Beautiful Soul

You are the beautiful soul, the being & the core of my life
You are that beautiful creature, disguised to disappear & to hide your naked eyes
You are the true blessing, asking me to look beyond the hue & cry
You are the greatest teacher, spreading wisdom to live & not to die
If you weren’t here, I could’ve never understood the I in you & the zen of daunting sky

Sensitive, sensible, sweet, strong & so intense
If the things aren’t the way you intend
You get too high & often very tensed
You feel all alone & your world starts getting too dense
I can sense the fire inside you when you’re about to loose your dance
All I want is to hug you in this crazy presence
Hold you tight in my arms & connect with you at the deeper frequence
I’ll walk with you on that string in search of fine balance
You are the sun – the intense verse of U.N.I.verse

Tea Granny

She lost him last year
Seventy one he was
In their decades,
he brought her tea to her chair,
two, three, four times a night.
“Are you bottomless?” he would say.
She would smile,
because she knew he would bring it anyway.

Yard sales were their favourite haunt,
and he would always pick up some foolish trinket
to add to her dusty collection.
She would feign annoyance,
but would have him build another shelf when needed.

They were good together, and their money was enough.
But no more.
Behind in the rent,
she was turned out of their neat little apartment.
Welfare led her to this forlorn hallway
with a door that would not lock,
a peephole without a peeper.
A one person kitchen.
A hotplate.
A rollaway bed.
Cracked walls and peeling paper.

Her collection? Thrown away in tears.
Except the one thing he had bought her
that she never had put on display.
A dainty painted teapot you could plug in
as a night light.

Tonight, she does that.
Just above her old kettle and once-white cup.
It dispels the greyness.
She remembers him, and she cries.

Hello, I am Lee Dunn. Working stiff (retired).  Avid reader, dreamer, and searcher. I write some eclectic poetry, prose, personal stories, and fiction. Have had work published in the Shelburne Free Pres And Spillwords Press. I blog on WordPress at https://secret-lifeof.com/

If you would like to have your work published in The Poetry Bar send your poem, a few words about yourself and the link to your blog and Instagram (if you have one) to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.com

THE SPEAKING CLOCK

Thick talk
Thick talk
Says the clock

No time
No time
So it goes

Thick talk
Thick talk
Says the clock

Wake up
Wake up
So it goes

Thick talk
Thick talk
Says the clock

Look up
Look up
So it goes

Thick talk
Thick talk
Says the clock

Stand up
Stand up
So it goes

Thick talk
Thick talk
Says the clock

Work hard
Work hard
So it goes

Inung Joseph is a published writer and Poet from Cross River, Nigeria. He read Physiology in Cross River University of Technology. He lives in Lagos, Nigeria. He blogs on: Inungjosephblog.WordPress.com
Instagram: Inung Joseph

If you would like to have your work published in The Poetry Bar send your poem, a few words about yourself and the link to your blog and Instagram (if you have one) to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.com

I’ve been here since birth

no longer adapting to the world
and feeling trapped inside this person.
figure me as what i am,
but what they see
is someone hurting.
silly me,
it’s so discerning:
seeing me
in front of curtains.
feeling trapped inside this person.
open windows.
i am hurting.

jump my tears away.
(i’ll jump my fears away)
in hopes of learning.

no love here for they
will not adhere;
will just add fear
to play.

but, no place here today.
so, i just . . . mm . . .
so, i’m just here to stay . . .
Carl E. Webb, II. twenty-four years old. living in Mesquite, TX. pouring reveries onto pages, hoping to ease the woes of those that witness.
on my blog, you will find some thoughts, some lessons, some pains, some joys, in the forms of poetry, prose, short short stories, and more. read on, if you’d like; and, understand. and, enjoy. thank you.

If you would like to have your work published in The Poetry Bar send your poem, a few words about yourself and the link to your blog and Instagram (if you have one) to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.com

#savingme

« You.are.my.wife ». He shouted it. He was completely out of control. I was wondering whether he could arm me. I did not protect my face. I put my arms around my belly, feeling my child’s life inside me. I closed my eyes. And it was over.

His wife. Like I was a chair or a table. Like I was his property.

I was his prize. I was the one welcoming him with a smile and trying to be nice, always. The one cooking and cleaning and making his life easy. His nightmare some days. His terrible choice, other days.

In between. Only drama.

His breath and his eyes and his steps. I remember fearing the sound of his steps and the key, the door, opened and closed with a bang, the light switched on, even when he knew I was surely asleep at this time. And his body against mine. And his hands on me. And his breath again, full of cigarette and beer. And the same old marital, sexual duty.

At the beginning it was ok. Not wonderful but ok. Loads of promises. Love in the air. It did not last long. Not long enough for me to enjoy it. The first threat was just around the corner. Big mess, harsh words. He left. And he came back. And I apologize, out of nothing, for nothing. And it was nice again. And he proposed, kind of. And I didn’t say “yes” straight away. No way. So manipulation started. He would ignore me then say “he loves me”. He would be happy and then tell me “you are a slut, you’re nothing”. On and on and on. Till I said “yes”. Just to have peace. I believed maybe this would make him happier. And life would at last be a good one together.

