Adilson Smith Oct 2017
My voice begins to creak
When we’re lying face to face
So I smile instead of speak.

But then you ask me to express
My feelings to your face --
But my voice begins to creak!

And I struggle to redress
My dumb, unbidding gaze
And so I smile instead of speak.

So then I pull you to my chest,
Pull you close enough to taste!
But feel my voice begin its creak

And leave my feelings unexpressed,
Leave my tongue within its case,
And simply smile instead of speak.

So when I link us back to breast
With arms around your waist;
It’s cause my voice begins to creak
That I smile instead of speak.
My stab at a villanelle. Any feedback welcome.
One of the leader
Once planned
Poverty eradication

How?
Someone interrupted

Kill the Poor
That simple

[Silence]

Breaking the silence
He said
Raise your hands

No one did
No one did
No one did
No one did
Genre: Observational
Theme: Advocate Of Truth
Dons-Social Work-Politicians-Crime || Frequently they Shuffle
Iska Jan 27
"Whats wrong"
                       I can't tell, is the water on my face rain or tears?
                           I can't say it out loud! Please read it in my eyes....

"Can you just not be so damn sad for once?"
                          The wind claws at everything, a welcome pain.
               I'm trying! Can't you see the effort? Oh stars, it HURTS!

"You can talk to me..."
                             I look away, I cannot bare the pain in your eyes.
                           Oh darling I know, I want to but... I can't.

"Talk damn it."
                            Your eyes are hard now, your angry with me, please don't be mad.
                        Don't you see? My voice betrayed me!

"You know, you make it hard to love you sometimes."
                              The song playing is fitting "I'm searching for something that I can't reach."
                               Your words are cutting me. Stripping me to the core, please for the love of God, don't say you can't love me anymore...
Kurtis,
There are times when one simply cannot bare to speak
Yet in their silence is the screaming you can't bare to hear.
An asset she is for this you see
In those big brown eyes
Her dreams reveal
Her destiny unique
This I know you feel so
To you I plead
Be her voice until she is
Shout it out that which she is
So she knows she can be
As colorful as she dreams.

With all our fibre and being
Let's
Shout it out
An Asset she is!!!
So she is strong to
SPEAK, BELIEVE, TO BE
That which she dreams and thinks

©Belema .S. Ekine
©belemascribbles
I speak the language of God
I speak Alleluyah and Amen!
I speak a perfect spoken word,
The language of poets and gifted men.

I speak fluent Norwegian
The language of the Norsk.
I was born a Liberian.
That took time and hard work.

I speak sound French
The language of French Guinea.
I speak it whenever I pray in church,
God blessed me there as a refugee.

I speak the English Language,
The universal language of business.
Wall Street used it to do damage,
Damages that caused the financial crisis.

I speak the hustle language,
The one adopted by hustlers.
This language I have used to engage,
All my challenges and troubles.

I speak a special creative language
The one spoken by writers and poets.
This language is so unique,
That it has produced many laureates.


