The testicles of a foolish man

The testicles of a foolish man
Are heavier than his brain.
He swings them from the left
To the right,
Making his ego swell like the
Belly of an expectant cow.
His testicles are his pride,
And they darken his sight!
They rob him of virtue
And give him vice in return.

He is the man who rapes his own wife,
And does not hesitate to uncover
The nakedness of another man’s child.
His testicles are thirsty for blood,
They demand him to take another man’s life!

They are too heavy to let his hands be
Productive,
He snores by day and hunts for
sex at night.
His money is for whores
As if his wife is not enough.
Pictures of naked women are painted
At the back of his mind.
Lies are tattooed underneath his tongue.

When his testicles itch, he grabs the stick
And whops his wife.
He is not afraid to scream at her
In the presence of her children.
He vomits insults at her,
He disgraces her.

He thinks women are made for his sexual
Pleasure,
He failed to domesticate the venomous
Snake bellow his pants.
How many times has he defiled her marital bed?
How many times has he laid those
Monstrous hands on her without cause!

He does not appreciate her,
In her he sees a sex toy.
A rag he uses to wipe his testicles.
He only goes to her to quench his lust,
And when he is done
He jumps off her as if she was some
Disgusting thing.

He drinks silly and shits in his pants,
But still expects his wife to do the laundry.
He barks at her,
You might think she is married to thunder.
The poor woman does the gardening,
The cleaning and the cooking.
She hunts for herbs to cure her ailing child,
She climbs and mends the leaking roof
While the testicles violently snore.
They think of nothing but to open her thighs
And make babies they won’t look after.
.
The testicles of a foolish man
Are heavier than his brain.
They tell him that he owns her,
That he paid for her.
He now thinks she is his property,
Just because he paid a few cowries,
Some goats and pots of wine
To her drunken father.

What are brainless man!
He uses his testicles to think,
They are bigger than his brain!
He thinks he has a right over her
Just because nature gave him
Two useless testicles.

Poem by Bernard Gabriel Okurut.
Personal Blog: psychicpoetrycom.wordpress.com

Note:
The above poem takes the form of a traditional African song. The purpose of most African folk songs is to mock, ridicule and correct the flaws of man. The language used is strong in order to make the reader or the listener to distance him or herself from the subject being attacked.
About the Author
Bernard Gabriel Okurut is a poet, singer, songwriter and freelance journalist. Author of “The Noisy Silence” and “The curse of a poet” all poetry anthologies published on amazon.com .He is a Ugandan student of English language and literature at kyambogo university, Kampala Uganda. An enthusiast of creative writing. Bernard Gabriel Okurut has his works published all over the globe in different magazines and websites.

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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 account to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.com

A piece of clay

I am just a piece of clay,
Made from dust and to dust I shall return.
Like a flower that blossoms at night,
And withers by day!
Blessed with a life to be taken away.
I am just a drop of breath
Standing between life and death,
Like a light that shines but soon fades.
I am a giant storm of rain,
And its my time to roar like a lion cub.
Its my time to enjoy my short reign.
I am like the sun at dawn, I fear not my dusk,
For to live is to occupy space and time.
It’s my time to live, though death awaits,
To rip the smile off my face
And darken the glow in my eyes.
To suck the warm blood out of my veins,
And make worms meat out of my flesh!
My friends will weep and say,
“From ash to ash and from dust to dust”
For I am just a piece of clay,
Made from dust and to dust I shall return .

Poem by, Bernard Gabriel Okurut.

Author Bio .
A young Ugandan Rastafari poet, singer, songwriter and freelance journalist. Author of ” The Noisy silence ” a poetry anthology published by amazon.com. He is a current student of English language and literature at kyambogo university Kampala Uganda and the founder of Psychic Poetry, a young East African poets movement.
psychicpoetrycom.wordpress.com

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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 account to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.com

Cuts so Deep

When soul wants to fly; cry!
When emotions sleep; weep
For the last time paiñ kisses; misses
Some echos so deep; reap
Some words you feel; heal
Violent, vigorous and cool; a fool
A soul In the wild; child

Will you have a look at; ayhh
My impermanent heart; scars
Close enough on you fingers; tingles
Every wound you touch; clutch
A flower blooms and behind it a shadow; looms
A shattered soul wants you stay; away

WordPress link : monabaig11.wordpress.com

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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 account to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.com

Look at you now

Hi, my name is Maria Teresa Pratico aka Ladysag77. I write poetry to help me process my feelings and emotions. I am an intuitive empath and a woman living with Complex PTSD. I have survived many life circumstances that threatened to take me out and dim my light completely. Having always had a fierce curiosity for the human condition and humanity in general, I write to share hope and faith while inspiring others to live my motto of “Triumphing over Trauma”

My blog can be found at https://www.emotionalmusings.com and I have 2 IG profiles that are @Ladysag77 and @emotionalmusings

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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 account to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.com

Ay Dios mío

En tí me encontré
Porqué en mi estás.
Si pero te perdí
Ay Dios mío,
También me perdí.