It got worse. Nothing was never good enough. I was never good enough.

I was a mess. I was tired. I used to knock my head against the walls, wishing I could hurt myself more. I wanted somebody to see I could not cope anymore. I was becoming a ghost in my own body. I wanted somebody to take care of me. He said he would, if only I was good to him. But I was always making mistakes. I was always begging for forgiveness. So I could sleep again and have a “normal” life.

He never kicked me or slapped me. But his words and his look. His contempt. Him thinking he was better than anybody else. Him and his threats to kill me. Him and his will to control me. Him and his body against mine and his silence. He stole my money and 4 years of my life.

But he didn’t win.

I got away. One night. We didn’t talk at all for ten days. I remember hiding myself in the bathroom, crying under the water so he wouldn’t hear me. I would sleep on the sofa in the living room with my belly becoming bigger and bigger. My pregnancy saved me from a life of pain and violence. I took a one way flight, leaving everything behind.

It did not stop after that. But at least I was home. I was safe. It took me years to find myself again. My baby boy, my family, my friends helped me on the way up.

I believe talking about abuse, violence, is key. We need to share our stories. It can help. It can make a difference. Victims need to know they are not alone, need to understand that silence is a killer. We must raise our voices. We must tell them that a life is possible after hell. And that they are beautiful and deserve all the love in the world.

My name is Marie. I live in paris and write both in French and in English. You can read me (in english) onhttps://mahshiandmarshmallow.wordpress.com or (in French) on  https://latmospheriquemariekleber.wordpress.com/

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#savingme is the column where abuse victims can publish their experiences just to let go and find comfort and support. Maybe it doesn’t feel like much but just publishing your story for others to read makes you strong. You can send your story about the abuse you went through to savingmestory@gmail.com and you can choose if you want it to be anonymous or not. More details here. 

The World’s Ablaze

Chipmunks skitter across the patio deck,
As the sun beats down in violent rays
The air feels thick with the world ablaze
Seems nature can’t cash a human check

Destruction lay in the wake of human greed
With the influential too self-concerned
For riches more than innocence burned
An ostrich head in sand knows no creed

The burden of our neglect won’t rest
Upon the frail shoulders of our aged
But the young innocent and outraged
With time increasingly more pressed

What is a fat wallet and ignorance worth
When the world vanished from your con?
You send sunscreens to those woebegone
In compensation for this sizzling Earth

Perhaps with luck, the ignorant will fall to fate,
Like foolhardy presidents with dead cat toupees,
Before our children find themselves too late,
For ambitions to exterminate the human race,
When hate and greed are leadership traits,
The world’s falling flat on its orange face.

Hello! I’m Mat Sackrider from Blog of the Wolf Boy. (Thank you) www.wildandfreeliving.net
I’m a 30 year old man from Southern Ontario. Traveller/Adventurer, Progressive Humanist, Broody Father, New Blogger and Mental/Phsyical Wellbeing enthusiast. I hope you check me out and find something to enjoy.

If you would like to have your work published in The Poetry Bar send your poem, a few words about yourself and the link to your blog and Instagram (if you have one) to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.com

Love and Tears Blended

I stretch out my arm,
Feeling soft skin,
A tender reminder,
Of hearts joined together.

Somedays sadness comes,
Reaching inward to tangle,
That which holds me together,
My faith, my love, my heart.

No train, bus or car,
Can travel my path,
Or live my life for me,
I must keep moving and be strong.

Again, I stretch out my arm,
Forgetting how to cry,
Tears all dried up,
Still needing life to stir and blend me.

I cry out to God to say,
You are my truth,
I am weak and guilt still hampers,
Freedom from past times.

I roll over, knees drawn inward,
Sleep will come like a cover,
Tomorrow is another day,
Intertwined, one heart with another!

 A warrior, a dance of strength,
Grabs me, reminds me of my hopes,
I reach for my dreams,
They are floating but so can I.

My way will come like the blossoms,
On the flowering pear tree,
Covering me with a blanket of blooms,
And a carpet of warmth and love!

Link to Poem on Site: https://the-inner-child.com/2019/03/22/love-and-tears-blended

Link to website: https://the-inner-child.com

I am an Adult Child of Alcoholic (ACOA) survivor – warrior. I am a poet, novalist, wife and mother. My goal is to help even one person by sharing my experiences with others. I love God, and Jesus and the earth that he has given to us to inhabit during our short stay here. I also feel blessed to be able to read the works of all the folks in our amazingly talented and supportive community.

If you would like to have your work published in The Poetry Bar send your poem, a few words about yourself and the link to your blog and Instagram (if you have one) to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.com