Prepared to Fly

You feel so low
Cause your dreams are shattered high
You feel depressed and lost
For all the pain and the cost.
Your efforts have gone in vain,
You are struggling to stay sane.
It is so hard to remain in the light
When you have already lost the fight.
You started feelin’ so dumb
Cause Your heart gonna pop out with
numb
You are watching
the curtains closing,
While the world is sleeping.
Your life has been a bumpy ride
Always changing with tide.
Yet, here you stand with the will to
try.
Yet, here you stand prepared to
fly.

_______________________________________

©Amankumar 2018

All Rights Reserved

Blog: https://amankumar001.wordpress.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 account (if you have one) to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.com 

My Betrothal to the scent of the Ink

As the morning kisses the earth
And the sky,
Slowly illuminates the silhouettes of the night
When the world outside is awash with blue
And the birds are busy chirruping
All I think about is writing.
As I open my eyes languidly
And scurry out of my deluxe bed;
Pushing the flannel sheets aside
As my foot first touches the cold floor
On my way to the bathroom
All I think about is writing
Yes! Writing.
My anxiety to write is recalcitrant;
Non-negotiable.
So don’t stop me,
Just let me write.

I want to write;
Write about my dazzling dreams
Write about how I turned on the faucet to rinse my face,
With tepid water
I want to write about my fleeting moments
Those that I’m yet to tell anyone about
I’ll do that through drafting them on paper
I want to write about my thoughts,
Those that push me over the precipice, into a bottomless pit
As the sun stays wan and weak,
I’ll write about it in the open fields
Allow me to share my fog of confusion,
Through penning it down.
So don’t stop me,
Just let me write

My urge to write is so surreal,
Yes! Very recessive and perennial
That’s why in my floppy breast pocket,
You’ll never miss it
My ink spitting spear.
Never disappointing, always ready to spit
As I hold my spear in between my fingers
I feel relieved
Then I heave a big sigh
And close my eyes,
Like one receiving benediction.
And suddenly,
I’d start to write, on anything and everything
About anything and everything.
Should you find me,
Don’t stop me
Just let me write.

I want to tell her
But I can’t
I can only write about her
Yes! Her effortless elegance
Her attractive one-dimpled smile
Her flawless skin
Her faith-based obstinacy
Her unrivaled innocence
And oh! Her face…
As bright as a new shilling
As immaculate as a new white sheet of paper
And my love for her:
So desperate, so insane, so tender and complete.
I want to write about her knuckles,
How they form little cute dimples at the back of her hands
If only she could allow me to write poetry on her waist!

Through writing,
I’ll share with you my not-so-secret, secret of mine:
That the epitome of sophistication, is utter simplicity.
Dad, should you find me writing,
Add me another bunch of papers.
Mom, don’t call me when I’m writing
Niece stop nagging me
Big Sis’ I love you so much
I can only tell you that through writing
My betrothal to the scent of the ink is unfathomable.
Whenever I look at people,
And the events matching them
I see nothing but a wafting scent of the ink,
Like a burning incense, going to waste.
So let me be,
Just let me write.

By Jamin Clement

I’m Clement, a Kenyan storyteller and a poet. I’m also an apt reader.

Blog: j4min.wordpress.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 account (if you have one) to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.com 

Smile

Share this smile with me
Let’s have a short breath of intimacy
I’ll love the colours in your skin
If you can forgive the shadows in mine
Share this smile with me
We will raise our own conspiracy
No more wondering eyes, no more relentless discrepancy
Just the two of us on a vivid fantasy

Smile at me
I’ll pretend not to magnify
I’ll smile at you
None of us will even defy…

Share a smile with me
Lovers out of time catastrophe
Past lives wounds shall be forgotten
Let’s dare to live our own lunacy.

Hi! I’m Lynyo a self-taught/amateur writer from Mexico, I’ll like to share my work with you all and hope you like it… Or at least hate it! Jajajaja Visit me at http://lynyo.blog
All pictures and contents are original work of mine unless is noted.

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 (if you have one) to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.com 

A Poem

I love her
I tell myself
I know that
We will be together forever
I don’t believe that
We could be separated
My thoughts tell me that
She’s the love of my life
Sometimes my heart lies and says
I could live an eternity
Without her
Like my friend’s say
“We’re perfect for each other”
And you can’t tell me
She’s not the one

.

Now read from bottom to top.

Blog: https://amankumar001.wordpress.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 account (if you have one) to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.com 

The Tree Hugger

Old Man Maple
Is pushing a hundred, we think.
Each spring and fall, it gives its all.
Makes emerald hall,
Speckled sun.
Sighs with the whim of the wind.
To one who lays beneath its tower,
Awaiting its star’s communion,
Such things are shown!
Layers of focus, light on dark.
Rustles of sound.
An overture to the divine.

Such whimsy is despised by some,
Pointing to broken branches,
Dented roofs, clogged eaves,
Upset neighbors.
I pay the money,
And wait
For next summer’s hammock time.

