!
So weak I cannot sing in the opera
O you blessed my vigils!

In the howling streets,
I danced with nighty gown!
where the green sunbeam lightning up
Resembling the far-reaching violets!

Pensive as an ancient actor
I slowly studied you!
So dark were the herd-boys at
The theatre
So slow were the kiss of
A reddening child!

O you and I became the art;
Of the religious ceremonies,
Of the quivering moon,
Of the ancient actors,
Who blessed our dramas!

I have dreamt love on your
Arms;
As benevolent as a motorized embrace
As giant as a high spotted sun
But I am hurled out of your arm!

Where the Revolution’s meat eaten
By hipsters at play
Who balling in the night of
Journeying to its skin!

Where my grandfather nailed his
Balls to the unbelievable feet,
where the luminous water mingled with the brown moon,
Out at the grannies rooftops
Who sung to the targeted whoever comes!

Where I slackened my reins
With brides as fresh as an orange
Apple
Under the horizon of the lighthouses
I wanted a water of you!

At times when the civilization sets in,
Martyrs celebrating your soups,
Your children, your flags,
With the singing fishes!

Is it that at this dawn you weep?
Under this glistering sublime stars
No more I pick your residuum
Nor I bathe in the sea!

O bring me back to this house
No one escapes!
Where the starving prisoners
Stretch out their hands
Amid of perils and foes!

The embers dispelled your languor
Like a serpent
I have seen you!
But you tossed me on the ground!

The black scent of you
Resembling my birth
I danced till I fell down the granite
Floor,
I do not know what I think I saw!

The symmetry buttresses;
The flying larks and the horrifying
Silhouette of the unhappy men
Who with the whooping children!

O your league;
Wherein I entered with burning sang-froid
With the enchanted ousels
With the gassed fevers
With swollen lambs dancing with pride!

O you are the home of glee
Come and walk with me through
Deadpan sea,
Through the barren land
We with wooden shoes!

Without dreaming the stupid
Lineaments of bad actors
Eight nights, I entered in
Your dreams!
With the shuddering pilgrims
With the unsung soup!

O the joker’s unbearable laughter
With black tears,
With the incomparable belts
Floating to the Chinese border
With unshaven masks imparting
The nonsensical history to the poles!

With my stupid eyes
I greeted Chinese girls
With successive nightmares
Of the past or the present!

I, who a madam,
Partied their boudoirs;
The poles of new heaven
The wastebaskets of the old sons!

The heavy bread of love;
I dragged myself to the barbers
Painful tasks with the actresses
As sweet as bad art!

The buttered men possessed
The drinks; as strong as moon
The bleak sunbeam were sun
To the weeping pagans!

The blind zoo; of the starving
Men safe with hallucination
With the birth of art
As old as pyramid!

I perfumed your ugly perfumes
Took the minds to the par
With the eclictics of the flat
Under your splendid city!

Where the people grew out of soil
And with my passu
With a November of art
I followed your waves!

Juxtaposing the skulls with
The torsos
With nullity
I became a patient doctor!

I, drear than alcohol,
Know your gay weeping
Till the vain drunkards come out!
Who racketed till the death
Took them with ambiguous hearts
Under siring ambulance
No green lights;
But green of broken hearts!

Armed with solitary solace,
I, at ten dawns,
Entered your basilica!
O the nights ended blind!

The cattle sanctuary; with
The naked mountains;
The east of gers,
The south of pagans,
The unmeasurable gaps!

The low moon who sweat
With gaiety
Who is the feast to the
Poor men
Who lost the days of the stars!

O I am safe after nights of unsafe!
Dance for the poor children
Who are art themselves!
Who do not know what to say!

The line of what fat actors
With a thousand bearers
Of wastes, of poems, of pedants,
With the piano as light as summer butterfly!

Free with a sheet of poetry
I drunk the blue wine till weeping
Watered me down, watered me down,
In your boudoir,
I stole you from some window!

But Satan night has disappeared.
My poverty of invention!
So weak cannot I lift up my drinks
So atrocious is my eyes!

Lighter than ethereal hair
With nightmares, nighmares,
A thousand nightmares,
With a pregnant month,
I shall enter your city of splendor!

The burning dawn
Of the old
Who seeks the art
Of their children under bare sky!

O I am inertia!
My poetry
Is rejected the law
Of the pagans!

I, who painted a hall,
Ended up embowered in
With the famished heart
I boated in the impassive sea!

The soup of ecstasy
May I devour with my half-soul
With my bewhiskered physiognomy
I awaited the sun;
The nights are unbearable,
The dawn has grown old,
I could not invent my feelings!

The chiaroscuro of the paper-walls;
The less colorful rooms
But the bad color of frothy men
Who under brown moon!

The artistic meat is no less so
Than Arabian boats;
That floats free; with the
Drunken haulers with the bleak eyes!

O I sail on when you sail on!
The poor humans
Conjure up the next happy soup
When they are insatiate!

The congealed hammering blood;
I went down your motorized roads
Till I found the next spot
To plant foot
Indifferent to the wailing babies!

I, who soldered my minds to the poetry,
Am still with you!
O I have seen your thought
What they saw!

