'MONSTER'S INK' by Matthew Kreuter

MONSTER'S INK


I can feel myself connecting
to the teeth in my neck
growing weak in the knees
no sign of a pulse

I try to pull myself together
little piece by piece
the view becomes clearer
when you narrow the focus

The hands are reaching deep
taking all that's left behind
here to collect the relationship dues
somehow I always walk away broke

Until the shadows are lifted
and the spirits have vanished
they never hide in the closet
that's only safe for my storage

Now I'm becoming a monster
time to make the people scream
how could I ever live in fear?
I'm the one they're running away from



Written by Matthew Kreuter, first posted to the People's Poetry Bookshelf on 28th June 2013. 

'WITH THE DREAMS' by Nilim Kumar

WITH THE DREAMS


Mother chided
For playing with the dreams
in the morning

I left making a face
To play with the dreams 
Far away
Mother wept bitterly

At high noon
After a long bout of play
The dream left tearing
my shirt to tatters
Making a face at me

I have returned at high noon
like a pauper
To my mother
Craving
dying for a plateful of rice !


(tr. by - b.chaudhury.)


Written by Nilim Kumar, first posted to the People's Poetry timeline on 17th May 2013.

'MY LAST POEM' by Eddy Ongili

MY LAST POEM


Penning my emotions despite my fears
Livid with pain for injuring my soul
I scribble my last poem on this page
To remind the world I am sick of words
My infinite pen has refused to cease leaking
Sketches of verses have multiplied into books
O how I used to think that was wonderful
Very few issues have escaped the blitz of my pen
The world has cajoled me to pen my mysteries
Word by word, I have layed it all open
My blithe nature dosen't suprise my adversaries
They keep knocking, mocking they want more
I have heard poets preaching from street corners
And wishing someone could resue their souls
For poetry with gusto has refused to go away

I have seen ingraines bustling with joy
On my incapacity to write and be recognized
I have read pieces that shouldn't have been written
To sages I have cried, is it an honour being a poet
At times I have convinced myself of how boring
poetry is
Revealing my fears on how writing lays me open
I am at risk for all my secrets shout in my pages
Claiming "we've got him, Ha! Ha!, Ha! Ha!"
My life has become a search and find game
Though my amoury of words has defended me on
some instances
They made a woman fall in love unitentionally
But I had my defence, she was the one bent on
poetry
I have had it in me and I feel I can write about
everything
I have delved into darkness searching for purpose
Hoping light shone there too but nothing

The idea of souls clinging on my pen has washed
my hopes
Crude thoughts surfaced in me, wondering if am a
prophet
Led me to believe my pen could start a cult
So this is my last poem for I want to be free
Free from the shakles of ineptitude, infatuation
bigotry, insanity, hullabaloo, blasphemy and
jotting
My expression of self has made people think I am
proud
I thought writing was an indulgence maybe an
insult
But with each ink splattered providence sets in
I've seen cliffs dancing and angels murmuring
About the supreme wisdom my pen lays claim to
Should I postpone my fate if I wish
Do I have the power or could I change flowers
It has been more of a lullaby as I weaned myself to
death
This is the beginning of a new revolution, I'll let
God guide me

© Eddy Ongili 2013
PenAftermath


Written by Eddy Ongili, first posted to the People's Poetry Bookshelf  on 9th May 2013

'Spring Dew' by Steven Fortune

SPRING DEW


The lotion must have landed coldly
on your wistful lids
How my fingers want to crawl on you
like satin arachnids

but I felt the twitch in your reflex
and now I must confirm
the report that what I triggered
was a shiver not a squirm

for you shiver when fixated
and you squirm under duress
I can't halt the moisturizing process
after an undress

but your points of no return
uproot like tickled wisdom teeth
so I feel on, praying for the lotion
to be laced with drops of Lethe

Bear a cheekbone and a temple
I appeal inwardly
The anointment to your face
shall be delivered tenderly

Only fingertips, say one or two,
apply to the attention
granted to the pale pillow
of your neck before the tension

is spread out to the perimeters
of my unfurling hand
for ascension to the broader
reaches of your promised land

An ascension physically inverted
to enlighten to the south
cuing me to multitask
with rubbing hand and kissing mouth

Mortal are the goosebumps
anticipating application
of the oil that will lubricate
your cylinders for activation

Brittle feet will culminate
the ceremony of your glisten
and our centers will align
and for a sound of sorts I'll listen

Written by Steven Fortune, first posted to the People's Poetry Bookshelf on 25th April 2013.

'The Woman' by Eddy Ongili

THE WOMAN


The proverbial angel incarnate
She sits at the throne akin to thou's perfection
More so in the case of love and care
Beauty and brains, she carries it all
Humbleness and honesty; companions to her soul

The essence of humankind
The epitome of a mindful heart
The Woman

I praise her for her deliberations
Her constant afflictions, which she dares much to
face
The whisker of pain, from the ocean that's her eyes
She deprives hate and pain the ability to stand

I am endeared to her; the woman
Who is bright and wise
Who shines the duty that is bestowed upon her
She nutures, feeds and educates
She loves, cries, smiles and hugs
She upholds the care of our Lord and Father
She is in nature, a priceless jewel

I hail the woman

Who is the ingredient for the perfect recipe who is
concerned about her character and seeks to
enfranchise the mystique of herself as a woman

Whom the mythical Gaea is her perfect apparition,
for in someway she resembles the mother goddess
in being a queen

Whom some cheap nail polish dosent make her
pretty but her words and actions voices her heart
as beautiful

Whom the principles of honesty and submission
reflects her dignity and earns her respect for being
the noble woman in the niche of society

The Woman

She has the timbre to comfort
Her tier supercedes the typical lass on the street
For she is indeed gratifying to a man who sees her
as a queen
'Cause she respects herself and upholds her
virtues.


© Eddy Ongili 2013

Written by Eddy Ongili, first posted to the People's Poetry Bookshelf on 24th April 2013.

'Imagine That' by Tlotli Mendoza

Imagine That


" Imagine there's no country,
it isn't hard to do."
I don't know about that line
Juan....I love my country!
I would rather sing the one
about the revolution!
We must sing out loud about
the killing that's going on!
We must show the world that
we will fight to be free!
There are too many people
dying in the streets.
Too many innocentes being
shot down.
Families torn apart....
" Peace isn't just a dream
it's a revolution! "
That my friend Juan
is why I fight for peace.
" When this is all over
and we are old men,
we will sing songs of
peace! "
Imagine that....


© Tlotli Mendoza



Written by Tlotli Mendoza, first posted to the People's Poetry Bookshelf on 23rd Aprill 2013.

'Anzac Day' by David George

ANZAC DAY


We instill the ANZAC spirit
and the town was quite abuzz

with Bill the blacksmith's helper
and Joe the fuzzy-wuzz-

the kangaroos were languid
but the kookaburras laughed

when Jack the Kiwi trooper
asked the RSL for draught.

The bar-room girls they sniggered
and the diggers nudged their pals

and the bar-man looked to heaven
with his gaze took off the gals.

:"now here's a dandy rooster"
as he wiped change off the bar

and the punters wiped their noses
in that dry back country bar.

The kiwi was stuck for answers
as Jack Bunbury dropped his cue

and the silent wind grew drousy
and the eucalypts drew in their dew.

The pause was growing pregnant
and love might turn to hate-

but the barman smiled and poured a beer
as the kiwi uttered- "mate!"




Written by David George, first posted to the People's Poetry Bookshelf on 23rd April 2013.