Poetry Poems
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Continue readingMy Brothers
by Robert William Service
While I make rhymes my brother John
Makes shiny shoes which dames try on,
And finding to their fit and stance
They buy and wear with elegance;
But mine is quite another tale,--
For song there is no sale.
My brother Tom a tailor shop
Is owner of, and ladies stop
To try the models he has planned,
......
We Refugees
by Benjamin Zephaniah
I come from a musical place
Where they shoot me for my song
And my brother has been tortured
By my brother in my land.
I come from a beautiful place
Where they hate my shade of skin
They don't like the way I pray
And they ban free poetry.
......
Poetry
by Pablo Neruda
And it was at that age ... Poetry arrived
in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don't know how or when,
no they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
......
Dis Poetry
by Benjamin Zephaniah
Dis poetry is like a riddim dat drops
De tongue fires a riddim dat shoots like shots
Dis poetry is designed fe rantin
Dance hall style, big mouth chanting,
Dis poetry nar put yu to sleep
Preaching follow me
Like yu is blind sheep,
Dis poetry is not Party Political
Not designed fe dose who are critical.
Dis poetry is wid me when I gu to me bed
......
once again
by Rikske Kessner
there was a time
when thoughts
were pencilled in
by flashlight or nightlight
well after the house
has shut down for the night
there was a time
when poems
were extensions
......
Like the Rhythm of a Brook
by Lee-Ann Azzopardi
Be still, my heart
Don't rush before we buckle
My body shook this morning
And thru the day, it continue to be shaky
Until I was in the safety of our home
I quietly try to concentrate
So, the words could flow
But no chance that
Until a trickle of sould began
Be in me, my beating, heart
......
sword or pen?
by Rikske Kessner
When a poet takes up arms
their quill is orphaned quick
though the pen is mightier
the sword some bards will pick
however just the cause may be
forsake their weapon true
to lose what makes them free
sad the day when all is through
My metaphor - Sanja Atanasovska, North Macedonia
by Sanja Atanasovska
My metaphor – a robber who takes hostages,
a free picnic in nature,
a tent that can be placed
between two encyclopedia covers,
a rainforest with giant lungs,
my metaphor – a pharmacy with medicines
for all possible diseases,
a simultaneous translation booth,
a noblewoman who waltzes
with even and odd numbers,
......
the endless thread
by Rikske Kessner
There is always a poem waiting—
an understudy, breathless in the wings,
shadowed by today’s centre stage,
its lines trembling, yearning to be heard.
This poem, however, holds its ground.
It stands, distinct as a fingerprint,
etched with the soul of its unwritten forbears—
the lived and the whispered, but never fully spoken.
......