The sentinel soul;
We shall enter the sea
With the burning elan
Through the waves, cottons, beams!

O I am not with Mongols,
Stroking my gown
Inside a fine dust
In the eyes of the beams!


O my mind – off the earth!
The storeyings at the feet
Of the pagans
who with brilliant eyes,
With winter appetites!


O the seasons of tumult
Where I am with you!
With the trees as black as cock
In the seasons of tumult!

© Nyamdorjgarav Amarsaikhan 2018  Mongolia

Crazy Water!
Sea breezes originate over the ocean and blow the muddy breakers
Flat onto the shore, where the water fizzes and drains
Into the saturated sands.
My eyes are ever on the sea's horizon.
Why have I lately been so low?
And tomorrow's promise- will it ever come?
You sat on the sea wall, looking like an empty shell
Whose life had passed upon the ocean!
At the end of my garden, starts the steep slope
Down to the sheer cliffs that play drum to every breaker.
Amid the hissing sea and screams of gulls
I hear things that I would rather not.. that crazy water!
O that the waves would sing me a song of contentment!
Like the one of the grey seals and mermen who play in
The flickering eastern twilight of dawn.
But here it's a mad sea, a dirty, crazy water, and
With a sky now building to it's thundery climax,
The lights go down and your voice lingers.
Memories of you stir and calm me and i quicken,
Making my mournful way back to the harbour..
O the things we do for love..would i rather be unhappily
In love, than not in love at all?!
Beneath the waves the to and fro motion of the tide
Shelves the bed and the sandbanks of longshore drift
Project through the water like great white whales
Whose life hsd also passed..
And the sea groynes piled high with jetsam and flotsam,
The off-scourings of nature and mankind!
Rip-tides and cross-currents eddy about the water,
Taking the bodies and souls of men to the dark,
For in no time at all, some may lose more than their mind..crazy water!
But now tide's strength and and the Westerlies have subsided,
And here and there gentler evening breezes
Calm the senses and cool my brow.
And tomorrow's horizon for which I wait on with hope and expectancy
For my lost one..will it be just the same,
The same untroubled ocean, where the grey-blue sky
Meets the blue-green sea, where jade is made?!
The jade fades as do my eyes, and light gets gritty.
Then all is lost to those ever shifting, timeless furrows
Upon which my heart rises and founders
In the muck of existence that is my life..crazy, crazy water!!

© brendan bacon 2018  England

Curiosity
Freckled cheeks and uneven brows,
Eyes roving like that of a mouse;
Moving like a fish out of water
She stares at me from the space now shorter.
Going up to the window I pass her by,
Fidling her hands together she seems shy...
Trembling hands reach for the pen:
She places hers on the armrest then.
Her eyes suddenly full of kaleidoscopic actions!
I see my answers hidden in those reflections.

© Debolina Biswas 2018  India

Dowry!!!!
Let me tell you a girl’s story
Who ended her life because of dowry
She happily used to live with her family
And her family used to live with her happily
For her parents she was like a pearl
Because in her household, she was the only girl
She dreamt her future shining and bright
With all the hurdles she was ready to fight
The girls aim was to become a scholar
But she couldn’t continue because they were poor
Now one day, her parents thought of her marriage
But because of poverty, it was a challenge
To different bachelors they sent her proposal
But from everyone they got a refusal
Nobody with her, was ready to marry
Because the bachelors were asking for dowry
May it be money or the luxury things
How can we get it, her parents began to think
This problem for the family was a panic trigger
Due to which her parents turned into beggars
By thinking about not being anywhere accepted
The girl’s mental health was not being affected
She tried to solve the issue all day and whole night
But her efforts went in vain and she decided to suicide

© Aatif Yaseen 2018  India

Jersey number
If you have seen him score,
you will him for more.
This is what all say,
when they see his bat roar.

It is a pleasure to watch him bat,
be it bowling conditions or batting track.
Whenever he gets those runs,
he brings his team winning the cricket combat.

His shots have the glam,
people wish to capture them in a cam.
Most balls that he plays,
hit the sight-screen with a 'BAM'.

His highest score two-sixty-four,
the innings in which every fielder had his hands sore.
Played ball 1 and ball 300,
sure enough he proved his training to be hardcore.

He is Rohit Sharma and I'm his fan,
his huge hits have earned him the name 'Hitman'.
When it is his day,
even the frontline bowler is a deadman.

Every double century he scored was grand,
his sky high sixes might have caused several aircrafts to crashland.
With respect we call him Ro-Hitman just because,
All the sixes that he hit ended up in the last row of the stands.

© Aman Kumar 2018  India

Dzugashvili
There was once a man named Dzugashvili
He became a monster, a hateful man
His name appears to us very silly
But we do not scoff at his five year plan.
He's accused of murdering many men,
If this accusation is true then why?
It only needed the stroke of a pen,
The man would be dead before the ink's dry.
He was evil,mendacious, wicked man
Thirty-six million he put to death.
Yet even today he still has a fan,
Someone who'd defend him with his last breath.
During the war he was called Uncle Joe
He was Stalin the bringer of much woe.

© John Thompson 2018  United States

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