Hola, soy Aman y tengo 18 años. Escribo la mayoría de mis poemas en Urdu o Punyabí pero a veces escribo en Español o Inglés también. Blog: urduahsaas.wordpress.com

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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 account to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.com

Beauty

some might say
serendipitous encounters
others would declare
destined connections
when life grants us
unbreakable bonds

i am humbled
i am in awe

beauty is pure love
filling in voids
never knowing
we had within
carefully caressing
old wounds

i am healed
i am alive

these moments
of connection
give us purpose
enrich and nurture
our souls
find the meaning

i am grateful
i am calm

Susi Bocks – writer/author/poet, has self-published two books – Feeling Human and Every Day I Pause. You can find her work at IWriteHer.com or follow her on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/MyHumanityInWrittenForm/, where she invites you to read her thoughts and get to know her. Bocks’ work has been published in the anthology SMITTEN: This Is What Love Looks Like: Poetry by Women for Women and in Scarlet Leaf Review, VitaBrevis, Spillwords, Literary Yard, as well as other literary magazines.

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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 account to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.com

Roulette

Some people
Are dressed up as roulettes
You can spin them off
Place your bets
Try your chances
They are for playing
Games that aren’t for kids

Kids cry when they lose

— I like the signs they put
‘Minors not allowed’

Some kids are dressed up as adults
Pretending they can
Love
What do they know?
They’ve never been hurt.

One should give loving a try
And no one comes out unscathed
To realize he is capable
Of bleeding
And healing
And rising up again

If he must
Join the game they’re playing
Go home crying
Or keep the roulette spinning

Not everyone in the casino
Is there to play.

Esmeralda Balita is a living paradox.

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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 account to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.com

Grief is a Four Letter Word

Grief is the price paid for love
No one can afford.
Because when the light’s gone out
It’s darker than before.

Grief is the price paid for love
No one knows how to say.
Because grief is never settled
It’s a price that can’t be paid.

Grief is the price we pay for love
It may change, but never leave.
So as long as we will live and love,
We will always grieve.

My name is Evie H. I am from Northern Ireland, and I am an unpublished poet. I write poetry to try to process the complicated nature of life. I try to use humour in poetry because I often find if you are not laughing about life, you are crying. I love a broad range of poets but particularly Pam Ayres and John Cooper Clarke.

This is my instagram: @pintstoprose_

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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 account to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.com

The Gift

Life is beautiful
I know this to be true
And like the protagonist
In ‘War and Peace’
It’s taken hard time
Hitting rock bottom
And suffering
To see it clearly
And so it’s with gratitude
That I greet each day
And thank my lucky stars
That in didn’t end
In the depths of despair
All those years ago
Now I see
This amazing phenomenon
Of being a conscious being
With thought and body and soul
As a rare and beautiful gift
To be treasured and cherished
Life’s a gift
Make the most of it

I’m 33 yr old red blooded male from Canberra, Australia, writing poetry to process the pain of a lengthy jail sentence and to spread positivity about the magic of being a living human at an exciting point of history. Most of my poems were written while incarcerated and share the kind of resilience and hope that comes from facing hardship.

I chose a nautical aesthetic because the of richness of meaning and metaphor in the Sea speaks to me of the person I’d like to be.

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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 account to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.com

Bad News

I awoke in dimmed light — the spirit of forging on slightly dampened.
But a new day had begun anew. I owed it to nature to oblige with movement.

Slow slaps of arthritic pain on the laminated floor bore witness to that effort.
The smell of coffee circulating in my nostrils urged me on.

Looking out the kitchen window previewed a gloomy day.
Bare brown limbs prominently on display with the sun hidden behind the white backdrop.

I watched as flat and fluffy white flakes mingled with the ice-encased scenery.
The hard-crystalized nature would eventually shatter, litter on the ground indiscriminately.

Steam from my coffee curled up into view like a typical fog.
This scene of dreariness further clouding my demeanor.

The TV spouted the daily “Breaking News,” breaking me down even more.
“Does anything good happen anymore?” I wondered.

The responsibility of my existence sits on my desk chipping away at my bank account and self-esteem.
Once again, screaming, “I can’t give what I don’t have.” 

My ringing cell phone urged a distraction from this misery.
Tears began to flow as another nail hammered in, another in my generation gone.

With trembling hands, I ended the call and stared out the kitchen window.
And with a heaving chest, a wet face, and blurry vision, I broke.

I should have predicted the inevitability of heading back under the covers.
The older I get, the heavier the weight of what life has to offer, the more defeated I am.

Susi Bocks – writer/author/poet, has self-published two books – Feeling Human and Every Day I Pause. You can find her work at IWriteHer.com or follow her on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/MyHumanityInWrittenForm/, where she invites you to read her thoughts and get to know her. Bocks’ work has been published in the anthology SMITTEN: This Is What Love Looks Like: Poetry by Women for Women and in Scarlet Leaf Review, VitaBrevis, Spillwords, Literary Yard, as well as other literary magazines.

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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 account to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.com