 

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 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 account (if you have one) to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.com 

Unbowed

On a normal day
On a normal afternoon
In a topnotch hotel
A pang of strange premonition fills the air
And in the carnival mood that was getting merrier every hour,
A loud explosion is heard, followed by a ring of gunfire
And in the briefest of seconds,
Flames and plumes of black smoke are seen billowing into the overcast sky
The enemy is back,
Back to campaign
Campaigning for gloom and despondency in the country
Campaigning for superstition and bewilderment
A bird’s eye view sees nothing but something akin to rapture
All these gave birth to an infant ruckus
And some heads are seen spinning incessantly and in turmoil!
Some are seen scattering helter skelter
Those in the hotel are huddled stoically in bathrooms and wardrobes
As some are camouflaged in curtains!

Wrinkled faces, unsmiling and as ugly as sin, are seen approaching,
Armed to the tooth
Shooting at anyone and anything
Their course is to create a recessive schism and angst
A schism between Muslims and non-Muslims
A schism between Kenya and her ideals of love, peace and unity
A schism between Kenyans and courage
Little do they know that they are going to fail,
Fail like a brief dream of unremaining glory
Fail like an unreplenished stream
Fail like the trances of the summer air
They’ll fail like they did with the Westgate mall!
Right now she’s standing tall, smiling and welcoming them back
Welcoming them not for a glass of acid, but a glass of wine

As a whimper fills the air,
Kenyans are fuming
Fuming with flaring nostrils and eyes glittering with anger
And in a sotto voce we are saying,
‘This is Kenya. And we are forever unbowed to junior nobodies’
We are going to canalize our anger to the mountains
And build more and more skyscrapers
May they obliterate them all if they can
Our abhor will not be directed to each other, but rather to the enemies of progress
We will not recoil to fear but rather we,
Are going to stand tall and fight till the end
We may have failed in the past but now, we are working
Working hard to close the loopholes so that the foe won’t come through
Working hard on our course
The enemy may have caused a twinge in our conscience
They may have caused a conflict of emotions in our hearts
But our course is still on
As they kill and destroy,
We are going to carry each other
We will love each other like a mother
We will find each other in those wreckages even as tears will be spilling hotness down our cheeks
We will do all these because we,
Are Kenyans
And we,
Are forever unbowed!!

By Jamin Clement

I wrote this poem with a dam welling up in my eyes as a result of the most recent terror group attack, Al-shabaab,  on our Kenyan soil. Lives were lost and the best way I could encourage my fellow citizens and countrymen was through writing a poem. I’m Jamin Clement, a storyteller and a poet.

Blog : j4min.wordpress.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 account (if you have one) to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.com 

Alejandro Hormúz

Accomplished so much with little,
All worthless with this wound.
The wound which I created age 16,
The wound which bled age 27.
From México we left, but that
Wasn’t the first time I separated family.
Bautista, my brother and I, worked for nothing.
I had to leave the field, run, but he didn’t come.

I found a job which payed in River Spoon,
Simply brewed the morning elixir for the police station,
Simply meaningless, yet nothing to fear.
I arrived every dawn, I departed every dusk.
I tasked myself in the police,
Took up the Sheriff’s Badge once he retired.
A new day, a case like never before, or rather CASES.
A line of murders in this city.
Each of the four victims,
Five fingers I had, four fingers theirs.
Though they had five,
He, the murderer, stole the fifth.

The first murder, in a bar fight,
The second murder, in an argument,
The third murder, in the midst of a bribe,
The fourth murder, but not the finale, a personal grudge.

That night, I waited for the fifth.
But I missed it for a sight, 11 years old.
Through the gate, He and she left,
But the hair, his tone, mi hermano Bautista, my brother.

Should I follow, should I not?
Was not question.
My heart follows its,
Without caution, I surrender and follow Him.

Yet who was she?
I couldn’t help to wonder.
So much I wanted to say to Him,
Yet so little of Him I knew of what to say.

It was quite dark,
But where I could only see him, it was only darker.
Why couldn’t I see her,
She was no more.

She was the fifth murder,
He the lone murderer.
Bautista, for the first time in 11 years, I pronounced his name.
Alejandro, his first word.

“When did I teach you to kill, my brother?”
“When were you there, Alejandro?
Did I kill 11 years ago? Surely not?
But now, how are you a part of me? How, Alejandro?”

“Who taught you to kill?
It wasn’t yourself!”
“It was fate!
Fate which left me helpless, fate which left me choice-less.”

And then fate ended its story of mine,
With the physical pistol of His,
Which I never regarded to disband.
And my life was now finished. Y mi vida terminó.

I’m a young, 17-year old poet, drawing inspiration from the likes of Urdu masters Mirza Ghalib and Faiz Ahmed Faiz and famed American poet Emily Dickinson. Along with English, I usually write poems in Urdu and one can read some more of my verses at urduahsaas.wordpress.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 account (if you have one) to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.com