#IvanBrooksPoetry©
1/8/2018
This is a special day ,because I used two languages to write it..I used the creative language and English.
They rate my intelligence
on a scale of 0 to 36
and decide what I deserve
for my future.
They don't care if I'm strong,
or if I can create things that cause a fire.
If I give my time to those who need me,
or if I really care about my success.
All they see is a set of numbers.
They didn't see me struggle
they didn't see how hard I worked,
they just take the number's word for it.
It doesn't matter if my friends constantly left me,
it doesn't matter if I lost myself along the way,
the number tells them the whole story.
The number shows them everything.
But,
they never saw how many times I cried from exhaustion,
they never watched me as I fell to my knees
on the living room floor after countless long days.
They never heard me scream after feeling so much pain,
so much unbelievable pain.
Many people say, "It doesn't define you!
It's just a dumb test anyway,
and you will be fine either way."
But,
if that's true, why does it still carry so much weight
that pushes us too many of us into this place
of insecurity and anxiety.
It doesn't seem fair
to give kids a test that's designed to point out BS.
It doesn't seem fair
that it costs so much money
in order to get the tools to succeed on a test
that "doesn't define you".
It doesn't seem fair
that a number decides your near future
of what school you're capable of going to.
But,
It seems there is no other way
to weed out competition.
It's official.
Numbers speak louder than words.
This was kind of a rant because I hate the ACT :)
Poetry 5d
keep telling me how to
Act
Speak
Write
see how long until
the house you built
burns
to the f*cking ground
house is symbolic for self worth
alexa Jul 27
you say you’re not a poet but
with a girl like that,
how could you speak
anything less than
the stars?
-a.c.b
Shofi Ahmed Mar 2017
I
A flower that smells of pure bliss keeps an ear to the ground
It's a serene one sitting beneath the stars down on earth
The moon, far, far, seven seas away, loves to drop into her lap.

The Bay of Bengal billows, music has gotten beneath the skin.
The leaves furl out off the deep wood with the birds
singing out to the top of the trees, rhyming with the leafy dance.
Heavensent, that was in one sanguine day in the spring.
The Mother’s Language Movement in 1952 sprouted like this
on the eighth of native Falgun month—oh magic did it unleash!

On that day our beloved brothers were shot dead
They could swallow the bullets with smiles but won’t give up
demanding the official status for the Bangla mother tongue.
Angels wrapped round the martyrs amid lamenting mothers
Laid them on Falgun’s perfumed ground bleeding corpses
Seas of roses bloomed and blew them out red, red kisses!

They are gone not the stone wall of consciousness they raised
Ah, at the sprout of the spring what were they echoing?
Ingrained deep in the soil the pre-designing voice in the planning?
Who can tell? The world gels on February 21 in celebrating!

The angels then snapped up our martyrs’ souls off the land,
placed them on a piece of Heaven where they can hear the jingle.
Down on earth, a nation springs up, has gotten its wake up call!
Stepping on the sweetening arc of the mother tongue melody
the stone turns a flower, all in a butterfly moment soaring to victory.
Thanks to the movement - Bangladesh itself later comes to be!

II
The sun comes down to the rose painting on the land
In the heavenly Falgun hues it nibbles some wild summer dreams.
“Serene songs of earth stirring the water,” like it comes into play,
rowing the cloud bubbles singing in southern breeze.
Ah, a walk on the sun-kissed kaleidoscope land is a pure bliss.  
Every blossom spray of the wind is soothing sweet
Hop on and play straight to the ruby heart, as if it's a flute.

Mother tongue means speak free, fearless, in full streaming.
Speak the heart to the world without the fear of losing the cloud
that will listen, bouncing back on the brink of the sky river.
Then what did one say, hear, or was awed by in the blooming Falgun?
Could it have been the spring humming in her native lingua
or King David singing in mother tongue by babbling brooks
what in any other language, even with a silver tongue, isn’t possible?

Allah has listened to our martyrs’ crying mothers and fathers
The martyrs’ souls whisk through the galaxies and starry fair.

Soar high over the clouds, take the rainbow's pot of gold away,
Like a hue turns 360-degree in the colourwheel bask into the colour.
Still, dip the toes in Bangla mother’s soil salted with perfumed art
Like Himalayan water swirling down melting deeper deep down
This magicland is polished for everyone be it you, a fairy, a star
or off the ploughed-out barrow a walked out wonder!

A pristine voice duo’s voiceprint gleans to the spring in muse,
Pops in a beauteous scurry and speaks in the mother tongue!
Hidden within the earthy depth, only emerges with time,
only dances in tangent, that day slipped out with the butterflies.
And finally the blue nymphs take the plunge drop down the sky  
That day the mother’s voice triumphed, whose is the most original!
This is a poem from my book Zero and One available on Amazon.
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