Poetry by Abuh Monday Eneojo Another Flight & Solace

ANOTHER FLIGHT

And then I walked into the background

To visit the lonesome age of the proud

To see them at sea

And hear their incessant plea.

 

They looked at me with disgust

But I, with plight

I could sense the sense of this marauding

Beast in a stance

But their dancing eyes swindled the glittering heart-dance

 

And then my inexorable rump spoke

Hey! Leave this yoke for another day

This beast of the nation to their talkless talk

And deliberate dive to death’s play

 

SOLACE

When a man sinks into the wells of life

He doesn’t know how to stop the strife

He must pry into the thoughts of his mind

Willing or not; it exhumes and he is blind

In his conundrum ways suffice

Coming in like water embracing the soil.

In aged age of aptness he smiles the mice

He malice the world as he takes a solitude coil.

Abuh Monday Eneojo is a poet, author, trumpeter, Voice over artist and an on air personality at a campus radio in Kogi State, Nigeria. He also is an ardent lover of nature whose work revolves around the nature of things. His first publication, The World Within, was published September, 2018. He also loves the acrostic form of poetry. You can contact him on Facebook @Abuh Monday Eneojo, Twitter@MondayDpoet and LinkedIn@Monday Abuh or via email: abuhmonday@gmail.com

 

OAP

and host

Music prompt which comes up Sat&Sun 4-9PM (GMT). 4Lo me and turn on notification to feel the beat!

 

Holding Onto Dreams (c) Linda Crate

holding onto dreams

I remember

being bullied as a child

for everything:

being shy, my weight,

the color of my eyes,

my laugh, my refusal to

drink underage,

my clothes, my sensitivity—

anything perceived as weakness

was a weapon they’d use

against me,

it wasn’t until my uncle

took his own life

I realized that i didn’t want to die

just wanted the pain inside

of me to wither away

like a flower before winter;

and I feel so guilty for being so lost

inside my own pain

that I didn’t realize he had struggles

of his own—

but he told me to chase my dreams

relentlessly and never let them go,

and so, I am here holding onto this anthem;

hoping one day I can make him proud.

Linda M. Crate’s poetry, short stories, articles, and reviews have been published in a myriad of magazines both online and in print. She has six published chapbooks A Mermaid Crashing Into Dawn (Fowlpox Press – June 2013), Less Than A Man (The Camel Saloon – January 2014), If Tomorrow Never Comes (Scars Publications, August 2016), My Wings Were Made to Fly (Flutter Press, September 2017), splintered with terror (Scars Publications, January 2018), more than bone music (Clare Songbirds Publishing, March 2019), and one micro-chapbook Heaven Instead (Origami Poems Project, May 2018). She is also the author of the novel Phoenix Tears (Czykmate Productions, June 2018).

Follow Linda on twitter @thysilverdoe

 

Photo by Guillaume de Germain on Unsplash.

 

 

re-post Poetry: The Reflecting Mind by Hillary Behsharam from FOTM Poetry & Art Digest Issue 1

The Reflecting Mind

 

You will know it

by the black smoke

and the fires I 

keep burning 

day and night.

Creation comes- 

in a tempestuous wave

an explosion of words

a book of images from

a tale yet to be told.

It is the business of every moment

to learn

which fuel burns hottest,

with the brightest flames for

highlighting phantoms

in the stardust.

“I am a poet from Chicago, and I am perpetually revising myself. I am in love with the stars and hope to have the chance to visit them someday. I have been writing poetry since high school, but until now I’ve focused more on developing myself, my influences, and my store of words than on publishing. I am continually working to develop a community of fellow lovers of writing and poetry on my twitter and Patreon. Join me!” http://www.patreon.com/behsharam

Twitter: @Behsharam

Image result for black smoke unsplash

Poetry by Samuel Strathman : Instability & Going Backwards

Instability

keep the sound out

keep your hands to yourself

let me think on my own

 

loneliness does not

faze me at all

companionship is the

root of all my problems

 

wait for me to come to you

or else I will shatter at your feet

 

GOING BACKWARDS

today

caffeine lacks its usual potency

I am out of my body

a hollow chalky sound

bouncing off a long hallway

stumbling further and further from

where i belong

after you left

I fell into a sinkhole

where i started beating

myself up over losing you

 

Twitter: @_strathman

Samuel Strathman is a Jewish/Canadian poet, author, and educator who was diagnosed with a non-verbal learning disability at the age of seven.  Some of his poems have appeared in Half a Grapefruit Magazine, Montreal Writes, Peeking Cat Poetry, and Anti-Heroin Chic, with more to come later this year.  His book “The Radical Dreams” became available on Amazon back in April of 2018.  He lives in Toronto, Ontario

Poetry by John Ogunlade : An Eternal Home, Darkest Hour, It Can Erupt

An Eternal Home

A man on the sick bed of separation,
A talking earth lies there for eternal refinery.
His speech is a shooting star from a falling sky–
Pondering listening ears hard for his depart–
Invoking tears on bystanders-a gully of feelings.
His wishes lies on his mortal lip–
To leave companion unrests weaken veins–
Whose flow of blood appointed limited time.
Companions–an onlooker of a passenger–
All helpless watching him going to an eternal world.

DARKEST HOUR

His mind wanders about,

trying to clutch what makes him internally
dissolved,

but it seems the grip has delved into nothingness.

He is a
shard of broken mirror.

The thought of his late wife

has made his
feeble hands look like a cataract of gore,

from pummels and strewn
of mirror reflecting his awkward self.

Overwhelming sounds aren’t
swallowed in the thin air.

Sounds are the clattering of plates, the
thudding of pots and the weeping of his two-years old son.

The chubby
toddler.

The one that gives him joy and halts him from diving deeper
into the darkest hour.

IT CAN ERUPT

 Anger 1
It boils.
His mind can’t endure choking it back.
The heat inside sear his head.
No iota of grin– a squeezed face.
Now, watch out! A volcano is about to erupt.
Anger 2
The muscle begins to flex.
The teeth gnashes– it vibrates.
The feet is the carrier of a vex lunge.
Hands want a toss in the air to clasp traitor’s neck.
Here, it is not opaque! It has repudiate soothe voices.
Anger 3
1…2…3…Explosion!
The opposite receive swollen cheeks from pummels.
When he punches an object rather than the face.
Even the thief ant should cringe– a bestial has evolve.
He scream and entertain gasps of danger.

John Ogunlade is a poet and fiction-writer. His writings encompasses effusive concrete matters circling around the happenings of the society. He means to portray the mystery behind human emotions and activities. Some of his works are published in ANA (Association of Nigeria Authors) Anthology and Sharpening the Green Pencil Haiku Anthology. He was also long listed for the Pendle War Poetry Contest 2018 for his poem, “Far Back in the Dark”. Twitter: JohnOgunlade1